Story #4 Stuck in Korea
I opened up a calculator on my phone. How long will it take for me to own a billion won apartment in Seoul? The number appeared on the screen. At the current rate of saving, I needed another 73 years to even consider buying a two-bed apartment. I would be 122 years old when I finally sign my name to be one of the millions of apartment owners.
“This country is fucked up,” Yoonjung said. Yoonjung was a colleague who joined our company a month after the country’s birth rate had fallen below 0.5. She was the youngest and the most rational on our team. Whenever we got lunch together, she liked to talk about the dire predicament ahead of us.
“I almost puked when the president said the country was ready to be the leader of AI, how the fuck are we going to be the ‘leader’ if we don’t even exist? Does he even know how to code ‘hello world’? How stupid can he be to neglect the poor people like me who have another 50 years in this shithole?”
I nodded to what she had to say. It was addicting to hear about the impending collapse of everything I’ve grown up with. We were like the kids pointing their fingers at a nuke approaching from above. We were fucked but still managed to utter “wow, that missile is fast.”
“I’m tired of seeing the same bullshit over and over again, Yoonjung said.”
The sound of cicadas blared outside the restaurant. We had to be back in the office in 15 minutes. I glanced at her cheeks, glistening with sweat from the heat of haejang-guk.
She was the most talented coder I had ever seen. I saw her rejecting calls from recruiters on a daily basis. She could definitely leave our company for at least twice the wage. Why is she staying with us? She could even work in the U.S. if she wanted to.
It was frustrating someone could be so talented yet uninterested in taking full advantage of the skills. Nowadays, so many Koreans, especially in their 20s and 30s, were thinking about emigrating. Universities had long since turned into pre-immigration training camps. Almost no one studied the humanities because countries like Australia and the U.S. preferred engineering and medical degrees. No matter what the government said, the exodus had already begun. Ambition now meant the courage to abandon and leave.
“Yoonjung-nim, why don’t you consider immigration? I mean, people like you should be racing to the airport. You’ll be welcomed everywhere.”
Yoonjung paused for about 10 seconds. Then she started spouting all the nonsense excuses.
“Leaving is a last resort. I don’t have any assets related to Korea, so I’ll be fine even if the dark age comes. I even hoarded canned soups and veggies just in case this society falls apart,” She said.
I was shocked. She was afraid to step out of her comfort zone. I wanted to put my hand on her shoulder and say, “come on, you’re making a deadly mistake.” But I could only mutter “Huh” and “Okay” at someone who owned everything I wished for.
We checked our phones. Rumors circulated the government would soon declare a state of emergency and ban traveling abroad. “Everything is under control.” The man on a podium repeated the words he had memorized backstage.
I didn't know what to say anymore. I was stuck while she chose to stay.