Jiyoung quit the cram school. For a long time, she couldn’t go near a bus stop after dark. She stopped smiling at people, and did not make eye contact with strangers. She was afraid of all men, and she screamed sometimes when she ran into her younger brother in the stairwell. But she kept thinking about what the woman said. Not my fault. There’s far more great guys out there. If the woman hadn’t said that to her, Jiyoung would have lived in fear for even longer.
The Korean financial crisis of 1997 hit Kim Jiyoung’s household. The civil service, known to be the most secure work, was subjected to waves of restructuring. Jiyoung’s father, a low-level civil servant who believed downsizing and early retirement only applied to the financial sector and large corporations, was asked to quit. The general consensus among his colleagues was to stick it out no matter what, and he agreed with them. But he was nervous. He didn’t make a lot of money, but the fact that he was raising a family was his biggest source of pride. He was a good worker—steadfast, conscientious, always a perfectionist, and a model employee—who found himself at a loss and visibly shaken to realize his livelihood was under threat.
Kim Eunyoung was, coincidentally, in the twelfth grade at the time. Unaffected by the tense mood around the house, she kept her grades up. Her practice test results did not improve dramatically, but rose steadily and brought about entrance exam scores she was happy with.
The mother cautiously suggested that her first-born daughter attend a teacher training college outside of Seoul. This suggestion came after a great deal of deliberation on her part. The older generation was being laid off and the younger generation wasn’t able to find jobs. Her husband’s job, once thought to be completely secure until retirement, faced an uncertain future, there were two other children, and the economy was worsening. For the sake of Eunyoung’s future and for the financial stability of the family, the mother wanted her to attend a university that would lead to a high probability of securing stable work. Besides, teacher training colleges had cheaper tuition. But this was after the civil service and education became popular, and the exam score cut-off for teacher training colleges had skyrocketed. Eunyoung had her pick of schools in Seoul, but not the city’s teacher training colleges.
Eunyoung, whose dream was to become a television producer, chose journalism as her major and was already looking at previous years’ essay test material from the schools she was thinking about. When her mother brought up the idea of teacher training college, Eunyoung said no in a heartbeat.
“I don’t want to be a teacher. I already have something I want to do. And why do I have to leave home and attend university so far away?”
“Think ahead. There’s no better job for women than a schoolteacher.”
“What’s so great about being a schoolteacher?”
“You get off work early. You have school vacations. It’s easy to take time off. There’s nothing like teaching for working moms.”
“Sure. It’s a great job for working parents. Then isn’t it a great job for everyone? Why specifically women? Do women raise children alone? Are you going to suggest teaching to your son, too? You’re going to send him to a teacher training college, too?”
Growing up, the sisters were never once told by their parents to meet a nice man and marry well, to grow up to be a good mother and a good cook. They’d done quite a lot of chores around the house since they were young, but they thought of it as helping out their busy parents and taking care of themselves, not learning how to be good women. When they were a bit older, the lectures they received from their parents fell under two main themes: a) habits and attitude (sit up straight, keep your desk organized, don’t read in the dark, pack your schoolbags ahead of time, be polite to your elders); b) study hard.
Gone were the days when parents thought girls didn’t have to get good grades or receive the same education as boys. It had long since been the norm for girls, like boys, to put on a uniform, carry a backpack, and attend school. Girls thought about what they would like to do when they grew up, just as boys did; they planned their careers and competed to achieve their goals. This was a time of widespread social support for women’s ambitions. In 1999, the year Kim Eunyoung turned twenty, new legislation against gender discrimination was introduced, and in 2001, the year Kim Jiyoung turned twenty, the Ministry of Gender Equality was formed.7 But in certain pivotal moments in women’s lives, the “woman” stigma reared its head to obscure their vision, stay their hands, and hold them back. The mixed signals were confusing and disconcerting.
“Besides, I don’t know if I’m going to get married, or if I’m going to have children. Or maybe I’ll die before I get to do any of that. Why do I have to deny myself something I want right now to prepare for a future that may or may not come?”
The mother looked up at the world on the wall. On the map with tattered corners were a few green and blue heart-shaped stickers. It was the elder sister’s idea to put stickers on the countries they wanted to see. Kim Jiyoung chose the more familiar countries such as the USA, Japan, and China, while Eunyoung chose northern European countries such as Denmark, Sweden, and Finland. When asked why she picked those places, Eunyoung said she wanted to go someplace with few Koreans. The mother knew what the stickers meant.
“You’re right,” said the mother. “I’m sorry I brought it up. You’re going to ace that essay test!”
The mother was turning to leave when Eunyoung called, “Mom, is it because the tuition is cheap? The relative job security? Because I can start bringing home a paycheck right after graduation? Because Father’s job isn’t a sure thing these days, and I have two younger siblings?”
“That’s a big part of it. That’s half the reason. The other half is … I thought a schoolteacher was a really great job in many ways. But now I think you’re right.”
The mother answered her honestly, and Eunyoung had nothing to say to that.
Eunyoung started looking into material on elementary-school education, consulted the school careers adviser several times, checked out a teacher training college outside Seoul, and brought back an application. The mother was against it this time. She knew better than anyone what it was like to give up on one’s dreams for the sake of the family, having made that sacrifice herself. She hardly ever saw her brothers—a sacrifice made without truly understanding the consequences, or even having the choice to refuse, created regret and resentment that was as deep as it was slow to heal, and the bitterness broke up the family.
Eunyoung insisted that wasn’t it. She said she’d been more into the idea of becoming a television producer without really knowing what it entailed. That, in fact, ever since she was little, she’d enjoyed reading to her younger siblings, helping them with homework, and doing crafts and drawing with them—schoolteacher suited her better.
“Like you said, Mom, it’s a great job. You get off work early, there’s school vacations, job stability. Besides, I get to teach things to little children who’re as innocent and lively as fresh leaves! How cool is that? Although I’m sure I’ll be yelling at them a lot of the time.”
Eunyoung applied to the teacher training college she visited, and was accepted. She got a spot in the dormitory as well. On move-in day, the mother laid out a few essential dorm items and offered advice that fell on the deaf ears of her twenty-year-old daughter bursting with excitement she could hardly contain. The mother came home that day, put her head down on Eunyoung’s empty desk and cried for a long time. She’s still a child. I shouldn’t have made her leave home so soon. I should have let her attend the school she really wanted. I shouldn’t have forced her to be like me. Jiyoung couldn’t tell if the mother felt sorry for her daughter or for her younger self, but she offered her words of consolation.