wakibitos

ある韓国人公務員の省察(김금평: 시킨 일은 잘하던 아이, 나를 찾아서)

長年に及んだ惰性の疾走が終わり、自分を社会的に規定してきた名刺もなくなった。遅ればせながら退職者が通るべき通過儀礼のトンネル前に立っている。ここを通り抜けるには｢おまえは何者か｣という問いに答えなければならない。

大学卒業の一週間前に始まった公務員生活を38年間も続け、今ようやく仕事と関係のない日々を持つようになった。社会人や公務員としての自分はそれなりに能動的･積極的･開放的で目標に向かって誠実だったと思う。ただ、そのように振る舞っていた自分が本来の姿だったのか上辺だけの姿だったのか、いまさらながら考えている。

社会が求める規範や理想モデルに近づこうとするあまり、自らの本性とは異なる姿を演じて生きてきたのではないか。大学時代に小心で内向的だった自分を変えようとして努力した記憶がある。世事に疎いので、先行者に追いつこうと遅れまいとして苦しんだこともあった。

いま、新調した舞台衣装をさほど不快に感じることはない。むしろ新しい衣装に慣れ、もう一度以前の服を着ろと云われたら、かえって不快に感じるだろう。演じられた性格で生きてきた数十年に及ぶ過去の自分について記憶をたどってみよう。佛法には｢自我｣と呼ぶような実体は存在しないから、過去と現在のいずれの自分が本物なのかなどと固執する必要はない。

遺伝子の生存機械でしかない｢自我｣をいつ自覚し始め、いまどこまで至ったのだろうか。そして、これからどこへ向かうのだろうか、それを点検できるとすればありがたい。自己規定さえAIに委ねるご時世だから、いまの自分がいったい何者なのかAIに尋ねるにせよ、表に顕れなかった過去の自分についてもう少し掘り下げなければなるまい。

言われたことはきちんとやる

初等学校の生活記録簿のどこかに担任教師が僕について｢言われたことはきちんとやる｣と評価していた。褒め言葉とは思えなかったので、後々までくよくよ考えたものだ。｢言われなかったことはするな｣という大人たちの間断ない忠告を守っていただけなのに、どうやら僕はその教師には自主性に欠ける少年としか映らなかったようだ。

顧れば、60年代70年代の韓国の地方部は至るところに危険が溢れていた。毎年夏には少なからぬ子どもたちが川遊びをして溺死した。自分は泳げなかったし、いまも得意ではないから川では遊ばなかった。冬にはそり滑りに興じていて薄氷が割れ溺死したという知らせが後を絶たなかった。

山麓の人里離れた家の裏庭に毒へびが現れると、家で飼っていた鶏たちが｢コオーッコッコッコッコオーッ｣とけたたましく騒ぎ立てた。夜には遠くに狐や狼の遠吠えが聞こえることもあった。

足でペダルを踏んで円筒を回転させる脱穀機は子どもたちの好奇心を刺激してやまない最上の遊び道具だった。一方でそれはいま考えてもゾッとするほど危険な農機具だった。また、草を刈る鋭利な鎌は幼い農夫にも容赦しなかった。僕の左手の親指には鎌で抉られそうになった皮膚の傷跡が残っている。とはいえ、云われないことはしなかった幼い自分に非はないはずだ。

内面の反抗意識

そんな消極的な少年だった僕の内面に反抗意識がなかったわけではない。後にマハトマ･ガンディ(Mahatma Gandhi 1869-1948)の非暴力不服従(nonviolent resistance)に関心を持つようになったのは偶然ではない。言われたことだけをしっかりこなしていた少年は、いつしか反抗心を抱き始め、言われたことに対し消極的な反応を示すようになった。

そして、しだいにやるべきことすべてが厭になっていった。なぜ勉強をしなければならないのかわからない少年が暗記式の勉強を嫌ったのは当然だ。宿題を期日ギリギリまでしない、しょっちゅう遅刻をする子だった。他人からの動機付けがうまくいかない子で、自ら動機付けするだけの力もなかった。

大学入試当日まで遅刻を繰り返しながら結局は韓国文学科に進学したが、文章を書くことは早々に諦めた。文章は書きたいときに書くものだと考え、宿題で文章を書くこと自体を厭がり、締め切りに追われて文章を書く資質もないことに気づいた。文章を書く職業を選ばなかったことは本当に正しかったと思う。

指示されない仕事にやりがい

生計を立てる一環として作家や教師をめざす代わりに公務員を選んだが、公務員も楽ではなかった。指示された仕事は好まず、外部の評価基準より自らの基準を大切にした。公務員社会では｢指示事項｣が最も重要であることを後になってようやく知った自分が定年過ぎまで勤めたことだけでよくやったと思う。

