The Mutable World, Page 3

  Chapter 3

  Empty words. All of it, empty words. I roared a mighty yawn then took a sip of my coffee. I must concede, Eun Seo does make good coffee. I drew another pull of the dark liquid then redirected my attention towards the computer monitor. I was reading through former blog posts; I normally do so to inspire new ones. Not this time. Scanning the lines of text, all I could discern were vague calls for action on poorly defined points of outrage. Last night’s post served as a welcome reprieve from the immaterial radicalist babble, but it could not serve as a standard for my work, when so much of what I have written is meaningless. I refuse to assume the role of the cowardly bystander, vocally insistent yet in practice tame as a sheep. Father had taught me otherwise.

  I peered at the dresser and made my way to it. Inside the top drawer, I found what I was looking for and returned to my chair. In my hands, I cradled a small white box, no heavier than a notepad. I removed the upper lid. Within the box rested a single, rather worn leaf. Beneath it lay a small square of glossy paper. I flipped the paper over and admired the image depicted thereupon. It was a picture of the park, complete with those trees I had so loved. Near the nether edge of the paper, in black marker, a stranger had written “Liquidambar formosana”. While Father remained in the hospital, I had visited the park once more. With newfound courage, I had asked an old man reclining in one of the benches to identify the trees overhead. He turned his head to face mine, picked up a leaf from the ground, written the name using a marker and pressed the leaf into my hand. He had then walked away without uttering a single word.

  Courage defines a man’s worth, and this I was resolved to accumulate in scores. What could I possibly do to lend meaning to my currently superfluous spells of complaint? Seven years ago, I had begun this blog to serve as a however small beacon of clarity in the cloud of our muddied society. Misdirected and often harmful values color our interactions with each other, yet no meaningful resistance to these influences has come forth. Change must come, and it will not do so simply through the ingestion of words found on some kid’s blog. No, to create a lasting impact, action of a higher order is required. But what, exactly? The action must singularly negate an essential component of our dysfunctional way of living. It must yank the wool from before our eyes, so we may recognize the unarguably noisome practices we perform for what they are. But what could such an action take the form of?

  A civil protest with clever signs waving overhead? No, such protests already take place in inscrutable numbers at universities. Simply observe what they’ve achieved.

  Perhaps the formation of a lobbying organization? What am I, a politician? Change will not come through traditional channels, and especially not when delivered in the form of incessant whining.

  A different approach must be taken. What if I approach the problem not directly, but from an angle of weakness? A disease’s weakness is almost always also its strength. The lightbulb lit, shone, then shattered upon the ground. I will attack the educational system. It is the perfect target. Change always begins with the youth, and it is the youth that most suffer under this regime of oppression. Children labor without end under the pressure of future prospects for secondary education, while also juggling the various unpleasantries of adolescence. School is supplemented by an onslaught of academies and tutors, all designed to give them the edge in a rat race for acceptance into university. Taking leave from this race guarantees a lifetime of impotence and poverty.

  The Suneung. This is where I will direct my efforts. It is the single most important aspect considered in university application, and thus a cornerstone of the very values that must be abolished. It takes place once a year, every November for a single day, either making or breaking thousands of lives in one deft stroke. On the day, mothers wait outside school buildings and pray for their children’s success. In fact, the test is considered so important, businesses open later, flights are rescheduled and entire roads are blocked to allow students timely passage to their exams. Disrupting the Suneung would make a lasting impact.

  Now, all that remained was a specific method. I strode to the kitchen and returned to my room, now burdened with another cup of steaming coffee. I watched the gentle progression of the clouds above the buildings visible from my window. The white wisps provided a provocative contrast of color against the blue of the sky. I sipped again from the cup, before it came to me. This year’s summer had been plagued with warnings of potential power outage. The nation’s energy production could not match the unrelenting heat wave. A power outage would do. A power outage as perpetrated by a computer viral infection would do better. I glanced downward into the mug. Still a little left. I clasped the handle in my right, and tipped the remaining coffee into my mouth.