Monday has feelings.

     Mondays are hard. The good thing is, everyone feels the same. The bad thing is, there is no remedy for the so-called 'disease'. There even is a song <월요병가> (by Stella Jang) complaining the hardness of starting Monday after the sweetness of weekend. It is obvious - Mondays are hard for everyone.

     But things can be worse than Mondays - when we talk about Sunday evenings. The dilemma between nice feeling from the memory of weekend and anxiety deriving from fear of what has to come conflict, and result in the ultimate dread of time passing. It is then when you realize the singularity that Sunday is both the day you wish to come and at the same time fear its arrival.

     Are chances worth missing, in fear of performing worse? Harper Lee, the author of To Kill a Mockingbird said she could not publish other novels since she was afraid of writing a less successful novel. Some do say that it might have been better if she had not published Go Set a Watchman - a novel she wrote before publishing To Kill a Mockingbird - but who knows if she might have wrote a even better novel than To Kill a Mockingbird.

The purpose of life is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for newer and richer experience.

- Eleanor Roosevelt 

Sixteen Going On Seventeen

The Von Trapp children singing So Long, Farewell

     I remember the first time I watched Sound of Music. Though it was involuntary, I was amazed how so many songs I knew were from this movie and how the actors had such beautiful voices, despite their young age. Of all the songs, I was most impressed by the duet of a young but unfortunate couple.

     The lyrics of the melodies sung under the gazebo were simple - about a sixteen-going-on-seventeen girl singing about her naiveness compared to a seventeen-going-on-eighteen boy. Their innocence in love is what makes the story more enchanting. While watching the movie, I promised myself that I would watch this scene again when I reach this age, see time shifting my age from 16 to 17. Now that I see the shift listening to the music, mixed feelings come to me.

     When I was younger, I believed that I would never be so older to become one of the seniors or adults I know. At least I thought I would have been smart enough to be able to escape any situations I am stranded in, such as that I would be smart enough to elude such stance by attaining abnormal abilities, like being able to fly. Unfortunately, I now am old enough to figure out such things are impossible. 

     Every time I face my birthday, this sudden urge of not wanting to leave the Neverland suddenly dominates me, giving me ideas to make my birthday disappear. One of the ways was to name 31st of November (which apparently does not exist) as my birthday (and that is how this blog got its name, trente-et-un (31st) novembre (November)). But it occurred to me, and I realized that I am afraid of my birthday and the fact that I am getting older but at the same time am desiring to face my birthday.

All children, except one, grow up.

J. M. Barrie, Peter Pan 

     Becoming older means responsibilities. The numerous situations where choices will make you pay for it. Though some people need to work on being a better adult and adulting, it certainly is one of the things people just refuse to face.

     But at the same time, it is the door that leads to a totally new thing, opening your eyes and perhaps making you feel like a stranger. Having many responsibilities and fulfilling them allows the individual to make own decisions and be trusted. This is why to espouse the awkward feeling of birthday.

     I like to name my birthday the premiere of the finale. A bittersweet ending, but the period to embrace a whole new world.

Dear FutureMe,

Dear FutureMe,

      Hi. I know you don't receive so many letters, especially from the future, especially from yourself. I know you're stressed out right now, perhaps reluctant to read a letter written in a foreign language, at this time of the year. But no worries, this is no novel with a complex device in it, more unlikely a question with answers to choose from. It's just another diary-ish flashback to yourself a year ago.

     This time of the year, you used to suffer from a deep consideration of your future. You were distressed from your favorite task of the semester - enrolling your courses. Yes, you've spent a lot of time today to run around, looking for the best combination you can take. You've also tried to escape the clichē of biology/chemistry major students by your openness to "weird" subjects, even if it meant taking more AP and English courses than international field students. Your major concerns were no longer whether you should have lunch or not, but what you were going to do for a living. Pretty depressing, huh? But it was a difficult question for a sixteen-going-on-seventeen.