また、外務省の職員でもないのに一般の公務員に比べて海外勤務が圧倒的に長かったのは、指示される仕事が多い国内よりある程度自律性が保障される在外勤務の楽しさを感じていたからかもしれない。

指示されていない仕事にやりがいを感じる者は、指示された仕事の基本もこなさなければならないから、仕事量がふえ忙しくなるのは避けられない。指示されていない仕事であまりに疲れた時は、指示された仕事だけしているように見える同僚を羨ましく思った。在外勤務のとき、同僚たちは指示されていない仕事に専念する私を不快に思うこともあった。

給料以上の仕事はしてきたと思うが、果たしてそのようなやり方が正しかったのかはわからない。ある先輩は｢エネルギーの8割は仕事に注ぎ、2割は考えることに使うべきだ｣といったが、僕はかなり長いあいだ考える暇もなく質より量に偏して仕事する内向的な少年の延長上にいたのだろう。

一方で自分は平凡で円満な人間だと思っていた。なるべく対立を避け、余裕を失わないよう自分なりに努力してきたからだ。自分の能力を尊重してくれる人に対しては、上下を問わず誠心誠意尽くしたが、そうでない人に対しては簡単には妥協しなかった。要するに扱いにくい公務員だったのだ。

事あるごとに指示を出す上司とはうまくやっていけなかった。信頼関係を築けず、毛嫌いされたこともある。納得しないことには決して譲らない者を周囲の人々は到底気に入らなかったろう。人として和解できず別れてしまった人には申し訳ないことをしたと思う。

内向的な少年

すぐ顔が赤くなる小心で内向的な少年だった僕は人前に出ることをひどく嫌った。初等学校6年生の学級委員長選挙のとき、黒板には僕の名前の下に｢正｣の字がいくつも書かれていた。不幸な出来事だった。担任の先生にあれこれ理由をつけて副学級委員長をやることを敢えて提案し学級委員長を免れたことを、自分ではとてもうまくやったと考えていた。

翌日、全校生徒が集まる朝礼では同じクラスや他のクラスの子のあいだで学級委員長選挙の話が飛び交った。僕が愚かな決断をしたと囁き合っていたが、自分はまったくそうは感じなかった。

数日後、学校の生徒会長選挙があり、自分の意思とは関係なくクラス代表として立候補することになった。担任の教師は僕が生徒会長になりたいから学級委員長を辞退したと思ったのかもしれない。選挙公約を発表する場で｢能力が足りないから能力のある他の候補者に当選してほしい｣と発言した。

僕は他の候補者に投票したが、開票の結果、同じ考えの者が3人僕に投票したことが判明した。かなり遅れてしまったが、彼らに会ったら｢あのときはありがとう｣と伝えたい。当時の僕は自分自身に投票する人を厚かましい人間だと思っていた。国会議員候補者がみな自分に投票することを、少し理解するようになるまで数年かかったものだ。

当時、同じ地方に僕とは異なる世界に生きる野心家の少年もいた。初等学校5年生のとき僕はクラスの生徒会長選挙の選挙人団3人のうちの1人だったが、6年生の生徒会長候補が静かに訪ねてきてガムを1箱くれた。僕は彼の行為を理解できず気が進まなかったが、ガム1箱は彼に投票する十分な理由となった。後に彼がソウル大学に合格したという噂を耳にしたが、それが何を意味するのかもよくわからなかった。

自律性や積極性が許されなかった家庭

何ごとにも傍観的で消極的な僕の性格は何に由来するのだろう。自律性や積極性が許されなかった家庭環境による可能性が高いと思う。権威的な父と二人の兄によって形成された厳格な階層秩序の下で最下層の僕が身につけた最善の生存方法だったのかもしれない。

物事の処理が不器用でたいていの仕事から外され、結局は何もやらなくなり、静かな傍観者のままでいる日々だった。体力も大してなく意欲もなかった。両親の絶え間ない不和も能動的な気力を萎縮させる一因になった。

二人の兄が都会の高等学校に進んでからは牛の餌やりくらいは僕が担当しなければならなかった。ただ、働かないことに慣れ、働くのが厭だった似非牧童は勉強を口実に日が暮れるまで漫画喫茶を転々とした。家事を強要しなかった両親のおかげで『ベトコン』や『三国志』などの漫画に没頭していた。

佛の園と光州事件の恐怖

全南大学中央図書館から裏門へ横切るには松の木が生い茂る低い野山を通らなければならない。その野山には手入れの行き届いた墓が数ヵ所に点在していた。なかでも敷地が広く芝生が美しい墓の周辺を、佛教学生会のサークルでは｢佛の園｣と呼んでいた。

