Breaking Boundaries in Literature: The Nobel Prize and Korea's Untold Stories

Chapter 1.2 Encountering the World : The Allure of Literature

It was late afternoon, and the sun was slowly dipping below the horizon. I was on my way to meet an old friend, ten years after we graduated from high school. Strangely, the day felt as if time were flowing backward. Sitting on the bus, staring out the window, memories of my engineering days—filled with physics formulas and equations—came flooding back. In South Korea, our paths are often divided early, between the sciences and the humanities, even as early as high school.

I naturally chose the sciences back then. There was something exhilarating about the precision of solving equations and balancing physics formulas. My friend, on the other hand, chose the humanities. He opted not to explore the laws that governed the universe, but instead, those that governed society and human behavior. That decision between the sciences or the humanities seemed, at the time, like the most important crossroads that would determine the course of our futures.

The bus came to a halt, and I stepped off, walking slowly to meet him. We had walked different paths for so long, but his questions had always leaned toward the philosophical. Today would likely be no different.

As I entered the café, I saw that he was already there, seated with a book open in front of him, sipping his coffee as he waited. There was something quintessentially literary about his demeanor—true to his background as a literature major. I smiled lightly as I sat across from him.

"Choi Jun," he greeted, "How have you been? You were an engineering student, weren't you? When did you leave your job and start writing?"

As expected, his question came immediately, the very one I knew was coming.

"I quit my job over a year ago. There's something about writing that feels like solving an equation, you know? It's not so different from the satisfaction I got from seeing a formula come together. A sentence, after all, is its own kind of equation."

He raised his eyebrows and chuckled. "You've heard of 'Sorry for being a humanities major,' right?"

I laughed with him. "Yeah, I know. But, you see, getting a job isn't everything. I didn't start writing to switch careers. And writing isn't just about emotion, you know. It's about structuring your thoughts and working through them. In a way, it's not so different from solving an engineering problem."

He nodded, though a puzzled expression lingered on his face. "But why literature, all of a sudden?"

I took a slow sip of my coffee before speaking. "At some point, I started to wonder more about the stories that shape the world than the structures I was designing and overseeing. Civil engineering, after all, is just a vessel for holding stories. In a way, I think that's how I started writing. It's my way of understanding the world, unraveling its structure through narrative."

My friend nodded again, his curiosity piqued. "Still, it's fascinating to see someone like you, with a background in the sciences, turn to writing. I mean, the way scientists and writers think is fundamentally different, isn't it?"

I nodded in agreement and continued, "You're right. The humanities are, at their core, about exploring human experience, emotions, and social relationships. Understanding what it means to be human—that's what literature and sociology are all about."

He paused for a moment, recalling something he'd read. "So, I guess the sciences are more like 'patterns etched in stone,' huh? They're about studying the laws of the natural world—laws that will still exist even when humans are gone."

I smiled at the metaphor. "Exactly. The sciences delve into the principles that help us understand the essence of the Earth. Fields like mathematics and physics require a logical, systematic approach. That's why it makes sense to say education shapes our thinking, and our thinking, in turn, manifests through language."

He nodded. "Right. Humanities students expand their thinking through human emotions and experiences, while science students understand the world through the laws of nature. The methods are completely different."

I agreed, adding, "Both are valuable, but they're definitely distinct approaches."

"In the end, education really does shape how we think," he said thoughtfully.

"You hear a lot these days about merging the sciences and the humanities," I mentioned. "Back when we were in school, that kind of thinking was unheard of. What do you think?"

He laughed softly. "Yeah, I remember when there was this iron rule: science students had better job prospects. Us humanities students? We all ended up chasing civil service exams because the job market was so tough."

NOTE:

Cultural Division Between Sciences and Humanities: In South Korea, students are often streamed into the sciences or humanities as early as high school, a decision that is seen as pivotal in shaping one's career and future. This contrasts with some Western educational systems, where a liberal arts approach encourages exploration of both fields until later in one's academic journey.

"Sorry for being a humanities major": This is a popular phrase in Korea, often humorously used by humanities majors who feel overshadowed by the more job-secure, high-demand graduates in STEM fields. It reflects a cultural bias that favors technical degrees, which are often seen as more practical in a competitive job market.