P O S T E R   C R E D I T S   T O : H U N G R Y -  

&     A F F A M E    G R A P H I C    S H O P       ♥

foreword

Most students, even the hard-working intellectuals of Seoul University, look forward to the bell. Perhaps, it’s a subconscious thought or habit very much alive inside every one of us, developing since kindergarten, the time when we would dash outside the moment the bell rang to claim the best spots in the sandbox, all the way to now, when we are sitting in the brightly-lit classrooms of the most prestigious and finest university in South Korea. It doesn’t necessarily imply that the professors’ lectures are boring and worthless, even though some would argue that yes, that’s exactly what it implies. Some would assume that the bell isn’t meaningful in any way, but the arrival of the simple chimes was something people anticipated like getting in line just for the heck of it; not knowing what was so great about it, but enjoying the long, torturous wait, thinking that there’s got to be something good at the end. The reason why many people welcome the arrival of the bell may simply be because the bell sounds pleasant and melodic to the ears. Or, for some, the bell symbolizes the unlimited possibilities of the weekend, the promise of no more classes for the day, and the freedom of getting drunk at Hongdae in less than three hours (and ending up puking the contents you drank in less than six). Simply put, most people look forward to the bell because they think it brings them happiness, and makes them happy.

I’d like to tell you some things here. For one, I, Sandara Park, a junior in Seoul University double majoring in Music and Literature, can tell you confidently that despite the fact that, yes, the chiming of the bell may sound short and cute, the bell is no Mozart or Brahms. It’s hardly in line for Masterpiece of the Year, which is an award the music department gives to the most outstanding piece of music at our annual music festival. In fact, I heard that some professors from our music department had demanded the bell to be changed to something more “classical” and “easy on the ears”, which was, of course, vetoed by the student body immediately. Another, I cannot imagine how it must feel to be waiting for the class to be over, when I’m begging for my class not to be over.

The prospect of the weekend? Fantastic.

No more for the classes for the day, meaning relaxation starting with a bubble bath when I get home? Wonderful.

Getting drunk at Hongdae for one crazy night and puking everything afterwards? Superb.

What I dreaded was the approach of…

“Class dismissed!” The professor announced with a huff the exact moment the bell hissed, earning the joyful cheers and relieved sighs of students around me. Noises of every kind imaginable start to fill up the classroom. Chairs creaking as the weight were lifted from them. Pens and rulers clinking as they are thrown by force into their rightful places by their impatient owners. Bags hitting corners of the tables as students ran recklessly out the door. School jocks laughing boisterously about their weekend conquests while some were roaring about beating the rivaling team to a pulp at the football game tomorrow. Girls rambling on and on about the discounts taking place at the mall this weekend, and the details of how to become a smart shopper that doesn’t fall into the traps of commercialism. Phones ringing excitedly as people get calls from friends nagging for them to get a move on to their next destination. Floors groaning in protest as more and more students shuffle out of the classroom. I could even hear the woeful ticking from the clock, seconds and seconds passing me by. Sighing, I got up from my seat and stride across the classroom, deciding that it was high time to leave, whether I liked it or not, because reality is not going to play nice and let me have my class as a shield for eternity. As the unfamiliar feeling of uneasiness fill my stomach once again, I cannot help but silently curse the person who is responsible for this. This wasn’t like me, the unruffled, take-no-bull girl who was ready to face anything calmly and remain firmly in control.

“Jagiya!” The oh-so-familiar voice sang out blithely the moment I stepped out onto the hallways. Without looking, I could feel the envy rolling off of my fellow classmates as they stroll past me, some of them probably giving me teasing glances or jealous glares. Closing my eyes slowly, I gave my last attempt to implore reality to let me off the hook and go to my happy place, just this once. Please.

“Jagiya…” The voice whined again, but closer. I stiffened.

Tch. Reality. Letting me down once again.

Opening my eyes, I was greeted by the sight of a guy so gorgeous that he could easily be mistaken for Miss South Korea if he wore a long wig of cascading waves. His impeccable skin was as smooth as a baby’s, and his skin color is rather pale, for a typical college guy. You would’ve assumed that he may be one of those lazy couch potatoes who never work out and wouldn't dare to walk in daylight, but on the contrary, his features are chiseled perfectly like the sculptures on display at the hallways of the Art department. The curve of his nose must be a mathematical wonder, and the intensity of his gaze cannot be calculated. His eyes, lined slightly with a hint of black eyeliner, you in so deeply that you cannot tear your eyes away. With sleek platinum blond hair lazily teased up at the front, he kind of resembles Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, minus the turn-on English accent and vampire get-up.

Tch. Pretty boy. Kwon Jiyong.

I hate him. To make matters worse, his eyes met mine, and the corners of his lips curved into a blinding smile. “Jagiya.”