A Minolta X-300 repaired at Sewoon Sangga, and its first roll of Kodak Gold 200

The message came that the repair was done, and I cleared my afternoon. I hurried to Sewoon Sangga in Euljiro to collect the Minolta X-300 that used to photograph me as a child. Grateful to the owner who breathed new life into a camera that had stopped, I pressed the first shutter inside the shop.

The only way to know whether a film camera has truly come back to life is to shoot it and have it developed. Leaving Sewoon Sangga, I followed the Cheonggyecheon stream and pressed the shutter as I walked.

With a light meter and aperture priority to lean on, all I had to do was focus. I turned the focus ring slowly before a peaceful afternoon I came upon along the way. Was the exposure right? Was the focus? The doubt followed every press of the shutter, and I did not mind it. Luckily, the people resting by the water came out just as they were.

People sat on the steps, each spending the time in their own way, and I wound the lever and took them in. Hands used to Sony's quick autofocus kept hesitating. Even that hesitation became part of the roll's mood.

It was a weekday afternoon, yet the stream was crowded. Couples, tourists and office workers from nearby strolled along at an easy pace.

An egret stood motionless on a rock. While everyone passing raised a smartphone for photos and video, I wound the film, shifted from spot to spot and brought the viewfinder into focus, hoping it would not fly off in the meantime.

Under the bridge, in the shade, I wanted to see how a dark place would come out. I photographed someone sitting by the sound of the water, absorbed in something. Developed, it had blurred, as I expected. Blur and all, that is this frame's charm.

Even after leaving the stream I still had film left, and my feet turned naturally toward Gyeongbokgung Palace. Two people in hanbok walked along the stone wall with the mountain behind it. Of all the landscapes on this roll, this is the one I like best.

With a digital camera I would have taken a quick shot and moved on, but focusing alone took a long while. Someone turned around, perhaps sensing me, yet the tourists only smiled brightly back. Maybe travel softens people.

Walking along the palace wall, I took one more frame in front of a café I had often seen on Instagram. Before long the ginkgo trees will turn and this street will be all yellow. I should come back then with film.

On the way to City Hall Station I photographed Gwanghwamun Square under a flood of sunlight. It looks overexposed. Even in aperture priority the shutter tops out at 1/1000 of a second, so this light may have been too much for it. Still, the bright parts did not burn out to white and kept their texture. Film is forgiving of too much light.

Above the dense trees rose The Plaza hotel by City Hall. Wondering how the blue sky, the red walls and the deep green would come out on film, I put the day's landscapes away there. I kept the last few frames on purpose. Those were for Mong.

What I most wanted on film was, of course, Mong. Before Mong, blinking sleepy eyes on the cat tower by the window, I made the most of the focusing I had practiced on the streets of Jongno. I was on edge the whole time in front of the scanner, and only this frame put every worry to rest. It is the first I would pick from this roll.

Focus, exposure, framing. None of it can be known the moment the shutter falls. So I circled Mong and spent the frames I had been saving, saving none of them. Mong looked thoroughly annoyed. It was the middle of nap time, after all. In the end Mong turned away to the window.