With the holidays approaching, I logged onto the train reservation site to visit my family home for the first time in a long while. Holiday tickets are always in high demand—you have to log in early and wait in a virtual line before reservations officially open. After preparing carefully and trying my best, I barely managed to book a ticket.
I checked the ticket again to tell my parents what time I’d arrive.
But oh no—
The departure time was different from what I remembered.
I had made mistakes with train tickets before, so I thought I was being extra careful this time . . . but I still slipped up.
That mistake brought back an unforgettable memory from long ago—one I’ll never forget.
When I was in high school, I had to go to Seoul with my dad. Since we lived in Gimhae, a trip to Seoul was a rare and exciting event. I looked forward to it for days, especially the train ride. It was also my very first time booking train tickets on my own.
I checked everything online—the times, the seats—and proudly booked two round-trip tickets. I confidently told my dad not to worry because I had taken care of everything. I felt pretty proud of myself.
On the day of the trip, we finished our errands in Seoul and headed to the station for our return train. It was supposed to depart at 6 PM. We arrived a bit early, sat in the waiting area, and watched the departure board. But no matter how long I searched, I couldn’t find a train that matched our ticket time.
Feeling uneasy, I looked more closely at the ticket.
And then I saw it—I had booked the return train for 6 AM, not 6 PM.
My heart dropped.
“What do I do . . . ?” I panicked.
The train had long since departed, and the ticket was nonrefundable. And because it was a high-speed train, the fare wasn’t cheap. I had wasted a large amount of money because of my mistake, and I was too embarrassed to even look at my dad.
But my dad didn’t scold me.
He simply said,
“It’s okay. Mistakes happen. We can just buy new tickets.”
His gentle words felt like a warm blanket over my fear and shame. I can still remember the relief that washed over me.
That day, my dad and I made a little secret. Since my mom is very frugal, we knew she’d be upset if she heard how much money we lost—so we quietly agreed not to tell her. Even now, she still doesn’t know what happened that day.
That long-buried memory resurfaced because of my recent ticket mistake—or perhaps it resurfaced thanks to the mistake. It reminded me of the love wrapped in my dad’s calm, forgiving words.
This holiday, I think I’ll bring some of Dad’s favorite snacks when I visit. Even before I get on the train, my heart already feels like it’s home.