West Seoul University Series

by Leigh Ban

  “You guys should’ve come here with me for last semester’s course registration,” I said.

  Once I logged onto the computer and went to the student portal website, I searched the names of the courses I was interested in taking. There were two classes I was particularly determined to enroll in: Finance and Society and Behavioral Economics. Since economics was one of the biggest majors at West Seoul University, both classes were notoriously difficult to enroll in. After I added six courses to my cart, I stretched my arms and rested my head on the back of the chair. Before I knew it, I’d nodded off.

  “Excuse me.”

  I woke up to someone shoving my arm away so that I was wheeled over to the right, where Dana was sitting.

  She flinched. “Woah! Are you alright?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I said as I looked over at the person who’d pushed me.

  His broad, T-shirt-clad back was all I could see since he was bending down to grab something from under the desk. Though I released an exasperated sigh, I decided to just let it slide. Then I saw the computer monitor and gasped. The words “no signal” appeared on the screen.

  “What’s the time?” I yelped at Dana.

  “It’s 8:50,” she answered. “You’ve added the classes you want to sign up for to your cart, right?”

  I didn’t respond. Instead, I grimaced at the guy sitting to my left and grabbed his shoulder.

  “Hey, look what you did to my computer. I have course registration in ten minutes,” I hissed.

  When we exchanged glances, he chuckled.

  “Whoops,” he mouthed as he scratched his chiseled jawline.

  I immediately hated him. He was clearly one of those smug guys who thought everyone must be enamored with him simply because of his rugged good looks.

  “What did you say?”

  “Sorry, my bad.” He put his large hand on mine and looked at me pitifully, as if I was a child throwing a tantrum.

  “My bad?” I jerked my hand away. “I need to do course registration at nine o’clock on the dot. It’s the reason I came here.”

  “What’s the big deal? I must’ve pulled out a cord while I was trying to pick up my phone off the floor. Here, I’ll plug it back in. Now try switching your computer back on.”

  Even though I wanted to argue with him by asking if he wouldn’t mind me messing with his computer at 8:59 in that case, I didn’t want to squander what little time I had.

  I tapped my fist against the table as I waited for the computer to turn on. The situation was agonizing. While I typed my student ID and password to log into the school portal at 8:57, my fingers were trembling. However, once I went to the course registration section, the corners of my mouth curved up. All of the classes I wanted to enroll in remained in my cart.

  The guy next to me leaned over. “See, I knew you’d be fine. Do you still have a problem?”

  “Your attitude’s the problem,” I growled.

  He ignored what I said and cheerfully commented, “Hey, I’m also signing up for Society and—”

  “It’s 8:59. Unless you plan to take zero credits this semester, I suggest you focus on your own computer monitor.”

  That shut him up. The instant nine o’clock struck, I clicked “register” six times like my life depended on it. When I discovered I’d successfully enrolled for all of the classes in my cart, I almost shrieked with glee.

  “How did you do?” Dana asked.

  “Let’s just say I have a great semester ahead of me.”

  Chapter Two

  On the first Thursday of September, Dana and I took International Trade together, then headed over to the cafeteria in the Sul Student Center. The queue was so long that we weren’t even standing inside. For some reason, the cafeteria was always twice as busy as usual during the first week of the semester. I wasn’t sure where all the students disappeared to after the end of the first week.

  “I’m so done with this semester already,” Dana grumbled while we stood in line.

  “Because you’ve got to stand in line for twenty minutes to eat soggy spaghetti with mystery meat? Or because you have to go to your next class after you finish your sorry excuse for a meal?”

  “Duh. Both,” Dana said as if she were a teenage boy.

  I chuckled. “Fair enough. When’s your next class?”

  “I think I have the History of Popular Music at three. What about you?”

  “I have Finance and Society at two. Do you think I have enough time?”

  Dana took out her phone and peered at the screen. “That’s in half an hour. By the time you get your spaghetti, it’ll be two o’clock. Should we just go to the convenience store and find something to eat there?”

  “Is that okay with you?”

  “Of course. Let’s go,” Dana said, so we began walking. “The food they serve at the student center cafeteria sucks anyway. By the way, where’s your next class?”

  “I think I have to return to the College of Economics. Hang on, I’ll check my timetable.”

  When I took out my phone and opened my photo album to look at the screenshot I’d saved, I stopped in my tracks. I couldn’t believe it; instead of signing up for Finance and Society, I’d enrolled in a class I’d never heard of called Society and Love.

  “This can’t be right,” I muttered.

  “Where do you have to go? Is the class not held at the College of Economics?”

  “Dana, I’m not enrolled in Finance and Society.” I handed my phone to her.

  “Society and Love?” Dana read. “Is this for real? I can’t believe you signed up for a class on love. You have to send Stella a screenshot of your timetable. She’s going to cry tears of laughter when she sees what’s happened to you.”

  “Why on Earth did I register for a class on love? I can’t believe I made such a stupid mistake,” I cried out.

