In the early 1990s, I moved to Incheon. I didn’t know a single person there.
After work, I usually went straight home. On weekends, I would rent a videotape, watch television, and repeat the same routine. Life was simple, but it could also feel a little lonely.
A Small Board in a Corner of the Video Store
One day, I noticed a group of people playing Go in a corner of a local video rental store.
At first, I only watched from a distance. Sometimes I couldn’t resist offering an opinion on a move. Before long, I found myself sitting down to play a game. That was the beginning of countless evenings spent at that little video store.
There was always someone around the Go board. A laundry shop owner, a hardware store owner, a plumbing contractor, the owner of a small grocery store—people from different backgrounds and different walks of life. But around the board, none of that seemed to matter.
Someone would talk about a baseball game from the night before. Someone else would bring up a famous match played by Lee Chang-ho. A simple question—”Did you see that move?”—was often enough to start a lively discussion that seamlessly flowed into deep analysis, keeping us debating over the board long after the store should have closed.
As the black and white stones clicked against the wooden board, the worries of our daily lives seemed to fade away. Even after a game had ended, the conversation rarely did. What if this move had been played instead? What if that stone had gone somewhere else? We would analyze positions, debate possibilities, and relive the game move by move. And when the discussion finally ended, another game would usually begin.
Becoming “Master Kwak”
As time passed, we became more than people who played Go together.
We shared meals. We opened cold cans of beer on warm evenings. We went to baseball games. Sometimes we spent summer nights fishing. On family vacations, our families even traveled together.
Somewhere along the way, people stopped calling me by my name. Instead, they called me “Master Kwak.”
It was a nickname given to me because I was known as one of the stronger Go players in the neighborhood. At first, I felt embarrassed whenever I heard it, but I have to admit that I liked it.
Looking back now, what connected us was neither family nor school ties. It was Go. Go gave us a reason to gather. It gave us something to talk about. And it helped friendships last far longer than they otherwise might have.
It Was Only a Season
For nearly ten years, that small corner was our world, but as time passed, the video store quietly disappeared. People gradually drifted apart. These days, we exchange phone calls from time to time, but not much more.
Back then, it felt as though it would last forever. After work, I simply assumed I would head to the video store and find someone already setting up a Go board. It seemed so ordinary that I never imagined it could disappear.
But like so many things in life, it was only a season.
Distance has a way of becoming emotional distance as well. The daily gatherings became occasional phone calls, and eventually, the silence of routine returned. Now, with no one left to call me “Master Kwak,” I find myself thinking about those days.
The laundry shop owner. The hardware store owner. The plumber. The grocery store owner. All of us gathered around a Go board, laughing, arguing, and enjoying each other’s company.
And the strongest bond that connected us all?
It was simply that black and white world.