By Kim Ja-heun
Human relationships are like that. When people gather, whether they like it or not, they must open their mouths to speak. You have to reveal words that could have remained hidden, and you must listen to words that would have been irrelevant had they gone unheard. Furthermore, in any gathering of an organization, words inevitably pour out—this way and that. As the mass of the organization grows, the volume of words swells, branching out in every direction.
Even on a single agenda, conflict arises because thoughts differ. It is not a matter of “This is my thought, what is yours?” but rather an attempt to inject one’s own beliefs into others: “My thought is right, so why is yours like that?” It would be ideal if conflicting opinions reached a consensus, but when they don’t, the situation escalates into raised voices and flushed faces. When the clash is over petty interests rather than a grand cause, a sense of self-reproach washes over me as I watch, listen, and participate: Good heavens, why do I even have to be here? It feels like a homework assignment where the distinction between right and wrong will never reach a resolution.
Yet, I also realize that the opinions each person puts forward can be interpreted as a desire to do things well. If a few say one thing but the majority says another, it could be that the majority is right. When opinions are expressed, synthesized, and deduced to create something new, the resulting conclusion might return as a different kind of vitality.
Late at night, returning home through the pouring rain in Gwanghwamun, a junior colleague who lives in the same direction and I got into an extension of the meeting’s debate on the subway. My junior argued that the activities of the Self-Discipline Committee are ultimately political and that we must, therefore, increase our influence through numbers. To be honest, I couldn’t actively agree. My conviction is that a writer’s political expansion should be expressed through their writing. As political assertions clashed with my professional philosophy, the junior—who seemed to be from “Venus”—exclaimed, “Ah, senior, you’re being frustrating again!” I, coming from “Mars,” grew weary of the same problems repeating and closed my tired eyes, saying, “Hey, let’s just stop now.”
***
On a day like today, I feel an immense fatigue from belonging to an organization. Is it regret, or perhaps a realization? I think to myself that if I hadn’t joined this organization in the first place, I wouldn’t have to deal with this bitter energy on my way home so late. I realize once again that I am, by nature, ill-suited for the confines of an organized framework.
Closing my eyes, I sink into thought. I wonder, as my junior poet said, how a senior writer who is respected should behave. And is that junior, who says such things, behaving correctly as a senior respected by their own juniors? While pondering what human relationships are all about… I eventually lean toward the positive: Yes, this is all just everyone trying to do their best!
They say that as you get older, you should keep your mouth closed and your wallet open. Since I am not in a position to gallantly open my wallet, I suppose I should act my age by simply keeping my mouth firmly shut.
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