When my mind gets noisy, I return to school. If I type Gongneung-dong into the navigation, it takes about an hour from home. It is not exactly close. Even so, whenever life feels heavy, I wander around the neighborhood as if on a field trip, treasure-hunting through Gongneung. The memories buried in every corner always feel fresh. For someone who spent most of his twenties there, Gongneung almost feels like a hometown.
Today I went again. I picked up the December issue of Ruby from the rack by the elevator in Euiui Hall, sat down on one of the sofas in the lobby, and read it cover to cover. I have always liked reading and writing, and in college I briefly dreamed of writing for Ruby myself. But I could not imagine how I would ever find the time, so I let it go. Even so, I sometimes sent in feedback postcards, and once I even won a prize. When I ran over to collect the gift certificate, I discovered that the Ruby club room sat all by itself on the rooftop level of the first student union. Thinking back now, it was basically a rooftop shack. I still wonder how they endured the winters there.
Looking back over parts one and two of “Seoul National University of Science and Technology in 2006,” I realized I had left out the clock tower. I claimed I was going to describe the school in 2006 and then skipped the clock tower? Unforgivable. Current students might not even know what “the clock tower” refers to. It disappeared long ago. I cannot pin down the exact year, but I think it was sometime around 2008. That means only upperclassmen who were still around at the time, or people who later heard the stories secondhand, would remember it.
The clock tower was almost a symbol of the school. The silly little mound-shaped main gate you saw on your first day had been modeled after Dasang Hall, and on top of Dasang Hall sat a handsome clock. In truth, that clock had not worked properly for years. The four faces all pointed to different times. What made it famous, though, was that it starred in a classic prank played on freshmen. Around March or April, when first-years were still getting lost on campus, mischievous seniors would tell them that the Dasang clock tower was really powered by someone pedaling a bicycle inside. They would add plausible details: “the work is hard, but the hourly pay is good,” and “if you want the part-time job, you apply through the Euiui Hall office for the Public Administration department.” Every so often some poor freshman believed it and actually showed up. That story always made the rounds over drinks at the festival.
I also remember the period when the university’s name changed. Up until I left for the army, it was still Seoul National University of Industry. By the time I was approaching reinstatement, the campus was buzzing about a new name. Most students disliked the old “industry university” sound, so most people welcomed the idea of a change. The problem was that opinions split sharply over the alternatives. Several candidates circulated, and the current name, Seoul National University of Science and Technology, drew a lot of talk. Students in engineering departments could live with it, but liberal arts and design students pushed back hard, saying that “Department of Creative Writing, University of Science and Technology” sounded about as absurd as “Harvard Department of Citrus.” In the end, though, today’s name won. Another option was Dasang University, after Dasang Hall, but people complained that it did not sound like a national university. Someone jokingly proposed “Seoul Royal University,” arguing that since the school originated in the public Gyeongung Technical School founded by imperial edict, it was basically royal. Personally, I still think that would have been the coolest name.
I often wonder why I come back here whenever my mind is unsettled. Why do the memories scattered around Gongneung feel so precious? Perhaps because this place holds my awkward twenties. It holds the years when I strutted around calling myself a college student, trying to begin things I barely understood. The years when I furrowed my brow and gave juniors half-baked advice. The nights in the department lounge preparing contest entries with skills we didn’t really have. I loved how clumsy all of that was. I loved how easily mistakes were forgiven and understood. I loved that it was probably the last time in life when you could really make friends, rather than just colleagues. I loved that age still felt like confidence, not pressure.