I drift through the ancient walls of Gyeongbokgung Palace like morning mist. After two hundred years, I still love watching the sunrise paint the curved roofs gold. My name was Park Min-ji when I lived, and now I’m the happiest ghost in Seoul.
The guards don’t see me floating past the Gwanghwamun Gate. They never do. But the palace cats follow me with their yellow eyes. Animals always know.
Today, a small girl in a pink hanbok catches my eye. She reminds me of my daughter from long ago. The child wanders away from her parents, chasing a butterfly near my favorite pavilion. I smile, remembering how I once did the same, back when my feet could touch the ground.
“Seo-yeon!” her mother calls. “Don’t go too far!”
The girl doesn’t listen. She’s heading toward the old well – the same one I fell into centuries ago. My heart may have stopped beating long ago, but it still feels tight in my chest. I won’t let her share my fate.
I focus all my energy and create a cool breeze, pushing the butterfly away from the well. The girl follows it back toward her parents. Some of the living say ghosts are cold, angry things. They’re wrong. We can be gentle too.
A young couple sits on a bench nearby, sharing hotteok. The sweet cinnamon smell reaches me, though I can’t taste it anymore. The boy, Lee Jun-ho according to his name tag, works here as a tour guide. He’s telling his girlfriend about the palace’s history. Some of it is wrong. I want to correct him, but I just laugh. After all, I was there.
At night, when the tourists leave, I have the palace to myself. Well, almost. There’s Old Kim who haunts the kitchen, still angry about a stolen recipe. And the ghost of Queen Min sometimes walks the corridors, head held high. We nod to each other but rarely speak. Royal ghosts keep to themselves.
I drift to the Gyeonghoeru Pavilion, my favorite spot. The pond reflects the moon like a silver mirror. In life, I was a court lady here, serving the royal family. I died young, but I chose to stay. How could I leave such beauty behind?
Sometimes people ask me – the ones with the gift to see us – why I don’t pass on to the afterlife. I tell them there’s no rush. The jade gates of heaven will wait. For now, I guard this place and its people.
A security guard makes his rounds, flashlight beam cutting through me. He shivers slightly but keeps walking. Young Park, we call him. He’s kind to the stray cats and sometimes leaves food for them. We ghosts appreciate kindness to animals.
Dawn approaches, and lanterns glow softer against the lightening sky. Soon, tour groups will flood the courtyards again. Children will run through me without knowing, and guides will tell my story without realizing I’m listening. And I’ll keep watching, protecting, remembering.
This is my home, my eternal palace. In life, I served within these walls. In death, I chose to stay as its guardian. Some might call it a sad existence, but they don’t understand. There’s joy in watching the seasons change, in seeing young lovers share their first kiss beneath the cherry blossoms, in keeping children safe from old wells.
I am Park Min-ji, the happy ghost of Gyeongbokgung, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
