2
Suneung
Sydney
Dear Yun,
I think I read your sentence about your boyfriend wanting to marry you at least three times.
You’ve never been the boy-crazy type, so this Lion Han must be a special person.
I need to figure out a way to get to California to see you and meet this Oracle of Orange County.
No need to send me a ticket because Uncle Kenny still works at Qantas.
I’ve been saving my babysitting and tutoring money for uni fees, and I’m skipping Schoolies, so I might have enough to get to you soon.
You are not allowed to get married before I meet him.
I can’t imagine getting married myself. I like Tek, but I don’t really understand all this talk of love. I enjoy hanging out with him. But it’s strange to think about marriage, which sounds so permanent. There’s so much left of life, right?
I’m looking forward to going to uni. Now that I’ll probably go to the University of Sydney, I’m wondering if we’ll always live here. My parents don’t talk about it anymore.
I’ve been worried all day, and it’s calming me to write to you. My older brother Bo hasn’t called with his Suneung results. He’s failed twice already. My parents think he might have failed his third time. They keep trying his pager.
He must be ashamed. Of course, he shouldn’t be.
I can’t even imagine how hard that exam is.
This year, they got rid of the bongosa, which is the school-specific exam for Yonsei, then made the Suneung longer and more difficult.
Everyone at church was talking about the changes because there was a greater number of questions, without more time given.
DH said test writers in Korea are sadists. The SATs are supposedly gentle compared to the Suneung, so I looked at some of the questions, and he’s right. He feels even guiltier than I do for being at Yale. He just finished his finals and said college wasn’t as hard as Andover.
The reality is that both of us are stupid compared to Bo, and yet, both of us have gotten into good colleges.
I find out for certain soon, but I’m pretty sure I got into Sydney.
The HSCs went fine, and my TER will come out any minute, and then my offer will be official.
I sound like I’m boasting. I’m sorry. It’s just not as difficult as Korea or as complex as the States.
Here, it’s my school grades, ranking, and how many applicants want a specific course.
I didn’t choose Law or Medicine, so it’s easier to get in.
Unlike you, I’m no good at sports. I’m no class president or yearbook editor. I’ll never be popular. I’m okay with all of this. However, it turns out that I can ace standardized exams in my sleep. As long as they’re in English.
Because you told me to, I found a study guide with old SATs at the school library, and I took three of them, and each time, I got perfect scores in the verbal section and only two or three wrong in math. The third time I took it, I got everything right. I’m a freak. DH agreed.
Feeling smart, I tried a couple of the Suneung exam questions, and I almost died!
I don’t know how Bo could even understand most of those Korean vocabulary words.
My Korean is respectable, but the Korean literature questions were impossible.
I had no idea what they were talking about.
Even my mother was stumped a few times, and she studied English and Korean literature at Ewha.
My father was able to do the math questions, but he said that they were written in a weird way to trick the kids. Why?
When I showed Tek the SATs, he thought they were manageable, too.
He got into the law course at University of Sydney, so his TER was excellent, but he found the SAT math a bit odd.
He refused to do a whole test with me. “What’s the point?
” he asked, and he’s not wrong. So unlike me, who finds taking a standardized test relaxing, my boyfriend is normal.
I wish I could see Bo. I hope he is okay. Bo is the most responsible of the three of us. It isn’t like him not to call after we try his pager. DH tried his pager, too, but he didn’t reply.
I know we agreed not to exchange presents for Christmas, but I don’t have to listen to you.
You’re not supposed to enclose money in the post, but my mother sends DH a twenty-dollar bill for pizza in her cards to him, and they’ve never gotten stolen or lost. I don’t think you can get much for forty dollars, but maybe you can find a pretty top on sale or go to the movies and get a burger.
You’re not allowed to save it. I thought if I got you something here, then I’d end up spending more on postage.
Yes, I’m still practical. So, please do something silly. Just for yourself. Promise me.
When I read your letters, I can hear your voice. Write.
Love,
Mido
Bo took the 1997 Suneung on Wednesday, November 13, 1996. It was his third try.
