A house is not only its front. Past the gate and the yard, round the back, there is a narrow strip of ground inside the fence where the sun hardly reaches. That is 뒤란, dwiran.
What collects there is whatever you would not put out front. The row of earthenware jars. Stacked firewood. A spade and a hoe. A cracked pot. No visitor goes round; only the family. Even in summer the ground stayed damp, and there was moss along the wall.
Which made it the children's. In hide-and-seek everyone went the same way, and on a day you had been shouted at you went and sat in the dwiran a while before coming back round the front. What you could not do out there you could do here. The grown-ups knew it, which is why nobody came looking.
Apartments have no dwiran. We go and stand out on the veranda for a minute instead.