“I don’t think much of dreams that are stripped bare of pleasure. Dreams, or pleasure? If I have to choose one, I’ll take the latter. That said, my heart still flutters at the word dream. A life without dreams is as dry as a life without tears” (252) – Yeongju to Minjun.
We live in a busy, chaotic world. When it comes to our jobs, if we are fortunate to have one, it is very rare for us to have the option to choose what we want to do. Speaking for myself, my career choice has always been shaped by familial and societal standards. This book made me reflect on my choices and how I would have felt if I had made different decisions. And Yeongju takes an action that goes against what she was taught – she gives up a stable job and marriage to open her own bookshop. She does the unimaginable to pursue a goal that makes her happy.
After opening her own bookshop, Yeongju asks herself, “[D]oes [the bookshop] make me feel positive? Can I be whole and uncompromisingly myself? Do I love and treasure myself here?” (Hwang 2). The luxury of being able to ask whether one’s career choice brought a sense of self-fulfilment feels highly unrealistic to me, but I still admire Yeongju for continuously asking. As far as the questions go, narration confirms, “[f]or Yeongju, the bookshop checked all the boxes” (Hwang 2). I know there is a lot more work that is required to become a bookstore owner, but when I read this book, I remembered feeling liberated by Yeongju’s choice. She was the owner of the bookshop. Now she was responsible for hiring staff, maintaining the organizational system for the books, and all the other million details she had to oversee. But Yeongju’s contemplative questions made her new job sound almost idyllic at times (especially when she didn’t have any customers).
Is it an absurdly foolish hope to think one could choose a career that makes them feel positive while also being able to be their authentic self? And does anyone really know what it means to be their “authentic self”? Does society ever allow enough opportunity for us to really explore what that means? Or, given how one is lucky to be in one’s place, should we remember to be grateful for having a job to begin with, swallow all our bitter complaints, and keep our heads down so we can keep on keeping on? We didn’t just pop out of nowhere into this world. There were parents and ancestors before us that we owe our standing to. Well, that’s what I believe. Is it more than selfish to throw away familial and societal expectations to pursue risky dreams that do not even guarantee success and reputation?
Then there is Minjun, who is also dealing with the consequences of his decisions. For him, it was not that he quit a respectable job. Rather, Minjun had followed all the paths, corners, and hills that society had prescribed for young men like him to reach success, only to find that there was no “destination” secured for him at the end of the road. Working as a barista at Yeongju’s shop, he thinks, “He needed courage. The courage not to waver in the face of disappointment from others, the courage to stick to his beliefs and choices” (97). He didn’t mind working at the coffee shop at all, but when he faced others, he imagined their disappointment in him for being a “failure.”
I think it all comes back to saving face. Can you stand by your decision while knowing how it has impacted your family’s reputation for better or worse? I empathize with Minjun because, especially in his parents’ eyes, graduating from a school of his choice should have opened doors for solid jobs for him. Instead, he is working as a part-time barista. It’s not about the job itself, but about how the title of his position looks on paper. The same goes for Yeongju. She may have been able to open her bookshop, but she has a history. This trap of societal judgment is something none of us can escape, right?
Minjun and Yeongju frequently discuss the idea of reaching one’s true happiness. Yeongju points out that that moment doesn’t really exist. Eternal happiness is just not possible. This makes Minjun reflect, “[p]erhaps he was miserable precisely because he was trying to simplify a life that was meant to remain complex” (103). But the problem isn’t that Minjun isn’t happy. It’s that while he feels that his life is in “harmony,” he finds that “everyone else seems to see it as dissonance” (104). Therefore, Minjun needs validation that he is improving his “situation” so that “[h]is efforts” would not have “come to naught” (229).
In her letter to Minjun asking him to continue working with her, she says, “I had thought of work as stairs. Stairs to climb to reach the top. Now, I see work as food. Food that you need every day. Food that makes a difference to my body, my heart, my mental health, and my soul. There is food you just shove down your throat, and food that you eat with care and sincerity. I want to be one who takes great care in eating simple food. Not for anyone, but for myself” (282).
Again, Yeongju’s words gave me hope and courage, but not enough to do what she did. Realistically, I am not in a situation where I can choose a career that makes me happy while also meeting my financial needs. I also cannot choose my working hours. The work-life balance is a difficult challenge, and it is definitely one of the many things I have been working on. As grateful as I am for my job, this book makes me wonder: What if?
In the end, it is not really an actionable question and more of a fantasy. That being said, when I become a millionaire author, I am leaving my day job. Without a second thought.
<Work Cited>
Hwang, Bo-reum. Welcome to the Hyunam-dong Bookshop. Translated by Shanna Tan, Bloomsbury Publishing, 2024.
MYMJ 