昼食の弁当を一緒に食べたり、つまらない話を交わしたり、時事討論会の場として活用されたりすることもある一種のアジトだった。そこへ行けば、いつでもサークル会員の誰かに会えた。僕は新入生の熱心な会員だったため、授業に参加する時間よりもそこで過ごす時間の方が多かった。

ある日、薄暗くなった夕方に佛の園を通りかかることになった。図書館でうつ伏せになって寝てしまい、帰宅する時間を逃してしまったのだろう。人影が途絶えた暗い園内は昼間の賑やかなアジトとはすっかり違う雰囲気で、まさに共同墓地のように不気味な場所だった。薄暮の小道を急いで通り過ぎ野山の端に差し掛かったとき、幽霊が差し出したと思われる足につまづいてしまった。

何とか転倒は免れたが、背筋が凍る思いだった。小道を遮っていた松の幹に引っかかって転びそうになったに違いないが、怖くて振り返れなかった。街灯が明るく照らす裏門の道を歩きながら、幼いころからつきまとい、1980年の5･18光州民主化運動を経験して深まった｢恐怖｣から果たして抜け出せるだろうかと自問を重ねた。

人々の前に出ようとすると胸がドキドキして顔が赤くなるのも同じ恐怖が原因だった。ある時、内気な学生のための大学内の相談プログラムにボランティアとして参加した。十人ほどの学生が輪になって座り、それぞれが抱える問題を共有し、克服策を一緒に探そうという集まりだった。最初の集まりが終わり相談室を出る途中、ある参加者が僕に尋ねた。｢何ら問題がないように見えるのになぜ参加したのか｣と。思いがけず勇気づけられる言葉だった。ただ、その集まりにはそれ以降参加することはなかった。

彷徨の旅から40年後に脱いだ仮面

大学2年生の夏休みに思い切って光州から海印寺まで一人で歩いてみることにした。食材と簡単な寝具を詰めたリュックを背負い、ひたすら歩き続ける旅だった。初日は取っておいた兄の軍隊時代の訓練靴を履いて歩いたが、足に合わずしだいに足の指が腫れ上がってきた。ソン･スン(宋純 1493-1582)のミョンアンジョン(俛仰亭)の舞台となった野原に着いたとき、その靴を捨て普段履きのバスケットシューズに履き替えた。

潭陽の宿で長い一日の旅の疲れを癒やし寝床についたところ、真夜中に刑事が訪ねてきた。通報が入ったというのだ。ガスコンロで昼食を作り、橋の下の木陰で少し目を閉じていたとき、そう遠くない場所でひそひそと話していた少年たちの姿が思い浮かんだ。

｢わあ、ナイフも持ってるはずだ｣

ぼさぼさの髪に軍服のような教練服姿の青年が腰にナイフを差して人目につかない場所でリュックにもたれかかり昼寝をしていた。ベルトに果物ナイフを斜めに吊るしていたことが不審者の要件を満たしたわけだ。

翌日から宿を決めずに公園や東屋のような場所で寝た。どこかで早朝の清掃をしていた男が｢数日前にこの辺りで殺人事件があった｣と教えてくれた。よく眠った後だったせいか、｢あっそうですか｣とだけ答えた。いま思えば、掃除夫がホームレスを脅かすためにでっち上げた嘘だったかもしれない。

1981年8月6日から11日まで光州の自炊部屋から始まった徒歩旅行は、潭陽･淳昌･南原･智異山の峠･咸陽･居昌を経て5泊6日で海印寺に到着し幕を閉じた。主に国道沿いに毎日30-40kmを歩く旅程だった。 足の指に水ぶくれができたり消えたりし、予備に用意していたバスケットシューズは靴底がすっかりすり減ってしまった。

僕につきまとっていた恐怖が、旅のどこかで消えてしまったかどうかはわからない。当時の感想は胸に刻んでおくのが良いと思い、何も記録せず写真も残さなかった。予想通り、その旅は僕の心の片隅に居場所を見つけ、誇らしくも貴重な財産として長く残った。

バラード調の叙情歌が好きだった僕はある日から行進曲調の進取的で颯爽とした音楽を好むようになった。黄色が好きな人は利己的で依存的だと聞き、好きな色も青色に変えた。だからといって進取的な音楽や青色を楽しんで生きたわけではない。

好きなものがほとんどなく仕事ばかりの機械へと変貌してしまったのだ。退職後、村上春樹の『都市とその不確かな壁』を読んで初めて仮面を脱いでもいいと自分を許した。叙情的な音楽や黄色をためらいなく好きになってもいいと思ったのだ。

生活記録簿の多様な評価

｢指示された仕事はきちんとこなす｣という評価が、どのような文脈から生まれたのか確認したくなった。故郷に帰った際、母校の事務室に立ち寄り、生活記録簿の写しを無料で発行してもらった。初等学校の生活記録簿はもちろん、中学校の記録簿まで確認したが、 文字通りの文言は見つからなかった。当時の個別通知書に記載されていた可能性もあるし、類似した内容が再解釈される過程で記憶の誤りが生じた可能性もある。ただ、手がかりになり得る内容は豊富だった。