  “Why don’t you log into the student portal and get on the waitlist for Finance and Society? Somebody might change their mind and drop the course,” Dana suggested, although we both knew there was bound to be a long waitlist, seeing as the class was nearly impossible to enroll in.

  After we arrived at the convenience store, we purchased our instant noodles and went over to the hot water dispenser. While I waited for the noodles to cook, I checked to see how long the waitlist for Finance and Society was. As I expected, though the class was for just thirty students, fifty-seven students were currently on the waitlist.

  I groaned. “There’s no way I’ll be able to enroll in Finance and Society. I’ll have to drop Society and Love, then look for another class to take.”

  Dana stopped blowing into her noodles. “Why don’t you try going to the first class for Society and Love then? Just check out what it’s like.” She tapped on her phone screen. “There’s one course review from last semester on Snarky Students Say. You’ve signed up for a bunch of rigorous classes, right? It wouldn’t hurt to take one easy course.”

  “Snarky Students Say?” I snorted. Snarky Students Say was a website where college students posted decidedly inappropriate and silly reviews. Most professors considered the website an abomination to higher education, but the website continued to gain popularity among students. A couple of months ago, Dana and I found out about the website through a viral review that used quotes from Confucius to vehemently criticize one of the professors from the philosophy department.

  “Here, read this,” Dana passed her phone to me.

  Username: 4eversolo

  What did you like about this course?

  There are Z-E-R-O exams. No midterms! No finals! Hurrah!

  Were there any problems with the course?

  There was an even ratio of male and female students, but somehow I still ended up alone.

  Who would you recommend the course to?

  Anyone who’s not socially inept or butt-ugly. If that applies to you, don’t be like me and take the course because you think you’ll finally find the love of your life after twenty-two lonely years. Your par
tner will hate you and make it obvious.

  I rolled my eyes. “I know I’m supposed to be pleased with there being no exams, but this review doesn’t exactly make the class sound enticing. Also, the reviewer is clearly ‘4eversolo’ because they’ve got issues.”

  “So are you going to go or not?”

  I peered at the clock on the wall. It was already 1:45.

  “Oh I’m going. But I’ll be logged onto the student portal, frantically searching for a better class to take that fits into my timetable,” I replied before hungrily slurping on my noodles.

  When I stepped into the lecture hall, a man was writing on the large whiteboard. He wrote a phone number and an email address next to the words “Professor Lim.” I presumed he was the professor’s TA since he was wearing a gray hoodie with jeans and Balenciaga sneakers. To my surprise, when he turned around, he looked older than I expected. Although he was in shape and had a head full of dark hair, his smile lines showed unmistakable signs of age. As students came in one by one and chose a place to sit, he observed them curiously, nodding slowly.

  “Hello, everyone. Welcome to Society and Love, the most experimental and memorable course you’ll probably take during your undergraduate years. I’m Professor Lim from the Department of Anthropology.” He glanced around the lecture hall. “So all of you are single, correct? If you’re not single, you should leave immediately.”

  The class howled with laughter.

  Professor Lim cleared his throat. “As I specified in the online course description, the only requirement for this class is to be single. Some of you may have heard about your special semester-long project for this course from your peers. We won’t get into that today. Since it’s still course change period, I’ll be pairing you up during our next class. As I disclosed in the course syllabus, you are not allowed to select your own partner. That would defy the purpose of the assignments. Please don’t pester me about who you want to be paired up with.”

  A bunch of guys cracked up again, though I didn’t understand what was so amusing.

  The professor continued. “Now, in today’s lecture, I’d like to explore the commercialization of relationships in our society. How do corporations capitalize on supposedly romantic gestures and romantic expectations?”

  To my surprise, I enjoyed the lecture. Professor Lim discussed the background behind all the “love holidays” in South Korea, from the fourteenth day of each month, each of which had a special theme—Valentine’s Day, White Day, Rose Day—to the modern-day tradition of spending Christmas as a couple. Frankly, I found it refreshing how he pointed out which industries were involved in marketing these occasions while also mentioning how single people were made to feel left out and incomplete. By the time he got started on wedding culture, three hours had already passed. He dismissed the class and told us he’d explain more during the next lesson. When I left the lecture hall, I realized I was glad to have signed up for the course, even if it had been a mistake.

  Behavioral Economics was my last lecture of the week. Although I used to hate having to turn up to campus on Fridays and would plan my timetable around having a three-day weekend, I was pleased to have secured a place in Professor Choi’s class. She was a statuesque thirty-something-year-old professor who was reputed to have been one of the most outstanding students at our university, which she attended as an undergraduate. Upon graduating, she’d gone straight to Harvard to study for her PhD.

  When I took Economic Analysis with Professor Choi last semester, I’d worried about coming off as stupid because I often approached her with a long list of questions during break time. However, she’d been incredibly patient with me. No matter how simple or repetitive my questions were, she provided me with thorough explanations. During break time one day, when she came up to my seat in the back row to check if I had any questions, I realized she’d taken a liking to me. I gathered it must have been because most of the other people in the class had been reluctant to talk to her. Although she was rather soft-spoken, students seemed intimidated by how smart she was, coupled with her unusual height. Toward the end of the semester, she asked me about my plans for the summer and encouraged me to apply for an internship at the Bank of Korea.

