Long-Time Dining Partner Vanishes Overnight

A Tale of Friendship and Loss

During the extended Chuseok holiday, we are revisiting three of The Chosun Ilbo’s most-read essays from the past year. These pieces were selected from the top 10 most-viewed essays on Chosun.com between September 22 of last year and September 21 of this year, chosen for their timeless relevance during the festival. Over the next three days, we will unveil one "essay king" each day.

Second Place: Yoon Myeong-sook’s ‘My Long-Time Dining Partner Suddenly Vanished After Eating Together for Over a Year’

Sitting on the living room sofa, I was gazing out the window as a pair of magpies and two great tits flitted among the pine branches. When I stood to get a closer look, they sensed my presence and darted away like bullets. Hoping they might return, I tore off a piece of bread and scattered it on the windowsill. The next day, there was no trace of it. Perhaps word had spread about the lavish feast. Thanks to the frequent visitors, the view outside the window has come alive. However, now is not the time to build a good relationship with birds. Establishing friendships with my neighbors is urgent.

By nature, I find it burdensome to greet people every time I encounter them. In contrast, my dining partner, who moved here around the same time as I did, has exceptional social skills and gets along with everyone. Despite weighing only 32 kg, she is a pocket billiards expert and a member of a table tennis club. I don’t know how to play table tennis or what pocket billiards is, so I have no common ground with her. Still, fate must have intervened: on the day I moved in, a cafeteria staff member led me to her while I was hesitating with my tray, and we began eating together.

She came here after her daughters decided she needed care following major surgery to remove her duodenum. Her second daughter, an interior designer, decorated the house with all sorts of stylish touches, like a model home, yet for some reason, she sleeps on the floor despite having a king-size bed. Perhaps it’s a habit from years of caring for her late husband. After her husband passed away, she volunteered at a welfare center for seven years with a friend, and she remembers that time as the most fun and satisfying period of her life. It seems she finds fulfillment in caring for others.

Sitting at the same table with her for over a year and three months, I can now tell at a glance whether she slept well, is in a good mood, or has an upset stomach just by looking at her. If she immediately jumps up after putting down her chopsticks and bowls, it means she needs the restroom. If she hesitates while holding a cup of instant coffee, it’s a signal that she wants to move to another table and chat before leaving. Then I either silently follow her or, if I’m not in the mood, part ways and return home.

But she disappeared. There were times when she didn’t come down to the cafeteria, and I ate alone, but the next day she would appear as usual with her instant coffee, smiling and saying she had eaten at the neighboring cafeteria with a resident caregiver because her shoulder hurt. This time, though, something felt different. When I asked someone close to her, who calls her "partner" and "sister," I learned that despite severe tinnitus and dizziness, she hid her condition until her daughters took her to the hospital. I understood why she hid it from her children, fearing she’d be a burden, but why hide it from us, who knew her situation well? Her consideration has reached a point bordering on self-harm.

One evening, the person she called "sister" called on her behalf. After several rings, she answered, saying she was in the hospital. The receiver was passed to me. Both places were noisy, and with our impaired hearing, we only managed to misunderstand each other. The only words I caught were, "Don’t call; I’ll call you later."

But she never called. Impatient with waiting, I went to the management office. The staff, who rarely disclose private information about residents, reluctantly told me she had already moved out after withdrawing her rental deposit. No matter how urgent the situation, leaving without a word was beyond comprehension.

Since then, people seem uncomfortable seeing me eat alone and keep urging me to find a new partner. I just smile and let it go. Soon after, a new resident, like me in the early days, hesitated with her tray and ended up sitting at my table, so I have a new partner again.

No one talks about my former partner anymore. If someone asks about her, everyone shakes their head and clams up. In this place where people come and go without knowing when they’ll part, perhaps that’s how they maintain their relationships—keeping others at arm’s length even while being physically close.

After meals, I get a cup of instant coffee and glance at the bread set out beside it. It’s probably the pathetic delusion of an old person to think the birds are waiting for me? Still, I put two slices of bread in a plastic bag and head home, wondering how long I’ll keep doing this…