My last apartment in Seoul was interesting.
Despite having two bedrooms, it was tiny. Best guess, it was maybe 300 to 400 sq. ft., if that.
However, the most interesting part of it was that it was a rooftop apartment.
Essentially, it was like someone plopped my little home right on the top of my apartment building. You walked across a large span of roof to access the narrow walkway leading to my front door. Along the front was a large balcony with a breathtaking view of the Yongsan Garrison and the high-rise apartments at Samgakji Station beyond. That balcony and view were the main reasons I got the apartment, even though it gave me more headaches than it was worth.
It was also incredibly difficult to get to.The entrance gate was hidden up an alley, and even then, you had to step into the small area in front of the two secondfloor apartments and shut the gate in order to see the claustrophobic set of stairs that took you up to the roof.
So, while annoying whenever I ordered delivery, I felt relatively safe.
Until one night when I didn’t. But even then, I’m still not completely sure that what happened that night actually did.
It was a normal summer night in Seoul. I had fallen asleep on the sofa watching TV. I came to around 3 a.m., hearing the murmur of whatever show was on. All the lamps in the room were still on as well. I lay there for a few moments, murky with sleep and contemplating whether I wanted to get up and move to my bed or roll over and attempt to eke out two and a half more hours of slumber before my alarm went off. I had just closed my eyes when I heard it.
Three taps on my metal front door.
At first, I thought it was the TV and decided to ignore it. But then I heard it again. This time a bit louder.
I sat up on the sofa, fear seizing my entire body as I stared at the door. I told myself that I was half awake. Surely I’m not hearing someone knocking on my front door at 3 a.m. First of all, it was a weeknight -- who in their right mind would be out this late on a weeknight? (Even though drunk people being out and about in Seoul at that time was not super uncommon.) Secondly, how could anyone accidentally wander up to my front door? Even folks who knew where I live got confused.
The knocks came again. With a small surge of bravery, I eased off the sofa and crept to the door, staring at it. There was a frosted window to one side, and I saw something pass in front of it.
Here is about the time when I’m sure my soul left my body.
Everything in me froze, and I was grateful that I stood next to my shoe rack out of sight. I could hear shuffling and knew whoever it was had walked around the corner and was likely now on the balcony, attempting to look through the large, frosted windows into the living room. While you can’t see much of anything, with the lights on, it would be possible to make out shapes.
I waited. Holding my breath. Still wondering if I was actually awake or if this was some horrible dream.
Footsteps came back around. I saw movement through the window. Perhaps it was the alwayschurning —yet usually subtle—anger within me that sparked what I did next. Because I’m not completely sure it was bravery. I took a deep breath.
“WHOAREYOUAND WHATDOYOUWANT!”
Footstepsmovedquickly away. Like they were moving toward the stairs on the opposite side of the roof. I waited until I couldn’t hear them anymore and walked over to sit on the sofa. I stared at my phone for a few minutes, wondering if I should attempt to call the police. I even went over in my head how to ask for a translator in Korean, before ultimately deciding to wait until I got to my office the next morning and could have a co-worker translate for me.
I didn’t think I could accurately explain what happened even in English.
As I lay back down on the sofa and stared up at the ceiling, the same thought twirled around and around in my head.
“Did that just happen? Or am I still dreaming?”