     Sixteen-going-on-seventeen. I never thought such an age would ever come. Neither did I believe I would be so naive, and the young couple from Sound of Music were not wrong about being too naive and young to understand any of the topics they were discussing. The point here is that I don't believe that a seventeen-going-on-eighteen would be much more intelligent than herself a year ago. It isn't about that I have low expectations, but it's simple justification on how I'm not putting pressure on you, future self of me.

     As I hereby head back to the dorm after music festival, I sense how my high school life is facing the end at last. It is already your third time visiting the same concert hall. First time as a newbie of the audience, the second as a violinist of the orchestra, the last as 가야금 player of the class. Two years ago, you sat on that seat, filled with entusiasm toward your future and sunbaes who were performing. In the same red seat you sat, it strikes you that it's likely that this is the last time you will ever visit the place again. The position behind the red curtain make you feel somewhat nervous and hyper at the same time.
   
     You were always an introvert, but that never stopped you from performing. On stage, you always changed - to an artist painting a scene of the play, coloring it around as you will. No one could ever find the look of the fragile heart of a girl, whose eyes were full of tears because one of the teachers got angry because her voice was too small. A random flashback to 10th grade by a conversation with your history teacher, but I am sure you remember them by your heart. And all the performances you had, including what it took to give such a show. The first talent show you ever had. The very play you designed with your friends on your 5th grade. The very first winning of the competition that my orchestra always lost, which was brought by you as the concertmaster, though it required you to practice a few hours every 6 am. With all these memories aroused, I wonder what you are feeling now. Perhaps you've forgotten them for too long time.

     Though you may not have realized, there are more things you have achieved during your life. To begin with, you have survived. For seventeen years. Despite the numerous attempts world has made to threat you. Secondly, you've completed your education. A lot of people quit or cannot afford to continue their pursuit of knowledge, which shows you are both lucky and talented perhaps. The list can go on forever, which is the reason the letter omits the rest. On the stage and under it, so many things happened.

*Note. This is a letter to myself, written on 11/18/19. Via site www.futureme.org, anyone can freely set delivery to future self.

On Happiness 1

     I would not likely call myself a bibliophile. I do love afternoon reading with a coffee and falling asleep with a lamp turned on, light shone over the book that my hands still hold. Yet I was not the type of student who voluntarily talked to the librarian, looked for recommendations, or wrote about a book I read. I did not believe a single book could change my life.

     That was only until I started to work at the school library in my middle school.

     Not exactly work, as it was performed in the form of volunteering work. I never wanted to do it either, as I feared librarians (due to a bad memory of ringing alarms in my youth). Long story short, the library needed more people to work, and one of my friends (yes, I did have some friends) asked me to apply, as he thought I was suitable for the job. (Later I found out that it was only because the library was the only place I could be seen during school vacation.) It turned out to be better than I thought. Though there were days I headed home two hours later my school dismissed, I still loved to plunge myself into the bookshelf, helping books find their places. Eventually, I began to like Fridays, the day I did my volunteer work.

     Friday was not my only reason to love volunteer work. I loved planning events for the library (the librarian liked my ideas, she actually helped to make it come true on my 9th grade). I loved being able to borrow 5 books at once, just because I was one of the people working there. I loved the treats given after the work and little chit-chats on the week passed by. But mostly, I liked the treasure hunt among the long aisles of bookshelves.

     One of the books I found during my volunteer was <Happiness Is ... : 500 things to be happy about (해피니스: 몰랐던, 잊었던, 작은 행복 500가지)> by Lisa Swerling and Ralph Lazar. The content is pretty straight-forward - this book is on the little items that brighten our daily lives, and the writers show how to pay gratitude to them. There are more books in series; about 500 ways to be happy on the moment, 500 ways to show how I love you, and 3-year-journal on how to be happy every day.

     Some contents seem inappropriate in every day happiness - I cannot afford to take luxurious baths every day. There were things seemingly repetitive; I saw no difference between 'twerking' and 'dancing'. However, just by having the book on my hands filled my mind with delight. I am sure I was happy, at least on the moment I was reading the book.

