1.1 - The Awakening

When I was young, my dream was to be a sculptor.

There is no grand reason. As a child, I harbored a unique aspiration that stemmed from a simple classroom activity. It all began in elementary school during an art lesson, where we were tasked with sculpting soap using basic tools like a nail pusher or a knife. The process of transforming a bar of soap into a work of art captivated my imagination and sparked a passion within me.

That was just so fascinating to me.

The memory of that day is still very clear to me. As if digging for a gem in the siap, I moved my hand, guided by the knife.

The finished product was so good that even an ignorant child could see it. It was so good that I want to fill the world with these beautiful things.

From then on, I wanted to become a sculptor who discovered beautiful things.

/////

"To be honest, I think it would be better for him to give up going to art school..."

The teacher ended his sentence with difficulty. It was mid-December, and a bitter cold wave of wind was blowing through the windows of the rather empty practical room.

"Teacher. There are 106 full-time art schools across the country. Isn't there anywhere for Kangseok to go among them?"

My ears turned red at my father's question. It was out of shame rather than the cold.

This is the fourth year since I started to get criticized for the fact that the competition rate for art is low compared to other majors. It was because I was incompetent that I can let people to talk to me like that even if my skills were improving, but it wasn't enough.

"Mr. Kang, it's important to understand that while art school provides a solid foundation, the real challenge lies in navigating the competitive landscape of society. With nearly 6,000 art school graduates entering the art world annually, the competition is fierce. Many individuals spend years studying art only to find themselves pursuing different career paths. It's essential to be prepared for the realities of the art industry beyond the classroom. In fact, I have many friends who went to art school for four years but still don't end up doing art."

The teacher took a deep breath and then brought up the heavy topic.

"As we approach the end of the second semester, it's evident that Mr. Kang's son, Kangseok, is on the verge of becoming a high school senior. However, let's consider the financial aspect of pursuing an education in art school. In today's world, the cost of attending art school has skyrocketed, and it's important to acknowledge this reality. From the moment the entrance exams are over, an exorbitant sum of money is required to be paid on a monthly basis."

Art costs money, It was common knowledge that everyone knew.

Perhaps the reason the teacher brought this up was because he knew that our family's financial situation was not good.

There's no way my father wouldn't understand what he is insinuating. I glanced at my father.

My father's eyes looked very sad as he looked at the teacher.

"Are you telling me to give up my son's dreams because of money?"

"It may sound cold Mr. Kang, but the reality these days is that spending a lot of money to send a child to one of the many art schools across the country is worse than not sending it at all."

The hand holding my knee gained strength. I was furious. I got annoyed. And I was embarrassed by my talent for making my father sad.

"Mr. Kang. I know you're worried amd wants the best for Kangseok. But why don't you think about Kangseok's future first and reconsider it?"

"His future?"

"Yes. By considering the situation from a different perspective, it becomes evident that he has the potential to be accepted into another school. With a little investment, I am confident that the possibility of achieving this goal will become a reality. Kangseok's dedication and determination make him an exceptional individual, and if he dedicates himself to preparing for the regular exam after the CSAT, his progress will undoubtedly be remarkable. Moreover, let's not forget that Kangseok is not only hardworking but also a talented individual who successfully passed Cheonghwa Arts High School."

From the teacher's words, I could feel his pride in Chunghwa Arts High School, which is called the best arts high school in Korea.

As someone who barely got into school by passing the exam, it had a bitter taste in my mouth.

"Having observed Kangseok for numerous years, I firmly believe that his unwavering dedication and hard work is undoubtedly his best asset and it is an necessary skill to thrive as an artist. His pursuit of excellence and passion for his craft are evident in every piece he creates, showcasing his potential for greatness in the art world. With his current work ethic and determination, there is no doubt in my mind that Kangseok has what it takes to join the world of art with his artistic endeavors."

The teacher could not continue speaking after that. The words that followed were blocked.

If you work hard like you do now, you may be able to acquire skills, but talent is not something you can acquire by working hard. Kang Seok has no talent. Sending oneself to art school is meaningless. It would be better to find another way now.

But the teacher could not say those words in the end. The teacher looked at me with a sad look in his eyes for a while, then changed his mind.