初等学校入学直後の｢活動状況｣は最も鮮明かつ対照的に幼いころの僕の性向を規定していた。僕に好意的だった1年生の女性担任は｢何事にも積極的だ｣と記し、権威主義的だった2年生の男性担任は｢すべてのことに無関心だ｣と評した。小学校の全学年を通じて｢口数が少なく頑固で責任感が足りない｣という評価は予想通りだったが、｢発表力が優れ創造的で思考力が豊かだ｣という意見は少々意外だった。担任によって評価がかなり異なるのは教師の性向によって僕が異なる反応を示し、異なって見えたという証拠だ。

中学校のときも｢自発性と責任感が足りない｣という評価と｢温順で着実、何事にも熱心に取り組み率先垂範する｣という評価が対極をなしていた。自分を評価し指導する人の性向に注意を払わず、自分の好きなように振る舞う癖は当時も今も大きく変わっていない。

中学時代は勉強があまり得意でなかったと記憶するが、中学3年生の順位が519人中33位だったのは意外だった。体育の科目で3年間40点台の点数でずっと平均以下の評価を受けていたのも意外だった。兄弟の中で唯一優等賞をもらえなかった子なが、なぜ平均点を下げる体育の科目に注目しなかったのだろう。

中学校の体育教師は3年間鞭を持って生徒たちを指導していた。指示された動作ができなかった生徒は体育の時間ごとに鞭で打たれ、僕は鞭を打たれない日がほとんどなかった。教師が鞭を振るうのに疲れると、先に鞭を受けた生徒に教師と同じ強さで次の生徒を叩かせることもあった。鞭を打たれるのが厭で体育の時間は地獄のようだったが、鞭を免れるための努力を一切せず、3年間ずっと鞭を打たれ続けていた愚かな少年……。

インドが英國の植民地だった時代、塩の行進(Salt Satyagraha)があったという事実を後になって知った。無慈悲な英國警察は鉄の釘が打ち込まれた警棒で非武装のインドのデモ隊を次々と倒していった。不当な塩税に抵抗し、骨が折れるような苦痛に耐えながら黙々と進み鞭打たれたインドの人々。彼らの抵抗と苦痛に深く共感し、憐れみのあまり胸が痛んだ記憶がある。顧みれば、幼い僕も体育教師に愚かな方法で抵抗していたようだ。

当時の僕は成績がそれほど悪くなかったようだ。いつも宿題のチェック直前に慌てて形だけ宿題を済ませても、ある程度成績を維持できていたのだから。ある友人は僕をライバルと見なしていたようだ。試験が迫ると、漫画に飢えていた僕に『肩を並べて』のような月刊誌を進んで貸してくれたこともあった。頭は平凡なレベルだと決めつけていたのはおそらく体育の授業のせいだったろう。当時の体育教師の指導方法は、僕のような変わり者には役に立たなかった。

自ら変わり者だと思ったことはないが、今になって考えてみると、他にふさわしい表現が見つからない。それでも体育教師のおかげでタフさを養い、そこそこの苦痛は耐えられるようになり、謙虚さを身につけ平凡な人は地道に努力しなければならないという考えを持つようになった。少なくとも、肘をついて逆立ちはできるようになった。

中間のどこか居心地のよい地点

スイスの心理学者ユング(Carl Gustav Jung 1875-1961)は｢年をとることは人生の衰退ではなく外へ向かっていたエネルギーを内に向け直し真の姿<自己(self)>を見つけ、内面の堅固な中心を築く<個性化(Individuation)>の過程である｣と述べた。他人を模倣する過程を通じて自らの固有の独自性を回復しようとする反発力や原動力が生まれるのだろう。これまで自分が愚かでないことを証明するため、ご苦労なことに外に向かって奮闘してきたわけだ。

僕の<自己(self)>はどこにあるのだろう。｢背負った子は三年探す｣という言葉があるようにそれは僕の内側のどこかに根付いているに違いない。すべては変わる。愛する人と出会い家庭を築き、子供たちが成長していくなかで僕も少しずつ変わってきた。生存のために変わり、世間に良く見せるために新しい色を塗り重ねて今日に至ったのだろう。

潜在していた性向が遅ればせながら顔をのぞかせたのかもしれない。習慣は第二の天性だと云われる。新たに慣れ親しんだものが新しい本性として定着したのだろう。

兵役時代、足の指に巣食っていた水虫を最近40年ぶりに追い払ったが、体の一部だった水虫はいつまた戻ってくるかもしれない。本性の破片も現れては消え、消えてはまた現れるものでないだろうか。最近の僕の本性は少年期や青年期の姿と一部変貌した姿の中間あたりに落ち着いているようだ。新しい状況が訪れればまた変わっていくだろう。