     I haven't thought about this book after graduation, the last time talked to the librarian. I couldn't see her more, as she seemed to have left school (which was sad, considering all vacation camps I participated). Today one of the videos on YouTube recommended me reminded of the sweet afternoon breeze that passed through my nose and eyes as I flipped the pages.

     A note I wrote on that date showed how amazed I was by how there were so many things a person can write in the book that instantly made the reader smiling. I was also amazed that the book had no explanations, but only several words describing each picture. And I was in awe, overwhelmed by the feeling I experienced.

     Back then, I doubted if gratitude (and gratitude journal) actually helped people feel better about their lives and feel happier. I did enjoy thanking events in my daily life, but I thought that it was somewhat obvious to have such feeling and that happiness should be somewhat grand, derived from a massive emotional climax of a meticulous plot. As I recall this book today, I feel as if I had been neglecting the value of happiness - the slightest joy that brightened my life.


     Every Two Set video uploaded on YouTube, comments made by my favorite artists, reply from one of my role models.

     A short walk with my friend, perfect dines with perfect mates, a pack of cold chocolate milk completing the tiring week.

     Photos taken at the perfect moment, short conversations after role-call, homework done in time without staying up all night.


     There were more things filling my life with contents than I thought.

Observation of an Amateur Artist

Colored draft of mango, drawn by the writer.

     What is this fruit? Anyone? anyone? Though it is modified for drawing and its colors are relatively faint to the real fruit, it is mango. The cut-open version of mango may be familiar, as it is the 'normal' version of mango we see. The leaf on top may seem surprising - I never expected mango leaf to be so long, and it to have such gradient of color, shading from light orange to deep red. But as I delved deeper in search of the actual form of mango in its raw state, I found that mango was more interesting fruit that I thought.

White and black version of unripe mango, drawn by the writer.

     Mango trees have droopy stems that look like willow trees. They have long stems ending with long leaves, somehow reminding the lazy atmosphere of a random afternoon. Their dotted stems stretch out, and it almost looks as if they are about to reach the ground again. Comparing the image of trees and their gradual change in its gradient, it occurred to me how different the fruit actually was compared to the "image" of mango I previously had inside my mind.

     Thinking about it, it was weird seeing a fruit I love from a different perspective. Not only that the un-yellow fruit was a new sight, but the fact that it grew on a tree and was a 'fruit' seemed new. All the mango I have known were in containers, often cut into cubes, squeezed to make juice, or condensed into specks of dust to be smelled. I realized how the fruit was unknowingly losing its name and became silent. Its voice recovered only as someone came to observe its beauty again.

Human Test - developed by robots

     Can AI dominate human society? A cliché question without answers. The definition of 'AI' itself is also vague, as the boundaries of 'robot' and individual thinking systems are ambiguous. But the absence of definition cannot be the insurance for it to stay as the subordinates. Why am I pondering upon this endless question? It all started the day I failed the CAPTCHA test for the fifth time.

     It was that day, where a sudden CAPTCHA test demanded me to prove myself as a human being during login. The simple identification required me to click on all blocks containing signs. Abrupt indeed, but challenge accepted. The immediate dilemma was to whether include the block with the tiny fraction of sign or not. My mouse hovered over the block. Faltering for a moment or two, I absentmindedly clicked on the block, submitted it.

     Try again.

     Dumbfound, I clicked again. I thought I had finished clicking on all blocks with bus when the notice told me, 'Try again'.

     So that is how I was rejected from logging into my account, accused of being a robot.

"Failed to prove human. Reason: Lack of humanity"

Scene from a Korean cartoon <퓨리스틱>
https://comic.naver.com/webtoon/detail.nhn?titleId=733771&no=3&weekday=sat

     The irony is that CAPTCHA is also a robot. It is a maze designed by men to trap the non-men using a non-man method. Is it effective? Recently a 'lying robot' had slyly ticked off the CAPTCHA box without any oppression. In its first trial. This again left me dumbfound, because I read this article after my series of unsuccessful login trials.