"Mr. Kang, it's been quite a while since we last talked, so I wanted to discuss Kangseok's recent report card with you before our counseling session. I was pleased to see that Kangseok has been maintaining good grades. He is known for his reading habits and active participation in school activities, which reflects positively on his academic performance. As we plan for his future, I suggest that he enter Gosan High School and utilizing his time wisely by skipping after-school lessons and focusing on preparing for the upcoming college entrance exam. This dedicated time for exam preparation can significantly impact Kangseok's chances of success and help him achieve his academic goals. By prioritizing his studies during this crucial period, Kangseok can enhance his academic performance and secure a bright future ahead."

They told me to prepare to enter a liberal arts college, not an art college.

That was the conclusion of today's parent consultation.

As the parent consultation came to an end, I hopped into the truck, ready to head back home. Today was different though, as I had to discuss it once again with my family,with the help of the thoughtful teacher who allowed me to come in early. As I swung open the truck door, I couldn't help but notice that the words [Seok Furniture Store] were partially hidden from view

*click*

The truck must have come from a long distance, so the inside of the truck was still warm. It was a warmth that did not suit this cold weather.

"Isn't it a little cold?"

It seemed to be much warmer than the practical room, but my father quickly turned on the heater and looked back at me. For some reason, he was in tears and his eyes were red, but I resolutely raised the corner of my mouth.

"Are you okay? Should we go straight home?"

"Yes..."

"Okay..."

The engine roared to life as my father silently started the truck, and we began our journey. The scenery outside slowly passed by, with an engine in the distance still running with water flowing. Memories flooded my mind of the countless moments spent with my hardworking father, yet I remained silent, unable to find the words to speak.

The quietness enveloped us as we continued down the road, heading towards Byeong-ga. The streets were lined with various academies, but my eyes were drawn to the art academies that seemed to stand out among the rest. The sound of the engine and the passing scenery created a peaceful atmosphere, allowing me to reflect on the bond shared with my father without the need for words.

'Dad, hurry!'

Suddenly, a memory from my first year of middle school flashed by. It was my first time going to an art academy. I was just tinkering with laundry soap with a sculptor and was very excited to learn art in earnest.

I forced my mouth open as I watched the art academies and art shops passing by quickly, filled with memories.

"Father..."

"...I'm going to stop by the bookstore."

"Bookstore? Why bookstore?"

"I want to buy a workbook."

I remembered the pocket money I had saved up to buy art materials. Now I can use the money to buy a workbook.

"Seok-ah."

"Please... let's stop by."

The CSAT grade cuts for art colleges and humanities colleges are different. If we wanted to do it in Seoul, time was tight even from now on. I stared at the art room moving away from the window and stretched out as if making a promise.

"Please do me a favor."

"Okay, let's do that."

As we made a right turn at the intersection, the art academy and art shop faded away from view. The idea of purchasing something lingered in my mind, sparking a sense of anticipation and sadness.

The teacher's request for another discussion about the entrance exam matter with my family echoed in my thoughts, but my father simply returned home and retreated to his room silently, expressing gratitude for my efforts.

Seeing that, my mother must have sensed something was wrong, and with a serious expression on her face, she followed my father into the room.

The house, which was not properly soundproofed, was quiet today with only the sound of the refrigerator running. It was a good environment for studying.

I personally think that analyzing past exam questions is the most important thing in preparing for the CSAT. So, analyzing the previous exam questions...

The time was now 11:30 PM, and there was still time for my younger sister to return by car from the academy.

'I'll have to look at it a little more and bring it back.'

If I were caught using my sister's laptop without permission, there would be an uproar.

"Seok-ah."

My father called me.

"Yes?"

"Come out and see."

"Why?"

I opened the door and went out into the living room.

My father was sitting at the table and drinking. Since when did it start? The bottle of soju was already empty, and while my son was listening to the college entrance exam lecture, my father seemed to be drinking quietly, using the sound as a snack.

"Okay, are you feeling okay?"

How long has my father been here? I cried out in tears.

"I'm fine."

My father, who was quietly looking at me, gestured.

"Seok-ah, sit down."

