I Obsess Over Myself

Insisting that it had to be today, the professor made me stay for lessons until late in the evening.

On my way back home, I was disguised as a senior piano major.

My empty stomach felt not just hungry but almost like experiencing starvation.

“Sorry for keeping you so late. Make sure to grab dinner yourself. It’s an important commitment. You know, right? Im—portant commitment.”

There might suddenly be an important commitment tomorrow.

Whether it’s academic connections, blood ties, or surviving in unforgiving Korea.

Even though he was a respected professor, there were occasions where he had to show his face. I understood that much.

Of course, using the excuse of an important commitment to reschedule the lesson earlier was not uncommon.

There had been several instances where he secretly held lonely drinking sessions.

So, despite respecting him, I couldn’t help but have doubts. Especially when forcibly thrown into a crowded bus like a bean sprout.

It was still spring, yet the bus interior felt suffocatingly hot.

I understand the struggles of bus drivers needing to accommodate more passengers, but the density inside felt almost like being sprayed with high-pressure water.

Ah, so when pressure increases, temperature rises too. Discovering chemical insights while studying art history. The world is truly surprising.

Even as I pondered, the bag of the person in front pressed against my stomach, the elbow of the person beside me nudged my shoulder, and the chest of the person behind me leaned on my back.

They should introduce passenger limits on city buses too!

…I silently shouted out my usual futile demands in my mind.

Thinking of friends enduring even worse commutes than mine, I found some small joy in finishing the day more effortlessly than others.

Except for top students, dormitory spots at our university were so limited that they were almost impossible to secure. Attending there, I felt quite ordinary compared to other geniuses.

Having attended the university for four years, I could say it confidently.

Until enrollment, everyone from the same prep school who used to bless my life had gradually faded away since I entered the university.

I can’t eloquently describe the feeling of going from thinking I was special to feeling like an average person.

If I combined all the complaints I’ve had over the past three years, it might amount to a novel’s length.

Watching talented friends, aside from top students, worry about their livelihoods and consider paths other than art before graduation,

I often consoled myself, “Isn’t it quite an achievement for someone like me to have come this far?”

Having ignorantly dug only one well, I didn’t realize it would become my grave.

Among observant seniors, many who gave up art surprisingly thrived afterward.

Redirecting the focus I put into practice elsewhere unexpectedly turned out not so bad.

Some suddenly took exams right after graduating and joined large corporations normally. Others secretly studied and disguised themselves as law school students. There were even friends who debuted as successful new YouTubers.

Despite relentlessly pushing myself for three years, unable to give up the piano due to what felt like a fateful connection,

Perhaps, in reality, I wasn’t defeated in the competition for survival.

Becoming a pianist like Song Seong-hyuk, ruling the world, was that dream too fanciful?

Yet, letting go of regrets wasn’t easy.

From clumsily playing a piece called “Heavenly Bells” in middle school, my life had been filled with the piano irreversibly.

Having carried the piano for over half of my life, living without touching anything other than keys seemed alien.

Though I drifted far from my dream, I didn’t want to escape this world of black and white.

In pursuit of my dream, I’ve reached the end of the line in life.

In the end, I turned my eyes towards the small sense of fulfillment that awaited me.

Even a small recital would be nice.

If I could communicate with people who appreciate my music there.

If I could gather a decent number of fans, even if I couldn’t get on stage, and occasionally hold recitals in small venues.

I could find happiness in just that.

That’s what I thought.

It was a compromise with reality.

If I couldn’t become a top-tier musician by sacrificing everything.

I might as well remain a mediocre third-rate one.

And amidst it all, there was a woman named Min Chaewon.