走る車が速度を落とすと充電される回生ブレーキのように人生も速度を落とせばきっとエネルギーが充電されるはずだ。新しい居場所に落ち着き、充電されたエネルギーで、これから何をするべきだろうか。亡き父がいつも心配していた生計についてはこれまでにやるべきことは十分やったのだから、これからは自分の心が向くことをしたい。意味のあることならなお良い。巻き上げられていたゼンマイがほどけるようにお金を使うことを探さなければならないのかもしれない。（2026.8.6）

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Yellow, Blue, Yellow, and… Reflections by a Korean Civil Servant

My long-standing, inertial sprint has come to an end, and I’ve even lost the business card that had defined my place in society. It’s a little late, but I’m standing at the entrance to the tunnel—the rite of passage that every retiree must go through. To get through this, I must answer the question, “Who are you?”

I spent 38 years as a civil servant—a career that began just one week before I graduated from college—and now I’ve finally reached a point where my days are no longer defined by work. Looking back, I believe that as a working professional and a civil servant, I was reasonably proactive, enthusiastic, and open-minded, and I approached my goals with sincerity. However, I’m now wondering whether the person I was acting to be was my true self or merely a facade.

In my eagerness to conform to the norms and ideal models demanded by society, I must have spent my life playing a role that was at odds with my true nature. I remember trying hard during my college days to change the timid, introverted person I was. Since I was out of touch with the ways of the world, I sometimes struggled as I tried to catch up with those ahead of me, even though I was lagging behind.

Now, I don’t feel particularly uncomfortable in this newly changed “stage costume.” In fact, I’ve grown accustomed to it, and if I were told to put on my old clothes again, I’d probably find it rather unpleasant. I try to trace my memories of the self from decades past—the self I lived as through that acted-out persona. Since there is no entity in Buddhist teachings that corresponds to what we call the “self,” there’s no need to get hung up on whether the past or present self is the “real” one.

When did I first become aware of this “self”—which is nothing more than a genetic survival machine—and how far have I come? And where am I headed from here? I would be grateful if I could examine these questions. In an age where we entrust even our self-definition to AI, even if I were to ask the AI who I really am right now, I’d still have to dig a little deeper into the parts of my past self that never came to the surface.

I do exactly what I’m told

Somewhere in my elementary school report card, my homeroom teacher had written an evaluation of me: “He does exactly what he’s told.” Since it didn’t strike me as a compliment, I brooded over it for a long time afterward. I was simply following the adults’ constant advice to “Don’t do anything you aren’t told to do,” but apparently, to that teacher, I came across as nothing more than a boy lacking initiative.

Looking back, the rural areas of South Korea in the ’60s and ’70s were overflowing with dangers everywhere. Every summer, a significant number of children drowned while playing in the rivers. I couldn’t swim—and still aren’t very good at it—so I never played in the rivers. In winter, there was a never-ending stream of news reports about children who drowned after the thin ice broke while they were sledding. When a poisonous snake appeared in the backyard of a remote house at the foot of the mountain, the chickens kept at home would make a deafening racket, clucking “Coo-coo-coo-coo-cooo!” At night, we could sometimes hear the distant howls of foxes and wolves.

The threshing machine—which used foot pedals to rotate a cylinder—was the ultimate toy that never ceased to spark the children’s curiosity, but even now, when I think about it, it was a piece of farm equipment so dangerous it sends a chill down my spine. Likewise, the sharp sickle used for cutting grass showed no mercy even to young farmhands. I have a scar on my left thumb where the skin was nearly cut and scraped off by a sickle. That said, I, as a child who never did anything I wasn’t told to do, surely bear no blame.

An Inner Spirit of Rebellion

Even though I was a passive boy, it wasn’t as if I lacked a spirit of rebellion deep inside. It was no coincidence that I later became interested in Mahatma Gandhi’s (1869–1948) philosophy of nonviolent resistance. The boy who had diligently done only what he was told eventually began to harbor a spirit of rebellion and started responding passively to instructions.

And gradually, I grew to resent everything I was supposed to do. It was only natural that a boy who didn’t understand why he had to study would hate rote memorization. I was the kind of kid who waited until the very last minute to do my homework and was always late. I was a child who couldn’t be motivated by others, nor did I have the strength to motivate myself.

Even though I kept arriving late right up until the day of my college entrance exams, I eventually enrolled in the Department of Korean Literature—but I gave up on writing essays almost immediately. I believed that writing was something you did when you wanted to; I resented having to write essays for homework, and I realized I lacked the aptitude for writing under the pressure of deadlines. I truly believe it was the right decision not to choose a career in writing.

