It’s 2002 and I’m the youngest punk in the whole scene. On top of that I speak very little Korean despite living here since 1997 and having a Korean mother. The punks here looked past all those failings and welcomed me with open arms, something I was not accustomed to, even in my own home.

During my twelfth grade year in high school, I had enough of living at home, so I packed everything I owned in a green duffel bag, grabbed two guitars, and left. Like Max going to Where the Wild Things Are, I was going to live at Skunk from now on with the punks in what was Skunk club.

I left at midnight and started walking. Carrying all my stuff was hard so I decided to take a break under Hangang bridge—not the warmest place in the world in March at midnight. I zipped up my jacket and felt an excitement that any young man feels at the start of a long journey with the destination still unknown and without the means to get there, but I didn’t care. I smoked what I knew was the last cigarette of the night and tossed it into the river. Picking up my CD player, I sank into my jacket: that was home for the night. It kept the wind out and the music in. I remember falling asleep singing along to Rancid: “So I packed everything I own. Midnight (right word?) on... a kid could feel alone...?

In the morning I woke up when a rat ran across my legs. I hopped the turnstyle at Hapjeong station—bag, guitars and all—and took the subway to Sinchon. Back then Skunk was in a different location, tucked away in an obscure alley you knew only after going a few times. I knew it like the back of my hand. It was a small space that very few people in Korea knew about, close to the size of a good-sized living room. I couldn’t fail that day. The previous night’s excitement hadn’t worm off yet and if I said I was elated it would be a major understatement.

I knew where the key was; owner Won Jong-Hee (Rip) always hid it in the same spot. I told him I would be living there from now on and to this day I can still remember the inflection and timbre in his voice when he said “Good.?I opened the door and turned on the light. No one was there, but there had been a show a few nights before, and trash was everywhere. It stank of stale beer and urine. It had naked light bulbs and show lights hanging on the opposite wall of the stage which stood only a few inches off the ground. Home. I cleaned it up a bit.

Rip, who was and still is the vocalist of Rux, had asked me if I wanted to play guitar for him. With the outgoing guitar player’s blessing I could only accept. Rip and the bass player Joohyun had just gotten out of the army and got their band going and bought what was their rehearsal space and now my home. Fresh out of the army, I have a feeling he felt the same kind of unique excitement I felt back then. It was a fresh start for the both of us, a clean slate to mark up however we saw fit. The world was our oyster, and nothing in heaven, hell, or anything in between could take that away from us.

I knew I wasn’t up to par with Rux as far as my guitar-playing went. Rip and Joohyun did not settle for less than my best and I wanted to give them all that I could. I practiced for hours and hours on end without stopping. I played until my hands were numb and my fingers gelatinous.

My first show with Rux was right there at the old Skunk Hell. I was not the slightest bit nervous about playing. No butterflies, no nothing. We were pretty much only playing to the other bands that showed up; not many people would come out to see a show really. I got up on the “stage?and we started playing. I jumped around going crazy like I owned the place. We played our set, said our bit and we were done.

In that same room which, just hours ago was filled with crazy mosh-pitting show-goers and bands, I was alone again. The smell of stale beer and urine was stronger than ever. It was still warm from all the moving bodies that once graced that small bare concrete slab which was wet now from sweat and spilled beer.

This was only the beginning. The destination was still unknown and I didn’t know if I had the means to get there, wherever there was. It couldn’t have been a better start for such a journey that began only a few years ago.

Can a person with no home feel homesick?

Find out in our next issue...