     CAPTCHA is not the only trap designed for humans. Many other tools 'made to aid human activities' are in reality acting as oppressions. Nobody trusted a spelling checker or grammar editor like Grammarly in the past. Now students are using them to perfect their final drafts. One of my friends actually admitted that his scores are better when he writes his paper in his mother tongue, uses a translator, and uses a grammar editor. Whatever information is already in the robots, or has been incluated, now has become the wires of the cage in defining what is 'right' in human activity.

     Let us talk a little more about my friend. How could he get better grades by the assistant of the artificial assistants? I asked my other friends, who told me that his teacher always preferred the Grammarly-edited version of writing. Some suspected that it was actually used in the procedure of grading - another opinion was that his teacher may have been 'tamed' into the Grammarly-refined form essay, and since the machine helped keeping the consistency, the essay turned out to be much more 'static'. This was not just happening in his classes. Newspaper clubs would use such checkers instead of cross-proofreading. BonPatron and Duolingo, both developed by data science, have been my best friend when studying French. Google Translate was widely used to convert the English textbook into Korean version, which would have never been purchasable. 

Before I realized, the whole campus was dominated by artificial intelligence.

     Yes, machine-dependency may sound like trustworthy insurance, but maybe it is time to take a step back and think again, aren't we relying on it too hard?

The New Hunger Games

Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor.

Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games

     The modern dystopian novel Hunger Games feature the society hosting annual games which can only end by the death of 23 teenagers. The brutal game allows one to be the final winner, who is at the same time the only survivor of the event.

     The Hunger Games seem to be a violent but fair game. Every event follows the rule: the survival of the fittest. The crown goes to the most clever, strongest, and bravest of all. Those who have been trained to be the fittest, like the ones from District 1 or 2, are obviously much more suitable for the game. At least this is what the game seems to be.

     In reality, the Hunger Games is the survival of the fittest but also run by politics. The players from each district are sponsored from every action made in the game, which is unmistakably also affected by their home districts. All are filmed 24/7, and there is no way to escape the broadcast. The best way to win the game is to be loved by the sponsors, to stay fit, and cruelly deceive others.

     Describing it like a life-death matter, the games seem like a distant and barbaric matter. Yet this is not so different from what we see in our daily lives. Placing oneself before the camera has become a prevalent culture. Watching them, commenting, and sharing thoughts are common reactions to it - regardless of platform, on Instagram, Youtube, Facebook, and etc. A lot of people chose to take the road as their career - in recent years there has been a huge increase in YouTubers and celebrities. And when the broadcasting becomes forced and uncontrollable, that's when the person loses control on themselves.

     Though no one is safe from this new 'Big Brother', celebrities would be the most prone to this new Hunger Games. Respected to be consumed, every aspect of life is watched. The places they go, things they eat, words they say are observed and written down, to be consumed again later on. Indeed, it is the path they chose, yet not many end up being satisfied. A lot suffer from anxiety and panic disorder, not to mention that many end up committing suicide.

     Although the 'Big Brother' may have triggered this situation, it was not it, but the consumer's actions that led to the status quo.

     'Big Brother' only plays the role of broadcasting the games. It is the customers who look for the content, enjoy, and rate them. The fault lies in no one - there are only rights given, no responsibilities. In other words, the celebrity who exposes thyself is the sole person to undertake all the burden created.

     In Hunger Games, Katniss tries to commit suicide with Peeta when the director of games would not let both of them live. This public couple's 'fake' suicidal attempt symbols many things - it indeed may be a simple trick to gain public attention and to create the universal sympathy, but it also might have represented the will to escape the situation that they have 'voluntarily' entered.

    The Hunger Games may have not intended to devour the lives of the participants, but it is evident that the results are turning out to be fatal to at least, someone in the cycle. Yet, it is evident that real life is no Omelas - there is no need for setting new tributes to the modern Hunger Games.