Finding Fulfillment in Work Not Dictated by Others

Instead of aiming to become a writer or teacher as a means of making a living, I chose to become a civil servant—but being a civil servant was no easy task either. I disliked work that was simply assigned to me and valued my own standards more than external evaluation criteria. I only realized much later that “instructions” are the most important thing in the civil service world, so I think I did well just to have worked my way until past retirement age. Even though I wasn’t an employee of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, I spent an overwhelmingly longer time on overseas assignments than the average civil servant. Perhaps this was because I found joy in overseas postings, where a certain degree of autonomy was guaranteed, rather than in domestic assignments where I was constantly given instructions.

For those who find fulfillment in work that isn’t explicitly assigned, the workload inevitably increases and they become busier, since they must still handle the basics of the tasks they are told to do. When I grew too exhausted from this unsolicited work, I envied colleagues who appeared to be doing only what they were told. During my overseas postings, some colleagues were sometimes annoyed by my tendency to devote myself to tasks that weren’t explicitly assigned. I believe I did more than my salary warranted, but I’m not sure if that approach was actually the right one. A senior colleague once said, “You should pour 80 percent of your energy into work and use the remaining 20 percent for thinking,” but for quite a long time, I remained an extension of that introverted boy who had no time to think and prioritized quantity over quality.

On the other hand, I considered myself an ordinary, well-rounded person. This was because I had made my own efforts to avoid conflict as much as possible and to maintain my composure. I gave my wholehearted best to anyone who respected my abilities, regardless of rank, but I didn’t give in so easily to those who didn’t. In short, I was a difficult civil servant to deal with. I couldn’t get along with bosses who liked to issue orders at every turn. I failed to build trusting relationships, and there were times when I was outright disliked. People around me surely couldn’t stand someone who would never back down unless fully convinced. I feel sorry for those with whom I couldn’t reconcile on a personal level and ended up parting ways.

An Introverted Boy

I was a timid, introverted boy who blushed easily and hated being in the spotlight. During the class president election in my sixth-grade year of elementary school, the blackboard was covered with multiple “正” characters (representing number 5) written beneath my name. It was an unfortunate turn of events. I convinced myself I’d handled the situation very well when I made up various excuses to propose to my homeroom teacher that I serve as vice-class president instead, thereby avoiding the role of class president. The next day, there was a morning assembly where the entire student body gathered, and talk of the class president election was flying back and forth among students in my class and others. They were whispering to each other that I’d made a foolish decision, but I didn’t feel that way at all.

A few days later, the school student council president election took place, and against my will, I ended up running as the class representative. My homeroom teacher might have thought I’d declined the class president position because I wanted to be student council president. During the presentation of my campaign platform, I said, “I don’t have what it takes, so I hope another capable candidate wins.” I voted for one of the other candidates, but when the votes were counted, it turned out that three people just like me had voted for me. It’s been quite a while, but if I ever see them, I’d like to tell them, “Thank you for that.” Back then, I thought people who voted for themselves were shameless. It took me several years to begin to understand why candidates for the National Diet all vote for themselves.

Back then, there also was an ambitious boy in the same region who lived in a world quite different from mine. When I was in the fifth grade of elementary school, I was one of the three electors for the class president election, and the sixth-grade candidate for class president quietly came to see me and gave me a pack of gum. I didn’t understand his gesture and wasn’t really keen on it, but that one pack of gum was reason enough for me to vote for him. Later, I heard a rumor that he had been accepted into Seoul National University, but I didn’t really understand what that meant either.

Family where autonomy and initiative were not allowed

Where does my passive, bystander-like personality stem from? It’s highly likely due to a home environment that did not allow for autonomy or initiative. Perhaps it was the best survival strategy I could adopt as the lowest rung in the strict hierarchical order established by my authoritarian father and two older brothers. I was clumsy at handling tasks, so I was often excluded from most chores; eventually, I stopped doing anything at all, and my days were spent as a quiet bystander. I wasn’t particularly physically strong, nor did I have much motivation. I think my parents’ constant discord was also a factor that sapped my drive to take initiative.

After my two older brothers left for senior high schools in the city, I had no choice but to take on at least the task of feeding the cows. However, as a pseudo-herdsman who had grown accustomed to not working and loathed the idea of labor, I used studying as an excuse to hop from one manga café to another until dusk. Thanks to my parents, who didn’t force me to do household chores, I immersed myself in manga such as Viet Cong and Romance of the Three Kingdoms.

