First time when I looked down Dallas from an airplane which was approaching the Fort Worth/Dallas Airport, it hardly looked like a big city. I could only see scattered houses in marsh and bush except the downtown area, which was boastful of its skyscrapers in a long distance.

My impression of the city remained almost same when I visited the downtown a few days later. It was nothing but high-rise glass and iron towers with huge empty spaces between the buildings. The scene was quite different from that of downtown Seoul, where I could not find a razor-thin open space.

It was after a couple of months on the campus of Southern Methodist University (SMU) that I came to realize the meaning of such emptiness. Take an example of the mall in front of Dallas Hall. When I first arrived at SMU, the before-the-semester campus was still empty. I saw no shade of persons at the mall except the stars and stripes flag and the fountain. But now, in particular, on every Monday morning, I find a bustling crowd of students to and from every building on campus.

Likewise, Perkins Chapel, the most unsecular place (i.e. church) on campus, seemed to be always vacant. When I first walked into the church early in the morning, there was no one inside. But it was ready to be occupied by someone who wished to pray to God because all the lights were on and the air conditioner was in operation.
As a matter of fact, I witnessed wedding ceremonies taking place in the chapel more often than not. Isn't it a place of worship? Where are the congregation gone?

Before long, I found out some students and faculty members were meeting in the chapel regularly to worship God. Even though only a small number of people are gathering in the Sunday service, I feel that the house of worship is occupied, sometimes by pious organ music, but always by the Omnipresent Being.

We have expectation that if emptiness is filled with someone or something in the near future, it is no more empty. When a boom revisits Dallas and its neighboring sunbelt area in the future, the vacant spaces in downtown Dallas would be nothing to be concerned about.
It is true. As a Korean poet (Yoon Dong Gill) said, in the place where an autumn leaf is falling down, we can wait for the spring when a new leaf is sprouting up.

As I get accustomed to the new environment in Dallas, however, I feel like my perception of emptiness is developing into a different dimension. Whenever I take a walk around the campus in the evening, I usually sense that the SMU campus is not empty. It is not because students are present somewhere in the libraries or dormitory rooms, but because the appetizing smell emitting from Mrs. Baird' Bakery pervades the atmosphere over it.
(This essay appears in the International LL.M. Yearbook 1993/94 of SMU School of Law.
See a related story "One Year at SMU" in Korean.)