Raising a Neglected Singer-Songwriter - Chapter 33



Only Krnovel

Episode 33. Bravo My Life (1)

I ended up not being able to open the basement practice room door.

You might wonder why it can’t be opened, but to me, that practice room was a space used by four people.

I didn’t want to start without Dongsik.

Then someone else will say this to me.

Why are you hanging yourself up over a relationship that hasn’t even lasted a year?

Because the other members’ skills are so great?

well.

It’s true that he’s good at it, but that doesn’t mean he’s irreplaceable.

Because I’m an incredibly emotional person?

Well, that too.

Making music.

And it’s possible to be emotional when it comes to making songs, but it’s not just emotional.

Honestly, it’s hard for me to say exactly why I’m so obsessed with making music with the members.

There would be many reasons to list.

Memories of laughing, chatting, and playing instruments with the members.

The thrill of the first time following my brothers up onto the dark stage and being greeted by the flashing lights.

The feeling of fulfillment that comes from performing on stage to the cheers of a small number of fans may also be a reason.

okay.

The real reason is probably… …because it’s my first love.

I listened to rock music countless times and played the guitar until my fingernails fell off.

But the corner guitarist.

An ensemble that took place in imagination.

This was the first time I had a complete performance and performance as a band since I met my brothers.

The bean sprout heads that I scribbled on the staff became drums, keyboards, and bass guitars in my brothers’ hands.

It becomes one with my performance and the sound that was only in my head is completed.

Every day after meeting my brothers was overflowing.

Happiness.

Warmth.

Pleasure.

Even gratitude.

How can this not be called love?

Therefore, I.

I wanted to give my beginners a taste of normalcy.

It could be said that it was a man’s stubbornness and stubbornness.

It has to be these guys.

I climbed up the stairs.

Tae-ju and Young-pil pass by my brother, but they don’t catch me.

“Taeju hyung. Youngpil hyung.”

“uh.”

“Speak.”

“… … This guy isn’t dead, right?”

It was a difficult word to say.

30 years is such a scary time.

Taeju hyung answered.

“Dongsik can’t even take Shin with him.”

“yes?”

“Yeah. What kind of guy is Dongshik?”

He sniffed and took a deep breath before speaking.

“Then let’s eat. I need to gain weight.”

* * *

It’s been a week since I started going to the practice room in Jongno 3-ga.

The basement practice room is still an unknown space to me.

Judging from the posters on the stairs, it probably feels pretty much the same as it did 30 years ago.

Taeju hyung said he decorated the basement practice room just for me.

As usual, I locked myself in the recording studio in the far corner of the third floor and played with my guitar.

Most of them were like this.

On days when Youngpil doesn’t have a broadcast, he’s there all day, but when he does have a broadcast, he stops by the practice room for an hour or two after the broadcast and plays the keyboard.

He does practice his vocals while holding the microphone, but he says that he needs to get the feeling in his fingers back first and sticks to the keyboard as much as possible.

Taeju hyung?

Tae-joo spoke into the microphone beyond the transparent window of the recording studio.

-Let’s eat.

When I opened the door and went out, there was something strange about the appearance.

“Why are you coming to the practice room dressed up like that? If that’s the case, then go to work.”

“I am the company. Wherever I am, the office is.”

“We need to get rid of the chaebol chairman quickly. Money isn’t everything.”

At my words, Tae-ju rolled up his shirt sleeves and held the Jajangmyeon out in front of me.

“Eat. Stop talking nonsense.”

“Woof, woof.”

“What a guy.”

Then he snickers and tears off the wooden chopsticks.

Tae-joo hyung somehow seems like he would eat Jajangmyeon with gold chopsticks. He wasn’t like that 30 years ago.

At that time, I almost thought it was true.

Because he looked so skinny and unattractive.

Now that I think about it, something seemed strange.

A fairly large practice room, but no one knows who runs it and who pays for it.

The rice I bought and ate regularly when the time came.

Even Tae-joo’s car, which is registered in his name.

ah.

yes.

The debut preparations and recording, which were progressing at breakneck speed, were naturally even stranger.

Anyway, Tae-joo Hyung, who was a bonehead at that time, goes to the practice room almost every day. He goes out for a couple of hours and comes back, but he probably goes to work.

Otherwise, most of the company’s work is reported in the recording studio by Secretary Kwak Moon-ki.

It’s funny.

Who would have thought that the CEO of a large corporation would be eating Jajangmyeon in a disguised practice room in Jongno 3-ga?

At that moment, the door opens and Youngpil comes in.

“Huh? Traitors! I came running as soon as filming was over to come and practice quickly.”

“You haven’t eaten dinner?”

“I didn’t eat it. Of course.”

