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I look at her, realizing she’s right. Back on the TV, the cameras are showing the Bosingak bell again. It’s almost midnight, and the mayor, an Olympic athlete, and other notable figures line up to strike the bell. I unmute the broadcast, smiling at the enthusiastic commentary explaining how the bell gets rung thirty-three times at midnight, just like how it was rung every morning and evening during the Joseon Dynasty. They tell thestory every year, but I never get sick of it. It feels nice to be part of a tradition that goes back many centuries.
“Okay, then. Scratch my old resolution,” I say. “I want to enjoy whatever time I have left with this show.Andtry my best.”
On TV, everyone’s excitement reaches a feverish pitch as the ten-second countdown begins.
“Ten! Nine! Eight!”
Mom pulls me in for a hug. “That’s more like it.”
“Seven! Six!”
“Here we go!” Dad says.
My parents and I join in, counting down with the people on TV.
“Five! Four! Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!”
Bong! Bong!
The bell rings, welcoming the new year. I think about our resolutions and hold my parents tight.
