When I was young, I hated the countryside.

At night, streetlights were rare, convenience stores were far away, and my friends left for the city one by one. I liked the smell of asphalt more than the smell of rice fields, and neon signs looked cooler than fireflies. So, as soon as I became an adult, I went up to the city. Tall buildings, flashy streets, lights that never went out even at night. At first, everything felt like a dream. But after a few years, strangely, I felt suffocated. Even when I opened the window, there was only the sound of cars, and there were no stars in the night sky. I felt alone even when I was among people. Then one summer. I suddenly remembered. The days I ran along the ridges of the rice fields. The afternoons I bit into watermelon. The sound of frogs croaking. And the tiny firefly sparkling in my hand. That's why I came back.

We used to run through the fields holding foxtails, swim in the valley half-naked, catch marsh snails, and take long naps on the inn's wooden porch after playing.