When We Became Gangnam

There are a few things I cannot forget from my childhood: picking mugwort with my sexagenarian babysitter at a nearby park, to dry and put in bean-paste soup; delighting in a cheap candy ring that came in a range of bright shades so pretty I dared not eat it; a mass of cosmos behind our apartment complex in autumn, attracting multitudes of dragonflies we caught with flimsy nets from a corner stationery shop; a tennis court-turned-temporary skating link, covered by a thin layer of water frozen in