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Prologue
The chilly wind picked up again as the sky began to turn purple, orange, and green as the sun dipped behind the bare tree branches in the distance. We sat on the raised pavement in front of the five shops that were the entirety of the mall, rubbing our sore legs and arms, waiting for the ride to the last performance of this year’s Jishinbalpgi. The van drivers were running a little late, and the inactivity and cold were cramping our overextended muscles. Four or five drummers found shelter under the eaves of the shops for a quick puff with Sangmin-hyung. Yuna narrowed her eyes in disgust and yelled at them, “ Dambae piji ma! [Stop smoking!]” The smokers ignored her and drew in long breaths and expelled the smoke in slow sighs. Mina was chatting animatedly with a couple of people that I had met for the first time that day—drummers and supporters from New York she had been acquainted with earlier at other pungmul gatherings.
After a full day of dancing, singing, and drumming, I was pretty sore, although I would not admit it to maintain the myth of my incredible fitness. In spite of consuming large amounts of Choco-pie, dduk, kimbab, and clementines, not to mention several cups of makgeolli, I felt quite lightheaded.