Bridging two worlds
When reality feels too harsh to handle, I find refuge in the literary worlds
I feel both alive and dead around this time of year.
I love the scent, the chilliness that lingers in the air, and the darkness that this season brings in. It's the perfect time to be covered in blankets and immerse myself in stories. This season is all about absorption, a time to digest someone else’s creativity.
In recent years, my approach to this season has involved collecting stories from the present times — documentaries about the events of the past year, podcasts discussing current crises — effectively giving everything around me ample space and time to ferment or rot away.
However, this year, I'm determined to make a change.
When I began writing my newsletter, I got into numerous "how to write" books written by various writers. One piece of advice that has stuck with me to this day is to read as much as possible as if it's your only job — a concept that was also discussed in a recent interview with Shane McCrae.
Reading has been a lifelong obsession of mine. Even during my college years, I consumed all sorts of books besides my own major, maybe because I was avoiding subjects I wasn't attracted to (really didn’t care for Econ). When I started my first job, despite long working hours, I held onto this habit while gravitating toward more easily digestible reads (The Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter, anyone?).
Oddly, during my time in grad school, my reading obsessions waned. My book collection continued to grow, even on a student’s budget. I impulse-bought old books, imagining myself reading them and feeding my ego while feeling guilty at the sight of all those books piling up. Life grew busier and more chaotic after school, and I never had a chance to think about the joy of reading or lack thereof.
Besides not having time to read, I wondered if my losing interest in reading had to do with the shift from Korean to English as my main language. I was hesitant to use my "work" language during my off-hours.
Living in a second language often feels like walking with a small pebble in my shoe. The more fluent I become, the smaller the pebble, but it never disappears, as a reminder of the occasional discomfort.
Most of the time, I feel at ease within this new (yet not entirely new) environment. The once bizarre culture becomes easier to navigate, almost enough to make me forget that I had to learn all of these as an adult. I can mask my foreignness by avoiding certain topics and words that might give me away. I can engage in conversations comfortably until I can't.
That's when the pebble becomes prominent. The previously invisible filter, which allowed me to freely bridge the gap between my thoughts and the non-native language, suddenly reappears. I start using analogies that leave people baffled, and I stumble over words that only exist in my native language. Conversations quickly unravel because the other person has no clue what I'm talking about, or they simply lose interest.
Occasionally, the situation reverses, too. I remember a time when I was in Napa, wine tasting with my parents, a stranger from another table wanted to discuss a K-pop girl group with me. I had no idea who they were – yet this white guy could sing their songs in Korean. He visited Seoul more often than myself in the past year, and seemed more knowledgeable about the district that I grew up in.
That’s when I find another pebble in my other shoe.
Am I still connected to my own culture when I don't keep up with the latest trends? Am I "Korean enough" even when I haven't updated my cultural knowledge? As my proficiency in my adopted culture and its subtleties become more refined, my native language and its peculiarities start to fade.
And the joy of reading is caught in the middle.
I'm not sure how to navigate these two persistent pebbles in my shoes. One will never disappear, and the other seems to grow. The most reasonable thing to do is to stop trying to bridge these two worlds and instead focus on finding any possible compromises.
This way, I can bring the joy of reading back. The joy of deciphering someone else’s thoughts and language. The joy of connecting with the world in the book in my unique way.
It took three books for me to realize that I have rediscovered the joy of reading.
The first was "Stay True" by Hua Hsu, the second was "Hunger" by Roxane Gay, and the third was "Babel" by R.F. Kuang1. It feels like these were gifts from a Book God, if such a thing exists.
Each of these books has a distinct voice and a perspective. Yet, if I were to find a common thread, they revolve around the desire to be heard, connected, and understood. They explore themes of memories, nuances, violence, and resilience, all through the voices that resonate with me right now.
Instead of giving in to despair in the face of a world that often seems to be growing increasingly violent, I find solace in the world of literature. I'm not escaping the present; instead, I'm creating a space for myself to process the overwhelming cruelty in a way that resonates with me.
It's a practice of staying present in a world that feels extremely unsettling. It's a practice of discovering meanings within the unimaginable. It's a practice of experiencing emotions without dissociation.
Keep practicing,
“I'm not escaping the present; instead, I'm creating a space for myself to process the overwhelming cruelty in a way that resonates with me.” I feel this sooo much, thanks for articulating it 🙏🏼
Love the pebble in the shoe metaphor. I only understand/speak and write in one language and I can only imagine the discomforts of this pebble for someone with speaks multiple languages. You write so well, I can't tell at all you walk with a rock in your shoe :) Also, in your dad's writing! I also read Stay True and Hunger this year and they really stuck with me because of their strong voice, their deep perspective that I could not relate to but I was so still deeply entrenched in their story.