Now I see that there was an empty soju glass sitting across from my father. I turned my head and looked for my father and mother who were Set. I saw the master bedroom door tightly closed. My mother was civilized over there

Sit down.

Reluctantly, I sat across from him and looked at the glass of soju. It was awkward.

Why is this here?

While I was wondering if it could be possible, my father held up the half-empty soju bottle as I sat down.

"Let's have a drink."

"What kind of high school kid drinks?"

"It's okay, have a drink."

My father poured soju without listening to the answer. As the glass was filled with more than half of the soju, the smell of alcohol entered my nose.

It was an unfamiliar smell.

There's also the unfamiliar expression I saw from my father for the first time.

The seat was uncomfortable.

My father put down the soju bottle and held his already filled glass towards me.

*Clink*

The glasses clinked together. While my sister awkwardly raised the glass and wandered in the air, my father emptied the soju glass in one go. My sister also moved awkwardly, following her father.

Bitter.

But it's sweet.

That was my first impression of Soju.

As I was frowning with my head down, feeling like I didn't want to get used to this taste, my father's voice fell over my head.

"I'm sorry that your father has no talent."

The burden of my father's profound apology pressed down heavily on my mind, leaving me feeling overwhelmed. My eyes, devoid of any emotion, seemed to have lost their ability to feel. In the midst of this emotional turmoil, a random thought popped into my head - is soju spicy? However, in that very moment, a vivid memory of my father's narrative about his artistic journey emerged, triggered by his grandfather's profession as a stonemason and the subsequent influence it had on him after his grandfather's passing.

"If only I was born with a goood talent... I'm sorry."

"... it's fine."

We heard a sound of intermittent breathing. A breathing sound that is neither my father's nor mine. It was the sound of my mother crying quietly in the room.

"Son."

A wave of frustration surged within me, constricting my throat as it had done countless times before. The weight of disappointment hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over my entire family. Their sadness mirrored my own, amplifying the anger that simmered within me. Regret washed over me like a torrential downpour, saturating my heart with sorrow. My whole family is sad because I have no talent. That made me angry.

"If you still want to continue..."

"I said I was fine!"

I roughly wiped my face. I made a mistake. But I can't control it. It felt like my emotions were boiling over, so I stood up. It wasn't controlled.

"I am... I am confident that I will be happy with this path."

It doesn't have to be art. I swallowed the words I couldn't say out loud. I turned around and walked quickly. I needed some outside air.

I kicked down the door and left the house. Suddenly, I dragged the bike I bought to save on transportation costs.

And ran. I just recklessly stepped on it. As much as I resented it, I was stepped on.

Memories of working hard passed by in the scenery passing by.

"Aaaah!"

Actually, it was a bluff.

I don't want to quit. I liked art, and I liked sculpture. I wasn't confident that I would be happy on any other path than this one.

My eyes stung. I couldn't tell if it was a tears or not. I couldn't see clearly in front of me. Still, I continued to step on it. I just didn't want to think about anything.

That time when I was running frantically

Meow!

A cat jumped out from the bushes.

"F*cker!"

Craddangtangtang!

The bicycle flipped over due to a sharp bend in the handlebars. The body that was thrown out fell onto the slope next to the park's bicycle path. I got tangled up with the bike and my whole body hurt.

Before I knew it, my body was lying on my back on the ground.

"Haha!"

I was out of breath, perhaps because I kept riding my bike without stopping. My mind slowly calmed down. As my blurry vision came into focus, I saw the moon. The full moon was beautiful.

'Pretty.'

I wonder who carved the moon?

Meow!

While I was thinking about being embarrassed if anyone heard it, I heard the cat meowing again. It was clearly the cat that had jumped out of the bushes earlier.

A sudden feeling of déjà vu came to me. I don't think I've ever heard this crying before...

As soon as the thought came to me, my head started pounding. Did you hit your head when you fell? The feeling of hundreds of pins piercing my head fills my whole body.

My vision was dizzy. The headache continued to get worse. It hurts. It was a pain I had never experienced before.

I forcefully blew on my unmoving foot and held my head. Why am I like this? The moment I thought about it, my vision went dark.

"Heo-eok, heo-eok!"

