azalea's thistopia.

#4

My bookstore clerk brother seemed happier than ever dating a 35-year-old coworker. He shied away from talking about her at first, but since the moment I brought her up, he wouldn’t stop bragging about how she was responsible and committed in their relationship, how she took notice of every little thing he did, and the way she looked at him and stuff.

“Okay, okay, I see how badly you’re in love with her, and so is she,” I said, almost brushing off his lit-up face. He took a sip at his smoothie, and I turned to look out the window leaving my coffee untouched on the table. It was ten past six on a fine late summer day; darker days were drawing near. Yet, a touch of summer sultriness seemed to remain as I spotted a group of girls wearing short pants and miniskirts passing by briskly.

“What is it you want to talk about? I gotta get back to work and hand in a file in about… Two hours. Make it brief,” I said, tossing a glance at him. 

“Yeah, right, you have this friend of yours studying for the civil servant exam, don't you?” He sat up and then I took notice, looking him straight in the eye. 

“Yes, a couple, actually. Why are you asking me about this all of a sudden? Like, are you going to take the test?” Doubtful, I found myself weighing my words.

“Yeah, you know, my girlfriend has taken it and failed for three consecutive years, but when I heard about it, it actually interested me…”

He trailed off, shifting his gaze into the unfinished smoothie, as if waiting for my answer loaded with cynicism that I usually gave him every time he talked nonsense.

But no, this kind of question shouldn’t spring out of pure nonsense. And he actually looked contemplative. That much I could tell from his eyes. A few months back, I decided not to throw any kind of suggestions that could be decisive in his decision-making.

“Look, I don’t really think…” I said, but then I stopped short. I was about to go on with a sneer: Yes, it would be a great idea that you just go straight to a reading room that looks like a cell and dig your head into those books you can’t even make heads or tails of and splash money on the applications and tests year after year, which will sure be a big fucking waste of time.

That was probably what he would have expected me to say. But no,this time, he meant business. I could see that in his eyes and the way he sat up. The way he couldn’t take his eyes off of the mud-looking smoothie. So I couldn’t say any further. “Well?” But he demanded my answer.

A few months back, when he asked for my advice on his newfound love of life, I decided not to step in. No more tampering with his life. No more words of wisdom from me. What bothered me, however, was that the very nature of a human being like me called intervener could not resist the temptation to interfere. But this time, I thought up a figure that I found easy to fall back on.

“What did your girlfriend say? Go for it?”

He jerked his head up from the smoothie and our eyes met. With a sigh, he said that she told him to not even think about it. The test was not even worth a try. Not even worth an hour of your life. Hearing that, I immediately found it even easier to put my two cents in.

“Well, then, don’t do it. Why bother waste your time, knowing you are going to fail?” I shrugged.

“How come both of you just assume that I am going to fail?” He said, a bit upset.

“No need to get upset. I gotta tell ya, those friends of mine working on that test? They’ve been screwing up real bad and yet can’t quit; they took the test twice or three times, but they keep failing. You think they don’t try hard enough? They work their asses off and, you know, they all attend Seoul National University or my university, or whatever so-called ‘high-ranking’ universities.”

Watching him sigh and gulp his smoothie, I sighed too. But let me be honest: Spilling it out felt such a relief. Nipping it in the bud wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

“But I want to give it a try, at least… Since you know about me well, what have I ever done well in my entire life? I sucked in school, I mean,from kindergarten to high school, and now, I am working at a bookstore, and then what?”

“What’s wrong with working at a bookstore? Sounds stable enough to me,” I said, hating to admit that he was making a valid point.

“You don’t see any problem here? Am I supposed to be working here for the rest of my life?”

“Who said you’d be working there forever? Temporarily, part time.You are on a part-time contract, if you claim to be on any contract.”

“But I am looking for something else. Something for the future. I am thinking of my future here, you know?”

“Then finish your university and get a degree first. You can get a job with a university degree, if you don’t expect to work at Samsung or anything.”

That was very hypocritical for me to say. Who was I to say Get a degree first? I was the one who talked back to Dad when he told me the exact same thing. I wanted to do something different, yes, and I thought I could do it without finishing the university. I was fed up with the whole university, pursing-profound-knowledge bullshit. I was going to quit the school and pursue my long-time dream. I wanted to be a graphic novelist.

A short trip down memory lane brought me back to those days where I kept my butt glued to the floor and my eyes on white sheets of paper, holding the pen I had been using since high school so tightly that my right index finger ached for days. Those summer days, the sultry sunshine pouring in, the occasional shrill chirrup of cicada, the fan clattering, and the TV I just left on for the sake of my principle that I concentrated better with a bit of noise. I muddled through those times until I finally gave myself a pat on the back and on the envelope that contained 36 pages of my script.

To be fair, my brother was seeking something that might serve as his practical source of living. As for me, although I wouldn’t dare write those days off as a waste of time, I certainly had the sense that all I had done evaporated in vain. Staring at my brother, who was now wearing an uncertain, confused face, I was trying to pin down what was bothering me so much. There was an overlapping area between the painfully evaporated summer of mine and this waning summer of my brother’s.

“I might as well give it a try and study for the next year’s exam, sister,” he said, not quite confident. I opened my mouth to tell him to think again but couldn’t say a thing. The whole business of being an elder was such a load that I very much wanted to take off my shoulders.

My chest feeling tight, I managed, “Then you better go all out; quit your job and register a class at one of those schools teaching you civil servant exam subjects or something.” My brother nodded and forced a smile.

“How are you going to convince your girl though?” I said, not expecting any answer.

“I will come up with an answer she’s happy with,” he said with a chuckle.

“Well, I gotta get back to work. If you need help, gimme a call, alright?”

He nodded. I stood up, with the sudden realization that I found out why I had been so irritated: the then pure work of art and outcome of perseverance that I had created turned into a single phone call from the editors team of the publishing company to which I mailed it, saying, "It's got a good idea going on, but you need to work on your drawing.” I was not shocked because somewhere in the back of my mind I already knew I wasn’t going to make it.

But it was the frustration itself that mattered. It was this frustration that dealt a death blow to my dream. Among all those first things, the first rejection always shakes the foundations of your faith in your dream. I gave in too easily to the temptation that frustration dished out.

Arriving at the bus stop nearby, I looked around, finding my brother walking off quite briskly. Regretting again, I shouldn’t have said anything that encouraged him; regretting that I again stepped in; and that I should have at least briefed him on how my futile efforts turned out. It wasn’t until about five buses passed that I found out I wasn’t going to be able to meet the deadline.

사족. 워드에 치고 여기 복사하는게 줄간격이 훨 보기 좋네. 대충 편집까지 한 달에 두어시간 차곡차곡-_-(365일 게으름대마왕강림하사;;) 타자질해서 이제 25 페이지 정도 차는데... 역시 아웃라인이 부재했던 파일럿이라 (autobiographical한 건 술술 써져 좋긴 하지만;) 완전 rambling하는 느낌 뿐. 100페이지 채우고 다른 걸 해야겠다