Cinderella Story – 1967, as a Second-Year Student at Gimcheon High School
(Written on May 28, 2021)
“Father, the school announced that this summer, all the junior-year students will go to Cheongamsa Temple for a month-long intensive group study. What should I do?” I nervously asked my parents.
At Gimcheon High School, it was a tradition to take all junior-year students to the ancient Cheongamsa Temple near Gimcheon every summer for a study camp. Although the costs were minimal, I knew how essential I was to the operation of our taffy factory. Without me, it would be difficult to keep things running smoothly, so I hesitantly brought up the subject. Perhaps because I had grown up too quickly, I already felt the heavy weight of responsibility.
“Are you kidding? Your older brother is not at home, and if you go, how will we keep the factory running? Who says going there will make you study better? It all depends on you,” my father replied firmly.
At that time, my older brother was serving in the military and had yet to be discharged. My father’s words crushed my spirit.
“Oh, Father, how does this depend on me? I barely even have an hour to study at home,” I muttered under my breath.
But what could I do? That’s what my parents had decided, and I had grown up with an unshakable belief in obeying my parents and older siblings, no matter how frustrating it felt. That summer, as always, I found myself stuck working at the factory from dawn until late at night. My routine was already grueling—working at the factory, rushing to school, and coming back to work again—but with only a year and a half left until college entrance exams, missing the summer study camp felt like an enormous setback.
I had once been known for excelling academically, even earning the nickname "the German-made student." But when I started middle school, I became the de facto worker for our taffy factory, and my grades plummeted. At the time, I ranked around 30th in the class, a stark contrast to being at the top. As I’ve mentioned before, I had an incredible sense of self-worth and dreamed of being a hero like Alexander the Great. But with my declining grades, even my once-soaring self-esteem hit rock bottom. How could I justify this downfall?
Given my family’s financial situation, I knew paying for college would be nearly impossible. The reality was that I might have to give up on college entirely or apply for something like a military academy, which didn’t align with my aspirations. After much thought, I realized Seoul National University was my only viable option, as it offered opportunities to study while earning an income. But how? My grades were far from qualifying. With no one to guide me, I had to figure it out on my own.
“Alright,” I resolved. “Since English is my weakest subject, I’ll find an English reference book and study on my own while working at the factory.”
English and German were my weakest subjects, with scores no higher than 70—embarrassingly low. I didn’t even own a single reference book, so I started searching for one. Near our factory in Moamdong lived a friend named Seok-dong. His family also ran a taffy business, selling taffy made from the syrup we supplied. One day, while visiting his house, I spotted an old book among the junk. It was a worn-out English reference book missing about 30 pages from the beginning.
“Hey, Seok-dong, can I have this if you don’t need it?”
“Sure, it’s useless and worthless anyway,” he replied.
I brought the book back to the factory and started studying while feeding sawdust into the furnace. That book, Kim Hak-ki’s Triune Comprehensive English, became one of the two books that changed my life. It was the first English reference book I’d ever owned, and miraculously, as I read the first 50 pages, the previously incomprehensible English sentences began to make sense. It was exhilarating. I devoured the entire book and reread it several times.
Despite the chaos around me—loud motors roaring like machine guns, intense heat from the furnace, and endless sawdust to shovel—I maintained razor-sharp focus. Holding the book in one hand and the shovel in the other, I became completely immersed, as if the distractions didn’t exist. This intense ability to concentrate, no matter the circumstances, was one of my greatest strengths.
When summer break ended, the students who attended the camp returned with stories of their experiences. It pained me to hear them laugh and boast while I could only listen in silence.
Shortly after the new semester began, we faced a mock exam with real questions from Seoul Kyunggi High School. The results shocked everyone. I, who had missed the camp, scored first in English by a significant margin. My teacher summoned me.
“How did this happen? You didn’t attend the camp. Did you secretly study somewhere? Be honest,” he demanded.
His words stung. My absence from the camp had already been a sore point, and now I was being questioned for doing well. Though I couldn’t say it aloud, I fumed internally.
No one believed in my achievement, not even myself. They assumed it was a fluke or sheer luck. Yet, from that moment on, everything changed for me. I discovered that studying could be enjoyable and straightforward. Mastering English opened the door to success in every subject, and I began excelling across the board.
Six months later, I represented my school at a national English competition hosted by Seoul National University. By the end of the year, I ranked first in my class for the first time. I had transformed from an overlooked “taffy factory kid” into a Cinderella-like success story.