Sadness on Lunar New Year’s Ev

20. 섣달 그믐밤의 서글픔. 그 까닭은 무엇인가

20. Sadness on Lunar New Year’s Eve—Why?

By the front gate of Sungkyunkwan University, there is an academy where people study for their driving permits. As a returning student with precious little money in my pockets, I walked up the staircase to the second floor, my interest piqued by the advertisements promising to “stay with you until you pass” and the suspiciously low cost of the classes. After receiving a brief explanation in the rundown-looking office, I paid my registration fees.

Most of the students were earning an ordinary Class 1 regular license. The one-ton trucks that we had to drive on the ability course don’t typically slide down hills or stall, and while they’re easy to park because the engine isn’t in front and the high cabins offer a good vantage point, the engine is very difficult to turn off. Many of the students harbored a notion about possibly driving a delivery truck to make a living.

But I chose to try for the Class 2 regular manual license. My reason was simple: there weren’t that many people clamoring to take the test, so if I did fail, I could test again right away. I had already passed the written test with just over 70 points. Now it was time to actually learn how to drive.

Following the instructors, I found a large game machine of the kind one might find in an arcade. Seeing my quizzical expression, they explained that it was for driver training. I learned how to operate it, along with secrets for passing the driving test. I then spent several days on the simulator on my own, repeating the movements and mimicking the driving experience.

On the day of the course test, the participants gathered early in the morning at an appointed place and boarded a van provided by the academy. It traveled along an unfamiliar road up into the hills. I wondered what was going on. The van wound along an unpaved road before arriving at a shabby-looking driver’s training range.

We had one hour. It was my first time actually driving one of the vehicles, and my skills were clumsy. The instructor kept shaking his head. He gave me a tongue-lashing that left me flinching. Somehow, luck was with me, though, and I passed the test with exactly 80 points—just past the cut line.

Seven years passed, and in 2008 I left home and began my life as a novice at Mandeoksan Mountain in Jinan, Jeollabuk-do. The center had a Hyundai Grace van that seated 15. To drive it, I would need a Class 1 license right away. As it happened, the requirement for changing from a Class 2 manual to a Class 1 regular license had just been revised from going ten years without an accident to seven.

I’d been driving automatic over the years, and I didn’t really feel like adapting to a manual transmission again so long after my license test. The van’s chassis was longer than a compact, which meant I had to pay close attention to the turn radius. My body struggled to adapt right away after I’d gone so long without doing it. It ended up being a baptism by fire.

As I was undergoing road training with Rev. Oh, I hit a telephone pole with the side of the van while making a right turn at one of the neighborhood’s three-way intersections. We ended up with a serious dent. Yet the center’s director, Rev. Nongtawon, did not severely rebuke me nor take away my driving privileges.

One day, I was driving along with Rev. Nongtawon. Seeing that the light was red, I stopped at the line. The intersection was at a slight slope. The light turned green, and I attempted to start off. Oh no—the van had stalled in the middle of the intersection.

I started it up again and tried to continue on, but it rolled backward and cut off again. I was still clumsy with the clutch and gas pedals, so I couldn’t take control. It happened a few more times, while horns blasted all around us.

I was so embarrassed that I broke out in a cold sweat. I kept glancing in the rearview mirror at Rev. Nongtawon in the back seat. I was at a loss about what to do, but she said nothing. Instead, she sat still with her eyes closed, passing her meditation beads through her hands.

It was nerve-wracking, each second seeming to last an eternity. Perhaps it was a combination of desperation and concentration, but after a few minutes I was able to get the van moving again. Finally, I could breathe. Rev. Nongtawon broke her silence.

It has been a long time since that moment passed—the noise of the horns, Rev. Nongtawon’s silence, and the clamor within me. The space it left behind has been filled by feelings of gratitude toward Rev.

Nongtawon for waiting and trusting her unskilled junior. It’s something that leads me at times to reflect upon myself today. Am I the “generous me,” someone who can remain patient and unangered even when someone else’s repeated mistakes cause me harm or discomfort—someone who can pray for that other person to get back upon their feet?

Am I the “easygoing me” who is able to help others who are facing difficulties? Or am I a bystander, someone who merely points fingers while ignoring another person’s situation? Am I the kind of person who is only generous when it comes to my own mistakes?

It is now December 2018, the last month of the year by the lunar calendar. If the thing I wish to confess on this Lunar New Year’s Eve is a feeling of embarrassment, then I will ask the same question of my foolish self: “Sadness on Lunar New Year’s Eve—why?” The responsibility for that reflection and for ensuring that my pledge for the new year is not in vain falls fully on my shoulders.