When I came to my senses, I found myself running down a street. The early morning air entered deep into my lungs. Hahaha, I was out of breath. Ah, I heard a cat meowing.

Ah! It was the sound of this cat crying. A question that was unmistakable from the calico cat I encountered, but have I ever run to a place like this?

Even though I tried to look around, my head wouldn't turn. what? I felt like my body wasn't my own.

Is it a lucid dream?

Sweat got into my eyes and it stung. Against my will, my steps were slowly slowing down.

In the distance, against the full moon, the cathedral was shining black. I arrived in front of the cathedral before I knew it.

In the deep darkness, I opened the church door. The well-oiled wooden door moved with great ease. As I followed the humid smell of wood into the cathedral, the familiar interior was revealed in the moonlight.

Instinctively, I felt like this place was somewhere nearby.

'It's San Pietro's Cathedral!'

It was the cathedral built on the tomb of Peter, the center of Catholicism in the world. I walked around the cathedral without hesitation as if it were my own home. weird. I've never been there, so why do I know the internal structure so well?

Anyway, is it okay to just walk like this? Doubts piled up. At that time, a complaint suddenly burst out of my mouth.

"What? Rome? Lombardy?"

It was an unfamiliar language. No, it was a familiar language. The Florentine dialect was also the language that now became the basis of Italian standard language.

Suddenly I remembered why I came here. This was because critics were criticizing me after seeing the work I made during the day.

Even after seeing this masterpiece, critics could not think of the name of this great body. No. Rather than mentioning the name, he did not spare any praise, saying that this amazing work must have been created by a genius artist from somewhere other than Rome, Lombardy, or Florence.

"sun"

I snorted and took out the hammer and dream from my arms. My heart was pounding with tension.

This is the Renaissance era. No artist could sign works intended for church clergy. Even though I know that, I lean on the work I made.

Oh, it went up.

I have to let you know.

For those without eyes, I engraved the verses I had prepared on the breastband of Mary, who held Jesus in her arms.

[MICHEL AGELVS. BONAROTVS, FLORENT. They were done

I read it out loud in the dark, running my hand over the chest band.

"Michelangelo Buonarroti, the emperor, created this."

A name engraved in history.

A sculptor who was revered as a 'god' by artists during the Renaissance.

Michelangelo di Ludovico Buonarroti Simoni.

I realized it instinctively.

This is not a lucid dream.

It was me.

'I'

Suddenly, knowledge poured in like a deluge. My body was flooded with stories and memories from almost 400 years ago. I felt like my head was about to explode.

Kangseok's pupils moved swiftly while he was in discomfort.

Hot.

Memories spilling in the middle of chaos awoke senses I had never felt before. It felt as if new cells were being formed within me. The breath I'd been holding was released.

The world that was black returned to white.

What?

"Excuse me, are you okay?"

The woman was looking down at me with a worried expression. The full moon was visible behind the woman wearing long padding. It was the full moon I saw earlier. Among the memories pouring in like light, only the full moon was clearly visible.

My heart was beating violently. I didn't mind the voices of students, students, and ladies calling me, or the people surrounding me and whispering.

I raised my hand.

I felt the muscles stretching from my elbow to my forearm, and from my wrist to my thumb and middle finger.

It feels different.

"Ha ha ha ha ha!"

Everything has changed.

/////

It was almost 4 a.m. when I returned home after the break.

"Father..."

When I opened the front door and entered, my father was looking at me with a worried face. He must have been waiting for me in in the living room when he heard the sound of door opening.

My father's eyes were bloodshot, a sight I had never seen before. His disheveled hair added to the image of distress. With a gaze that seemed ready to burst into action, my father beckoned me over, his expression filled with urgency.

And then my sister and mother ran out of the bedroom.

"Seok-ah..."

"Brother..."

The eyes and nose of my family members were puffy and crimson, giving the impression that chaos had descended upon us. I glanced at my parents and attempted a hesitant smile, unsure of how to react to the situation.

There was actually something on my mind that I've been wanting to express. It's been weighing on me ever since the parent consultation concluded. Despite my desire to speak up earlier, the words seemed to be entangled in a prickly thorn, making it difficult for them to escape my lips.

"I'll just continue sculpting."