“Even if you eat sweet and sour pork, should I order some?”

“Okay. I want Jjajangmyeon too.”

Youngpil Hyung pulled a chair and sat down at the table.

I picked up my phone and opened the delivery app.

“They’re pure thieves. A bowl of Jajangmyeon costs 7,000 won, but they can’t deliver one bowl. Huh? Tae-joo hyung. Isn’t this wrong? What do you think? As the CEO of a large corporation, tell me your opinion.”

“He’s really crazy.”

“Right? And you’re charging 4,000 won for delivery fees?”

“You, I mean. You’re crazy.”

Tae-ju and Young-pil chuckled, and then Young-pil continued speaking.

“Ah! There are two homeless reporters up ahead again today. Should I just tell them to come in and treat them to a meal?”

“Come to think of it, why are those reporters still here?”

“If you don’t know, who will? They’re following you around.”

I know.

But really, why are you following me?

I thought you’d have been following me for so long that you’d have had time to write an article by now, but what are you looking for from me?

Could this be the secret of time slip?

What can I do if I ask that question and you can’t answer it?

I don’t know either.

We thought about it for a moment. We were discussing whether we should order some dumplings together or order another cola or fried rice to share.

The door swings open again.

“Huh? I haven’t pressed order yet?”

It’s not a delivery man, it’s Secretary Kwak Moon-ki.

The somewhat unusually excited old man spoke to all of us instead of whispering to Tae-ju like before.

“The location has been identified.”

It was a remark that was thrown out without any context, but the three of us understood it right away.

My impatience was the fastest.

“Where is it? There?”

“It’s Bucheon.”

The three of us turned our eyes to each other as Secretary Kwak Moon-ki spoke.

And without anyone saying anything first, everyone spoke in unison.

“Bucheon?”

“yes.”

My impatience and absurdity took precedence over my brothers.

“Are you from Bucheon, Gyeonggi-do?”

“yes.”

“No. But why haven’t you found it yet?”

“It seems like I’ve been living an analog life without any social media or web access. I don’t know if it was intentional, but… … .”

After hearing Secretary Kwak Moon-ki’s answer, I looked at Young-pil.

“Brother Yeongpil. Let’s eat Jajangmyeon in Bucheon.”

“Okay.”

And Taeju hyung.

“Director Kwak. I’ll drive, so don’t follow me.”

“All right.”

“If I say so, will you follow me?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“What if I tell you not to come?”

“I won’t go.”

“If you say that, you’ll follow me secretly?”

“Yes, that’s right, Chairman.”

I stare at it blankly… … I wonder… … Is it some kind of gag that chaebols do?

I started to think that I should get my license quickly.

If I had a driver’s license, I would have run to that strange, ambiguous thing that was neither a joke nor serious.

* * *

About an hour after the three people set off for Bucheon, Bucheon, Gyeonggi-do.

A man ran through the bright lights of the night street.

50cc scooter.

Although the motorcycle did not require registration, the man attached a license plate and even wore a helmet.

‘I can’t risk my life to make a few more pennies.’

For that little bit of money, he still works part-time on a motorcycle on the street after leaving work, but not at the risk of his life.

There’s a reason why a man earns money.

If you’re in your teens or twenties, you might be able to earn money to buy something.

I would even take on a job and learn for a small amount of money for a big dream.

But when you reach your 30s, your reasons for earning money change.

To have.

To stick together.

Buy a house or a car by pooling money or taking out a loan.

That’s how a boy becomes a man.

But when you reach your 40s and 50s, the reasons for earning money change again.

To protect what we have.

Now it’s not like they’re acting coy, they’re just laughing and farting.

And then one day, they get so upset with each other that they get into a fight.

There are many days when we spend without exchanging a single word, but for the comrades with whom we have fought through the battlefield of the world.

An achievement and treasure made together with that comrade.

For my sons and daughters.

The man becomes a father again, fights the world, and earns money.

A man riding a motorcycle is also someone’s father.

of course.

My children are now grown and have entered puberty, so there are times when they lock their doors or only say “yes, yes” when I ask them questions, but even that was good.

As the man turned the handle with his right hand to protect what he had today, the scooter gained power with a roar.

Before I knew it, I had passed the neon signs on the road and entered an apartment complex.

I simply parked my motorcycle on one side, dialed 1504 at the entrance, and pressed call.

An unidentifiable melody rang out for a moment.

-who are you?

“The delivery has arrived.”

The front door opened and I got on the elevator.

Wearing a suit and holding a chicken makes me think of my kids.

The man thought to himself, “Once I finish my delivery job, I should buy some chicken and go home,” but then shook his head.

‘The kids will be asleep by then.’

