Emotions on Eyelashes
đSummer More Than Fiction 2021_Seo I-je, Lee Seo-su, Han Jeong-hyeon
Perhaps because I live alone with my mother, the story of <Mijoâs Era> particularly resonates with me. I find myself thinking about my mother again. Lately, Iâve been observing her more closely. If there were moments I wanted to avoid, these days I keep looking at her. My mother often reveals a face where the shadows of life have deepened. She doesnât look okay. When I see her expression, which she barely manages to cover with a shaky smile, or rather, is forced to cover, I feel a sadness like a gentle rain. Mijoâs mother writes poetry. Mijo, who listens to those poems every day, is like the sunset. If I were to read my motherâs poems, buried deep in her heart, I would. I would.
đ Thoughts and Sentences I Liked
pg.65
Humanity only appeared on Earth after experiencing five mass extinctions. It wouldnât be strange at all if humanity, like them, were to become extinct on Earth at any time. Perhaps humanityâs continued existence is merely a coincidence. Descendants of the descendants of those who accidentally survived. We could become extinct at any moment (if we are lucky/if we are unlucky).
pg.81
Language cannot be owned by anyone; it exists merely for exchange, and that is why it is beautiful. I also felt that âwordsâ are truly the best gift one person can give another.
I believe that what can be owned is not language itself, but rather the way we exchange language, that is, the way we operate language. Everyone has their own unique way of speaking, and the way one speaks reveals their way of thinking. Thatâs why when I want to change my thoughts, I try to change my way of speaking first.
pg.84
If you take a photo of a bookâs text, should you read it as text or view it as an image? Storing text documents by taking photos or videos of them, reading subtitles when watching a movie, text within YouTube videos, the feeling conveyed by signs in foreign films â that is, unreadable text is closer to an image of lines and shapes. I find these points interesting.
pg.91
I hope the characters in my novels are individualists who know how to protect âthe private sphere and freedom of others.â People who value âyourâ sphere because âmyâ sphere is precious.
**
pg.100
As I walked down the empty hallway towards the elevator, a call came from my mother. My motherâs calls, regardless of the time, always brought with them a sad aura, like the sunset.
pg.107
Want to hear it? My mother cleared her throat. Whenever she recited her own poems, her tone became grand, as if reading a tragic epic. In that voice, my mother read the poem she had written this evening: âA gloomy Czech person in front of Budaejjigae / 100 ants tangled in a paper cup / Two of the four abandoned wardrobes turned away / And people trapped with me inside a train / If itâs like crabs stacked layer upon layer in an aquarium, should I poke you with a claw?â After reading up to there, my mother fell silent.
Is that it?
A day like rice cakes that couldnât be sold and were discarded by the rice cake shop.
I looked back at my mother. Her gaze was still fixed on the monitor. âA day like rice cakes that couldnât be sold and were discarded by the rice cake shop,â she saidâŚ
I imagined the scene of my day and my motherâs day overlapping, separated by a thin pane of glass.
Do you think this is a poem?
Yes, I think it is.
I see. You know poetry well.
**
pg.118
We were silent the entire way home. My mother lowered her eyes, looking exhausted, and only then did I see the emotions caught on her eyelashes. We were poor, too poor. But neither of us could admit it, and it wasnât just because of pride. The 50 million won, woefully insufficient to find a home for us to live together in Seoul, was all the money my father had saved his entire life. Perhaps we knew this too well and vowed never to be disheartened. But Seoulâs housing prices had rendered my fatherâs legacy insignificant. Suddenly, my father had become someone who had only left behind the jeonse deposit for a semi-basement room of about six pyeong.
pg.142
Dreams, when written down as words, are harmless, like sweet potato vines. They are serene, and even beautiful. However, overgrown dreams can also be cumbersome presences that occupy the cramped reality of life. When dreams grow thoughtlessly and too well, encroaching upon life in the form of space, one might feel the urge to cut them off. Even the urge to eliminate them entirely. But such feelings bring forth other thoughts: Am I even human if I struggle with dreams? Am I merely an executor of the categorical imperative to survive? These are the worries.
pg.143
I often have the characters in my novels engage in writing and reading as a way to process experiences and gain the strength to move forward. While meditation, exercise, or visiting popular restaurants or touring industrial complexes like Chungjo might also be methods, they donât resonate with me as much as writing and reading. Therefore, I believe characters like Mijo, who writes a diary, or Suyeong, who writes short messages, or the mother who writes poetry, are better able to endure life than Chungjo. I, too, consider writing and reading to be as important as breathing. There have been countless times when experiences Iâve had, words Iâve heard from others, or sights Iâve witnessed have been etched into my mind and heart, refusing to fade. Through interpretation via writing and reading, I gain the strength to move forward. Perhaps itâs just another representation of reality, but what makes it different is that it entails positive internal change. I tend to have great distrust for people who do not undergo internal change, so I pursue continuous change through writing and reading. Therefore, books and writing are as precious to me as the Earth itself.
**
pg.156
Around that time, I probably felt that even when human hearts seem to be attached as one, there are always parts that can never be truly known, just as Yeongso would say much later, âit just happened,â something had come into being between us as well.