On the Tuesday before the Suneung, Seoul was cloudy and cold. By the middle of the day, it got warmer, about nine degrees Celsius, and Bo jotted it down in his pocket-size diary.
After his last hagwon class ended, he got on a mostly empty subway car to the Yonsei campus and sat in a seat near the back. Cold, he tried to warm himself by tucking his blue woolen scarf into his faded black parka.
“If you want to be a Yonsei student, you have to behave like one,” Kim Teacher, his hagwon instructor, had told him.
“Go to the cafés where Yonsei students have their snacks, read the books they read, and inhabit the peace of mind of being an admitted student. Visualize. Draw the picture in your mind.”
Kim Teacher had graduated from Seoul National University—the same school as Bo’s father—having studied law.
A Suneung wizard and a legend for having gotten one of the top scores of the country for his year, he charged an extraordinary fee to be a Suneung tutor, which Bo’s aunt Sonya paid.
As a bachelor not yet forty years old, Kim Teacher earned more than several lawyers and judges combined and already owned two commercial buildings in Hongdae.
It was rumored that he didn’t have to work anymore for money, and it was clear that he enjoyed teaching.
His specialty was retakers, the ones who had not passed on their first or second tries.
Kim Teacher was convinced that Bo would pass this time.
His practice scores were in the safety zone, so he focused on preparing Bo’s mental game.
He advised Bo to go to the campus at least once a week to be in the mindset of a Yonsei student.
After the last class ended, Bo heeded his teacher’s advice and went to the popular two-story café near Sinchon station, frequented by Yonsei and Ewha students.
At a corner table near the window, Bo picked up a discarded copy of a Yonsei literary magazine and read it while having his tea.
All around him, young men and women huddled together, warming their cold hands on hot coffee cups.
Attractive girls in bold-patterned sweaters and denim trousers discussed politics in hushed tones, ignoring the boys sniffing around them.
Bo tried to imagine himself as one of the young men writing in their notebooks or doing their assigned reading.
A young woman with short permanent-waved hair resembled Isul, his friend studying for the civil service exam at the gosiwon.
She was reading The Stranger in French. Bo hadn’t had time to read a novel since summers in high school, when he used to read classic European and American novels in English.
He’d always imagined working and living in Korea, but he also wanted to be the kind of Korean who knew more about the world—through books, film, and history.
In less than twenty-four hours, he would take the Suneung again, and since last November, he had done little except for study for this exam, sleep, and eat.
He felt good about it and ready to put it behind him.
He had failed the Suneung exam in his last year of high school and the second time after high school graduation, and he hoped tomorrow’s Suneung would be his last one.
This was his third November in a row dedicated to the annual college entrance exam.
After Bo finished his tea he walked through the main part of the campus, which was decorated with banners for student elections.
Cheerful undergraduates rushed to their classes or exited lecture halls, relieved that a period had ended.
It couldn’t have been that all the students were happy, but everyone appeared calmer than he felt inside.
Kim Teacher had assured him that this time would be his last. Bo’s practice scores were solid, and it had made sense for him to skip the extra practice session tonight, where he would’ve unnecessarily absorbed the anxious feelings of the other exam retakers.
Earlier that morning, after class ended, Kim Teacher had asked him to remain a bit longer. When the other students were gone, his teacher gestured to Bo to approach his desk.
Bo stood awkwardly while the teacher remained seated, his long brown face tilted in deep thought.
The teacher was unusually tall, with broad shoulders and a square jawline.
Even when he smiled, he looked more like a curious detective or a former professional athlete than a once-stellar student from a strawberry farm in Goseong who had decided to earn more money as a celebrated hagwon teacher rather than become a prosecutor or judge.
“You will do very well,” Kim Teacher pronounced. He handed Bo a paper box filled with the customary taffy. “Make the score stick! This is the best yeot in Seoul. Not everyone can get this.”
Bo smiled his thanks.
“One more thing,” Kim Teacher said, digging into his vest pocket to pull out a 500-won coin.