Chuseok is a holiday for Koreans to reunite with relatives; with food, old family squabbles, and occasional outbreaks of makgeolli-drunk uncles, the festivity of the event is merry and bright. This Chuseok, we shared traditional Korean food together in the living room as we boasted about each other’s lives, dreams, and goals.
My values of choosing Taejae are completely different from my family’s ideas of elite university education.
And, as with every newly turned adult, the dreaded question was served to me, hot and steamy, and far from welcome.
“So, what university are you going to?”
“I go to Taejae University.”
The moment’s silence, my wince, that one uncle’s disapproving frown, the cousin’s sideways tea sip, and that one nephew who is blind to social cues chirps, “What university is that?”
How can I possibly explain to my high-profile Confucianist family, believers in social status and elite university education, that my values of choosing Taejae are completely different from theirs?
Not for potential wealth or social status, but for personal interest and exploration; Not for the approval of others, but for my own development and becoming “human”?
Let’s be honest—Taejae’s lifestyle is anything but stable or systematic; And I am sure many students have gone through similar experiences with families, friends, or teachers commenting on our choice to attend such an experimental form of education.
Two months in, many of us are still figuring out whether we’re actually living up to the ideals we pledged at matriculation.
Their concerns are often valid and genuine; they are scared for our life choices and security, and Taejae’s infancy often brings changes in schedule, modification of courses, and miscommunication—as students, it can be frustrating and sometimes downright jarring.