  “Yumi,” Professor Choi said when I put my black leather backpack down in the front row.

  “Hi, Professor Choi. How are you?”

  “Well, it’s been a hectic week to say the least.” She let out a muffled laugh. “I hope you had a great summer. Could I talk to you at the end of class?”

  “Sure.”

  I immediately began wondering what she wanted to say to me, but I wasn’t able to sit around and ponder the possibilities for long. Although there were over a hundred students in the lecture hall, many of whom were chatting excitedly among themselves, everybody quieted down once they heard the click-clack of Professor Choi’s brown loafers as she made her way to the podium. For fifty minutes, a stiff silence filled the room.

  At the end of the class, I watched the other students leave while I slowly packed my belongings. When I went over to Professor Choi, she stacked a few ring binders together and shoved them into her large canvas tote bag.

  “Was there something you wanted to share with me?” I asked, looking up at her.

  “Yes, I have exciting news.” Professor Choi paused as the last student to leave the lecture hall flung the door shut. “Yumi, have you heard of the Hope Scholarship for Young Economists?”

  “Of course. It’s one of the most prestigious scholarship programs in the nation.”

  When I was in high school, an alumnus came and spoke to everyone in my grade about how she’d received the scholarship. All of the teachers had been utterly impressed. For the rest of the school year, my math teacher, who was the one that invited the Hope Scholar, reminded my class to study as hard as her at the end of every class.

  Professor Choi slumped against the podium, then explained, “The scholarship covers the tuition fees and living expenses of ten students for their last year of college. Also, recipients receive one-on-one mentoring from finance industry professionals during the end of winter break. So the scholarship is extremely helpful for landing a job at institutions like the Financial Supervisory Service and the Korea Development Bank or even for getting accepted into renowned MBA programs abroad. The program will be of help to you, no matter what you end up doing in the future.”

  “Me?”

  She nodded. “Yumi, I’d like to nominate you for the scholarship. Three third-year students will be selected from West Seoul University. Professor Byun has asked me to choose one of the three students, and I’d like it to be you.”

  For a moment, I just stared at her. My throat felt dry. I’d always assumed Hope Scholars were students who never stepped foot out of the library. Although I had a good GPA, I didn’t fuss over receiving a B or two. Heck, I’d even received three C’s during my first semester of college. I certainly wasn’t one of the top students in the economics department.

  “Is that okay with you? Or has another professor already said they’d like to nominate you?” Professor Choi asked with a small smile.

  Had Professor Choi been a friend of mine, I would’ve burst out laughing and told her none of the other professors would ever think to nominate me. However, she was one of the few professors who believed in me. I wasn’t going to squander such a wonderful opportunity, even if that meant I’d need to start obsessing over receiving the perfect score in every exam and assignment from now on.

  “Thank you so much,” I croaked.

  “Now the application process for the scholarship is fairly simple. The economics department will send the names of the three candidates to the scholarship committee by the end of next week. I’ll write you a recommendation letter by the end of the semester. The only thing you have to do is prepare three application essays.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket. “Would you like me to email you the link? I’ll do it right now.”

  “That would be great.”

&nb
sp; “You interned at the Bank of Korea this summer, right? The judging committee will be happy to hear that. Make sure you write about your experience in great detail,” she suggested while she typed.

  “What are the other judging criteria? A high GPA?” I asked.

  “Kind of. The judging committee won’t look at your cumulative GPA. Since students are nominated by a professor, the committee assumes all the students have good academic standing and will only judge candidates’ grades from this semester. I’m not exactly sure how important the grades are. I think it varies from year to year, depending on who’s leading the committee. Having said that, bear in mind you’re competing against the best of the best.”

  The door opened with a thud. Two girls came in giggling. When they exchanged glances with Professor Choi, they gasped.

  “Sorry! Wrong room,” one of the girls yelled out before swinging the door shut.

  Meanwhile, Professor Choi appeared unfazed by the situation. She tapped her fingers on the podium. I smiled at her awkwardly, unsure of what to say next.

  “Hmm, I think that’s everything I wanted to tell you today. I sent you a link with the details, including the deadlines. Do you have any questions?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “No. Not yet, at least. You know what I’m like. I’ll probably come up to you with a five-page list of questions next week.”

  She laughed. “Feel free to email me any time if there’s anything you’d like me to explain.”

  “Thank you, Professor Choi. I truly appreciate you giving me this opportunity,” I said earnestly, my heart bursting with excitement.

  The second I returned to my one-room apartment in a quiet part of Sinchon, the area surrounding West Seoul University, I turned the fan on and called my family in Busan. Mom was the first person who came to mind when I stepped out of the College of Economics after talking to Professor Choi. Frankly, I was reluctant to brag about having been nominated for the Hope Scholarship because I didn’t want people to be deemed undeserving by other students in my major. Besides, I hadn’t been awarded for anything. I didn’t want to get ahead of myself and act like I’d just received the scholarship.