The Garden of Buddha and the Terror of the Gwangju Uprising

To cut across from the Central Library of Chonnam National University to the back gate, one had to pass through a low, wooded hill covered with pine trees. Several well-maintained graves were scattered across that hill. Among them, the area surrounding a grave with a spacious plot and beautiful lawn was called “The Garden of Buddha” by the Buddhist Student Association. It was a sort of hangout where we’d eat our packed lunches together, exchange idle chatter, or sometimes hold discussions on current events. Whenever I went there, I could always find at least one club member. As an enthusiastic freshman member, I spent more time hanging out at “Buddha’s Garden” than attending classes.

One day, as dusk was falling, I happened to pass through Buddha’s Garden. I must have fallen asleep face-down in the library and missed my chance to head home. The dark “Garden of the Buddha,” now devoid of people, had an atmosphere completely different from the bustling hangout of the daytime; it was an eerie place, much like a communal graveyard. As I hurried down the twilight path and reached the edge of the woods, I stumbled over what felt like a foot extended by a ghost. I managed to avoid falling, but a chill ran down my spine. I must have tripped over a pine trunk that was haphazardly blocking the path, but I couldn’t even think to look back. As I walked along the path leading to the back gate, brightly lit by streetlamps, I kept asking myself whether I would ever be able to escape the “fear” that had haunted me since childhood and had only deepened after experiencing the May 18, 1980 Gwangju Democratization Movement.

That same fear was also the reason my heart would race and my face would flush whenever I tried to step out in front of people. One time, I volunteered for a university counseling program for shy students. It was a gathering where about ten students sat in a circle to share their problems and work together to find ways to overcome them. As I was leaving the counseling room after the first session, one participant asked me, “You don’t seem to have any problems—why did you join?” Those words unexpectedly gave me courage. However, I never attended that group again after that.

I Took off the Mask 4 decades after My Journey of Wandering

During the summer break of my sophomore year in college, I decided to take the plunge and walk alone from Gwangju to Haeinsa Temple. It was a journey of walking nonstop, carrying a backpack packed with food and basic bedding. On the first day, I walked in a pair of my older brother’s military training boots that I’d saved, but they didn’t fit my feet, and my toes gradually began to swell. When I reached the meadow that served as the setting for Song Sun’s (1493–1582) Myeongangjeong (Pavilion of Bowing and Gazing), I discarded the new shoes and changed into my everyday basketball shoes.

After resting at an inn in Damyang to recover from the fatigue of a long day’s journey and settling into bed, a detective came calling in the middle of the night. He said a report had come in. While I was cooking lunch on a gas stove and closing my eyes for a moment in the shade of a tree under the bridge, the image of some boys whispering not too far away came to mind. “Wow, he must have a knife too.” A young man with tousled hair, dressed in a military-style training uniform, had a knife tucked at his waist and was taking a nap leaning against his backpack in a secluded spot. The fact that he had a fruit knife slung diagonally from his belt was enough to make him look like a suspicious character.

Starting the next day, I slept in places like parks and gazebos without securing a place to stay. A man who was doing early-morning cleaning somewhere told me, “There was a murder around here a few days ago.” Perhaps because I’d slept well, I just replied, “Oh, really?” Looking back now, it might have been a lie the janitor made up to scare off a homeless person.

From August 6 to 11, 1981, the walking trip that began at my self-catering room in Gwangju came to an end after five nights and six days, arriving at Haeinsa Temple via Damyang, Sunchang, Namwon, the Jirisan Pass, Hamyang, and Geochang. The itinerary involved walking 30–40 km a day, mainly along national highways. Blisters would form on my toes and then disappear, and the soles of the basketball shoes I’d brought as spares were completely worn down. I’m not sure if the fear that had been haunting me vanished somewhere along the way. Thinking it best to keep my feelings from that time etched in my heart, I made no written record and took no photographs. As expected, that journey found a place in a corner of my heart and remained there for a long time as a source of pride and a precious treasure.

I used to love ballad-style, lyrical songs, but one day I began to prefer the forward-moving, spirited music of marches. I heard that people who like the color yellow are selfish and dependent, so I even changed my favorite color to blue. That said, I didn’t go on to live my life enjoying that kind of music or the color blue. Instead, I transformed into a machine with almost no interests of my own, consumed entirely by work. After retiring, I read Haruki Murakami’s The City and Its Uncertain Walls, and for the first time, I allowed myself to take off my mask. I realized it was okay to like lyrical music and the color yellow without hesitation.

Diverse Assessments of My School Records

I wanted to confirm the context in which the evaluation—“I diligently complete the tasks assigned to me”—had originated. When I returned to my hometown, I stopped by the office of my old school and had them issue me a free copy of my school records. I checked not only my elementary school records but also my junior high school records, yet I couldn’t find the exact wording. It’s possible it was included in the individual progress reports from that time, or perhaps my memory had become distorted as I reinterpreted similar content. Still, there was plenty of material that could serve as a clue.

