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

Chapter 3.3 Interpretation Through Culture and Time

Beep—! A mechanical sound echoed as I found myself back in this place. As I slowly opened my eyes, a dusty old book caught my attention. I reached out cautiously, brushing off the dust that had settled thickly on it. The cover slowly revealed its title: Gabriel's Fictional Philosophy.

As I flipped through the pages with one hand, a particular line about the difference between 'reality' and 'existence' struck me. "There is no single rule or universal formula that explains everything. It's not that we haven't found one; it's simply that such rules or formulas do not exist." I mulled over the sentence, turning the pages as an hour slipped away unnoticed. After closing the book, I stood up and opened the door, where the party secretary was waiting.

"Secretary, please inform the General Secretary that I will step out for a while," I said.

With a concerned expression, the secretary asked, "Isn't it dangerous to go alone? Wouldn't it be better to take a few aides with you?"

"It's fine. After all, it's just a simulation." I said casually, but the secretary's eyes widened. "What do you mean, Leader?"

"Ah, never mind. I must still be half asleep, and I may have spoken foolishly. I assure you, I'll be alright on my own." I nodded reassuringly, leaving him behind. Clad in a crisp summer suit and hat, I stepped out into a different world—a 1950s Seoul, once only seen in books, now vividly unfolded before me.

As I strolled down the alley, I noticed the unpaved roads, showcasing the rawness of daily life. On one side, elderly men still wore traditional hats, while on the other, people adorned in South American-style clothing mingled with them. The vibrant hues of hanbok, Korea's traditional dress, and the rich flavors of hanjeongshik, a traditional multi-course meal, were deeply embedded in the daily lives of the people. They sang folk songs while enjoying traditional games, their laughter echoing through the courtyard of an earthen-floored hanok. Interspersed among the traditional structures, buildings reminiscent of South American architecture occasionally jutted into the sky.

Soldiers from the South American Union stood guard over the land, bringing with them a vibrant tapestry of culture. Jazz and samba intertwined in the music filling the streets, while radios buzzed with rhythmic melodies that warmed the hearts of the people. The film and theater industries were slowly rising, reflecting the aftermath of war.

Cinemas captivated audiences with poignant portrayals of war's tragedies and social chaos, while melodramas offered solace and empathy through the expression of family struggles. The stage saw performances infused with South American dance and movement, enchanting the viewers, alongside works addressing pressing political and social issues. Korean traditions were being reborn, merging harmoniously with new life. It was as if epochs coexisted in a single frame.

Every step I took from the smooth pavement to the rugged road reminded me how vastly different this world was from what I had read in history books. Here, everything existed in a breath of life. The philosophical theories I had encountered earlier echoed in my mind as I muttered, "How strange that what I see and what exists can differ so greatly..."

Lost in thought, I continued walking until a group of small children appeared at the end of the alley. They looked about ten years old. Upon spotting me, their eyes lit up, and they dashed over, cheerfully exclaiming, "Leader! Hello!"

"Hello, little ones." One shy child asked, "Leader, what era are we living in right now?"

I paused, considering the depth of their question. "That's quite a thoughtful question for a child. The meaning of existence varies depending on how one perceives reality."

The four or five children gathered around me, wide-eyed.

"For instance, to me, this might look like a scene of recovery after a global war, but to you, it could feel like a marvelous playground. The reality may be the same, but the meanings we derive can differ. So, cherish everything you see and feel, and accept it in your unique way."

With a smile, I waved goodbye and resumed my stroll, lifting my gaze to observe the myriad sights of Seoul. The distant roar of fighter jets from the South American Union echoed overhead, yet the alleyways and markets bustled as they always had. Vendors called out to sell their goods, and children ran around, laughing joyously. Their expressions revealed no hint of fear. Perhaps, for them, the sound of the aircraft was not a threat, but merely a part of the everyday noise.

Before long, I encountered a woman walking with children, selling marbles. I approached her, curious. "Why do you sell these marbles?"

"Hello, Leader. These marbles are symbols of luck," she replied with a warm smile.

"Interesting. From a physics perspective, marbles are just clusters of particles. Yet, for you, they represent an essential means of survival and a symbol of life's meaning." As I recalled the philosopher's words, "Existence is a property of meaning fields, manifesting something within them," I realized the meaning of this marble depended entirely on its context.

As I walked through the alley, I became increasingly aware that everything I saw, heard, and felt could not be expressed through a singular meaning. Even a single object or event could be interpreted in numerous ways, influenced by the era, place, and personal experience. No rule or formula could fully encompass these myriad meanings. Just as the attempt to explain the world with a single theory was destined to fail, our lives and the realities we encounter are not fixed; they continuously evolve and expand based on the meaning fields they inhabit.

While strolling, the sound of jazz music drifting from a quaint café caught my attention. The atmosphere, infused with 1950s South American influences, was unique. The café featured worn wooden tables and open windows inviting the outside air. Behind the counter, the owner greeted customers with a beaming smile, tenderly tending to her vinyl records.

She offered not just coffee but a space for patrons to unwind and share memories. The jazz playing here, carefully selected by her, served as a medium that captured the essence of romance and the rhythm of life. Glancing around, I noticed patrons engaging in their own moments. 

For some, this was a retreat from daily life, while for others, it might simply be a place to grab a coffee. But for the owner, everything intertwined. The jazz, the coffee, and the stories shared with the customers took on unique meanings within their respective contexts. None of these experiences were merely consumed or fleeting. Just as my left hand could serve various functions depending on how I chose to use it, everything within this café played its role within its own meaning field.