It’s strange how much changes in four months. This was my first leave—from November 3 to 8—and somehow it felt both busy and fleeting. Between banks, errands, and catching up, the days disappeared before I could even settle in.
When I first came home, my cat Haku did not recognize me right away. He sniffed, hesitated—and then seemed to remember. It was a small moment, but it hit me harder than I expected.
The Texture of Normal Days
The bed felt softer than I remembered. The desk, the iPad, even the quiet of the study—all of it felt unfamiliar at first, then suddenly indispensable. Four months ago, these were just parts of everyday life. Now, they feel like luxuries.
“What changed isn’t the house—it’s the awareness.”
Just sitting still, hearing the music from my laptop or the faint sound of Mom watching videos while I’m in another room—those moments feel sacred now. They remind me of how absurdly restrictive this military life can be, how much it erases the texture of normal days.
Brief Awakenings
When I walked home from the barbershop today—down the familiar Maple Xi road—Mom told me she hadn’t walked that way much since I enlisted. I could sense the quiet that settled over the house in my absence. Dad hadn’t talked much, and my sister had kept her door closed. For a brief moment during my first leave, my family was whole.
Tomorrow I go back. I’ve taken pictures of the house, the jogging path next to the Han River, the streets I used to walk without thinking. I know that once I’m back in uniform, these memories will start to blur—like the visits after basic training. They always feel like dreams once they’re over.
Maybe that’s what these short leaves are: brief awakenings into the life you once took for granted.