The “Activity Status” entries from right after I entered elementary school most vividly and starkly defined my disposition as a young child. My first-grade female homeroom teacher, who was favorable toward me, wrote, “He is proactive in everything,” while my second-grade male homeroom teacher, who was authoritarian, assessed me as “indifferent to everything.” Throughout all my elementary school years, evaluations describing me as “taciturn, stubborn, and lacking a sense of responsibility” were as expected, but the comments that I was “an excellent presenter, creative, and a deep thinker” came as a bit of a surprise. The fact that evaluations varied significantly depending on the teacher is evidence that I reacted differently to each teacher’s disposition, causing them to perceive me differently.

In junior high school as well, evaluations ranging from “lacks initiative and a sense of responsibility” to “docile, steady, and enthusiastic about everything, setting a good example” stood in stark contrast. My habit of behaving as I please without paying attention to the tendencies of those who evaluate and guide me has not changed significantly, either then or now. I recall not being particularly good at studying in junior high school, so it was surprising to learn that I ranked 33rd out of 519 students in my third-year class. It was also unusual that I consistently received below average grade in physical education for all three years, despite my scores always being in the 40s. Even though I was the only one among my siblings who never received an honor roll award, I wonder why I didn’t pay more attention to physical education—a subject that was dragging down my overall average.

My junior high school physical education teacher used a cane to discipline students for all three years. Students who couldn’t perform the required movements were struck with the cane during every PE class, and there were hardly any days when I didn’t get hit. When the teacher grew tired of wielding the whip, he would sometimes have the student who had just been whipped strike the next student with the same force. I hated being whipped, so PE class was like hell, but I was a foolish boy who made no effort whatsoever to avoid it and was whipped continuously for three whole years…

I later learned that during the time when India was a British colony, there was an event known as the Salt March (Salt Satyagraha). The ruthless British police used batons studded with iron nails to knock down unarmed Indian demonstrators one after another. The Indian people, resisting the unjust salt tax, marched silently while enduring excruciating pain as they were flogged. I remember feeling a deep empathy for their resistance and suffering, and my heart ached with compassion for them. Looking back, it seems even I, as a child, resisted my physical education teacher in a foolish way.

My grades back then weren’t all that bad. Even though I would always rush to half-heartedly finish my homework right before it was checked, I still managed to maintain a decent level of performance. One friend seemed to view me as a rival. When exams were approaching, he would sometimes willingly lend me monthly magazines like Shoulder to Shoulder, knowing I was starved for manga. The fact that I had written myself off as average was probably due to those physical education classes. The teaching methods of my PE teacher at the time were of no use to an oddball like me. I never thought of myself as an oddball back then, but looking back now, I can’t find a more fitting description. Still, thanks to that PE teacher, I developed resilience, learned to endure a fair amount of pain, gained humility, and came to believe that ordinary people must work hard and steadily. At the very least, I learned how to do a handstand on my elbows.

Somewhere in the Middle, a Comfortable Place

The Swiss psychologist Carl Gustav Jung (1875–1961) stated, “Growing older is not a decline in life, but a process of ‘individuation’—redirecting energy that was previously directed outward toward the inner self to discover one’s true self and build a solid inner core.” It is likely that through the process of imitating others, a counterforce or driving force emerges that seeks to restore one’s own unique individuality. Up until now, I’ve been struggling to prove to the outside world that I’m not a fool—which has been quite a struggle.

Where is my “Self”? As the saying goes, “You search for a child you’ve carried on your back for three years”—it must surely be rooted somewhere within me. Everything changes. As I met my beloved, built a family, and watched my children grow, I, too, have gradually changed. I’ve changed to survive, and I’ve layered on new colors to present a favorable image to the world, which has brought me to where I am today.

Perhaps my latent tendencies have finally begun to surface, albeit belatedly. They say habit is a second nature. The things I’ve grown accustomed to have likely taken root as my new nature. During my military service, I recently got rid of the athlete’s foot that had been festering on my toes for the first time in 40 years, but since it was once a part of my body, it might return at any time. Isn’t it true that fragments of one’s true nature appear and disappear, only to reappear again? Lately, my true nature seems to have settled somewhere between the person I was in my boyhood and youth and the person I’ve become today. If new circumstances arise, I’ll likely change once more.

Just as a regenerative braking system recharges a moving car when it slows down, I’m sure that if I slow down the pace of my life, I’ll recharge my energy. Now that I’ve settled into a new place and recharged my energy, what should I do next? As for making a living—something my late father was always worried about—I’ve done everything I needed to do so far, so from now on, I want to do what my heart leads me to. It would be even better if it were something meaningful. Just as a wound-up mainspring unwinds, perhaps I need to find ways to spend my money. (August 6, 2026)