<p>I’m a South Korean national who was born and raised in a traditional Korean household in which parents generally exercise far greater influence in their children’s academic decisions than their Western counterparts. This is going to be a long story, but seeing that it’s fitting to the topic, I’m going to present it; if it’s too bothersome to read, skip ahead, though I will try to keep it as entertaining as I can. </p>
<p>My family moved to America for two years when I was a young child. Over there, throughout my brief course of elementary education in US, I remember my whole class doing researches and projects on the Age of European Exploration for a whole semester. I don’t exactly remember why now, but for some reason, I immensely enjoyed that project.</p>
<p>Fast forward a few years, my family had returned to Korea, and I was a middle school student. For second year of my middle school, we were taught briefly on world history. The teacher was absolutely a horrible teacher, I remember; she hardly cared for her students, beat us brutally (corporal punishment is still the norm here) just to keep us from annoying her, and breezed through her classes mostly through a bunch of shabby handouts she printed out from a website. Most of the class, myself included, had to study the materials on our own to prepare for exams and such. And again, for reasons I do not remember, I immensely enjoyed it. </p>
<p>To analyze my thoughts of current and past, it must have been the analytic, puzzle-like nature of historical studies that must have thrilled me so much. There were certain patterns, certain aspects, and certain forces that were in play, and once you find the right ones and put them together well enough, well, you have an explanation of why and how things developed out to be the way they are in the present. However, there was much more than such puzzle-like joy in historical studies; there was the crucial element of humanistic education, the empathy and imagination. I just loved dozing off, daydreaming about how things would have been in the past, drawing the scenes from great historical events in my head, and personally feeling the overwhelming sense of drama that was involved. I could imagine, empathize, and sympathize with what it felt like to have a religion, to believe in a cause, to struggle for them, to try to fix messy situations, to improve things, etc. Such thrill of analysis and imagination gradually soaked my mind so deeply that by the time I was in my last year of middle school, I started telling myself, ‘this is something I want to do for rest of my life’. </p>
<p>The problem was, of course, I was living in a society that doesn’t value humanistic education. Education and career-decisions in Korea was, and still is, heavily focused on ‘practical necessities’, i.e. how much income one will make, job prospect, etc. My family and teachers were naturally unhappy with my decision. Everywhere I went, when I spoke of my future aspiration to be a historian, people either mocked what they thought as my adolescent foolishness, questioned my sanity, or downright browbeat me into ‘growing up and getting real’. Not to mention because my English was pretty good even back then, I had access to English materials about topics I was interested in which is unimaginably vaster than what is available in Korean. </p>
<p>After the first year of my high school, I was sick and tired of this atmosphere. I felt extremely frustrated and bitter at the fact that same people who I expected to encourage and support my decision, my teachers and relatives, were exactly the ones that had no appreciation for my dream. I felt like an outcast within my own society. I knew I had to go somewhere else if I were to do what I want to do and still maintain my sanity, so I started asking my parents to send me abroad. Naturally, the consequences wasn’t pretty. Eventually they complied and my family moved to US again, but those years when I asked for our immigration and our stay in US were filled with bitter arguments, fights, and thorny feelings for each other. To this day, though my family still loves one another and isn’t broken up or something, there are some emotional residues that we dare not to bring up for the sake of not getting back into that mess again. </p>
<p>But the immigration itself, it did its work. The American high school I attended was not genuinely supportive of my aspirations in terms of the social environment, but the sheer resources I could lay my greedy mind on was immeasurable. This naturally had bad consequences of its own such as my mathematics and science grades digging down trying to find an oil deposit somewhere because I’d spend hours reading historical or literary works even the night before exams. However, the high school years in US finally cemented the framework that was my aspiration for humanistic scholardom. Gradually, even my parents, as they saw me working on independent research projects after my college application was over instead of indulging in computer games as they expected from me, they too, realized I meant serious business by wanting to pursue history. </p>
<p>Then came the college. I no longer had to cope with constant disapproving eyes from my parents, and the resources for furthering my studies were right there. My grades soared from what was at best top 30% from my high school days. My professors appreciated having a student who actually came around to their offices to discuss about their class materials rather than beg for higher grades. Again, things had repercussions as I often ended up taking way too much credits than I could handle exactly as how a child left by himself in a candy store would act, but I was happy. Even if the world was coming to an end the day later, I could confide and find solace in having a topic to engage, books to read, and a paper to compose. </p>
<p>And now I’m back in Korea doing my mandatory military service. I wrote my honors thesis, something which seniors usually do over an entire academic year, in the last semester of my sophomore year before departing from the academic life for a while. The conditions of the military service fortunately has been exceptionally lenient for me, so I’m still able to read and do researches on my own to not idly spend time and runt away my mind. I’m getting out of military early next year, and currently, I’m working on my transfer applications to other schools with faculties more specialized in the field I’m going for. </p>
<p>After some point in my life, studying history became the core of personal identity for me. I can’t imagine myself doing anything besides studying history, the first aspect I identify with my own self is as a student of history, and frankly, I feel immensely grateful and satisfied at the fact that in this rough and volatile current that is life, if anything, I still have my scholarly pursuit to guide me and keep me afloat. Wasn’t trying to sound as if I’m some grand, flamboyant prick who’s up and about his own ego (I’m still just an undergrad, after all), but yea, that’s my story.</p>
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