My daughter is in 3rd year of middle school.

My son is in 1st grade of middle school.

Now, they are both in the midst of puberty, but still, that time is definitely a good time.

Because I finish work so late.

The elevator stops and the doors open, but a woman is standing in front with her arms crossed.

“No. How many times do I have to tell you not to ring the bell?”

“yes?”

“I left a note telling you not to ring the bell while I’m putting the baby to sleep. Oh, really… … .”

I checked the bill attached to the chicken bag I was holding in my hand, but there was no such note.

But if you fight, only the delivery side will suffer.

The system calculated and delivered, but that’s not the end of it.

When a claim arises, our job is to resolve it.

“sorry.”

The man bent down.

The reason I keep wearing a motorcycle helmet is because it’s a hassle to put it on and take it off every time I get off the motorcycle, but it’s also more useful in times like now when I need to control my facial expression.

“Oh. Please.”

“Yes. Enjoy your meal.”

Still, to that extent, he is a nobleman.

It’s a little annoying to cry when you didn’t even make a note of it, but other than that, it’s annoying when someone rings the bell and wakes the baby up while you’re putting him to sleep.

‘I know because I raised one too.’

While I was going down in the elevator, I took out my phone and looked through my photo album.

Whenever life gets tough, I always look at pictures like this.

“The first one resembles me… … .”

They say the eldest daughter resembles her father, but fortunately she doesn’t resemble him in appearance.

But, seeing as how he wants to major in guitar, it seems like they definitely have something in common.

So I tried to stop it because I knew it would be hard.

-What does Dad know? He doesn’t know anything about music!

Then he slams the door and cries.

Ah… … I was so heartbroken. And then I couldn’t think of stopping her. Because I knew that my daughter was dreaming, and I knew how happy she was when she was dreaming.

That’s what dreams are like.

Dreaming is the moment when you are happier than anyone else in the world.

But when I wake up from the dream, I find myself in a reality where I don’t even know where I am.

‘I don’t know. Dad knows better. Better than anyone else.’

In Busan, I became a drummer without rivals and came to Seoul with high spirits, and I met colleagues I liked.

What good is it to be good at playing an instrument?

Especially, those who play instruments that are only necessary for band music, such as drums, are even more useless.

The day before debut, a member died in a car accident.

Even after bowing down before the grave of his band member who had not even been found, the man could not wake up from his dream for a couple of months.

A drummer is a must-have for a band, but… … he’s outdated.

Dance begins to invade the world dominated by rock.

Ballads are becoming a trend in the Korean market.

In America, hip-hop has trampled rock to its death.

If it were a guitar, I would have done sessions here and there, but there isn’t that much need for a drummer.

Drums, which take up a lot of space and time to set up on stage, are often just roughly put together with machines.

The man who woke up from his dream said to his friend of the same age.

– I won’t do music. My father’s wish is to see his grandchildren before he dies. I’m going to live an ordinary life, so don’t come looking for me.

But I guess I should be thankful that I had a dream?

Knowing that, I can’t stop my daughter’s dreams. It would be too painful to prevent her from dreaming because she knows the reality.

anyway.

So I work hard and even do part-time jobs.

It costs a lot of money to support arts and physical education.

Tiring ring―

The man was suddenly awakened from his reverie by the familiar sound of a notification.

It’s the sound of an alarm that a delivery has been caught.

Still, I’m lucky today.

I’ve already delivered 10 items and I’m getting another call.

The man pressed the accept button on his phone and drove his motorcycle back.

however.

It was a small pebble on the road.

A stone smaller than a pebble, the size that would make you say, “Oh, there was a stone?” if you stepped on it with sneakers.

But for a motorcycle, it can be very dangerous if you step on it wrong.

And the moment you feel the pebble not with your shoe sole but with your motorcycle tire, it’s already too late.

“Oh, oh, oh!”

The motorcycle fell over with a thud and crashed under the car in front.

As soon as the man lay down on the floor, tears streamed down his face.

I don’t know.

Why would that be?

Did the sight of red blood and chapped skin inside your torn suit pants really hurt that much?

Or is your throbbing elbow hurting more?

Are you ashamed of yourself for working this late?

no.

‘Insurance surcharge… … .’

And the hospital bills. The motorcycle repair costs, or if you have to buy a new one, how much money would you need if you were to buy it used? Even in the midst of all this, did you think about those things?

Honestly… … that hurts a little.

I even worked part-time to earn money, but I ended up losing money instead.

But that’s not all.

‘My wife and kids will be upset… What should I do…?’

A man is someone who breaks down at work, gets ignored while delivering, and works like a dog to earn money without wanting his family to know.

But I feel like I’ll get caught for it today.

That was so sad.