SEOUL, May 15 (AJP) - In Hindi, there is a word called "kal." It means both “yesterday” and “tomorrow.”
When I first learned this word as a Hindi major in college, I thought it felt very much like India itself. Two completely opposite ideas existing within a single word. A word that refuses to define only one thing. At the time, however, I did not understand why it stayed with me for so long.
In the winter of my second year at university, I traveled to India for a school-organized exchange program. India, which I visited despite everyone’s worries, was quite different from what I had expected. From the cold air I felt the moment I stepped off the plane, to the taxi driver who waited patiently with the meter turned off after we realized we had the wrong address, and who even stopped to ask strangers for directions himself when we could not find the place — everything slowly broke down the arrogance and prejudice I did not know I had.
Strangely, the feeling that I had lost something made me feel lighter. That night, I fell asleep with the cold air of India drifting through the window.
The next morning, I woke up early. The sound of motorcycles being repaired at the shop below the hostel and the barking of stray dogs fighting outside struck my ears through the open window.
Half awake, I stepped outside and tried to catch a tuk-tuk. I thought it would be easy since I was out so early, but it was not. More than ten drivers waiting outside the hostel began arguing over who would take me. The chaos felt like stepping directly into the middle of real life. Feeling responsible for the situation I had caused, I tried to calm everyone down and solve it fairly by choosing based on price. In the end, that was what I did.
As I caught my breath inside the tuk-tuk, I thought about the convenience of taxis in Korea. Now, all we have to do is open an app and a car arrives right in front of us. But many taxi drivers in Korea often say life was better before these apps existed. High commission fees, pressure to accept rides, and endless waiting for requests leave drivers trapped in a system where waiting itself becomes exhausting.
Even I find myself staring nervously at my phone when I am in a hurry, unable to do anything until a driver finally accepts my request.
That is what life without choice feels like. The waiting grows longer, and during that time, people slowly become smaller. We think we have choices, but in reality, society and systems often choose for us. We simply receive the result.
Maybe that is why it has become harder to find taxis on the street. People begin predicting each other’s behavior, moving only toward crowded places, and waiting once again. The waiting simply changes shape. In that process, we stop becoming people who choose and move on our own. Instead, we become people waiting to be chosen.
And it is not only about taxis. In this false sense of convenience, we have started taking other people’s time and labor for granted. We have also lost small moments of understanding and consideration for one another.
My main destination in India was Jawaharlal Nehru University in New Delhi. The university is well known in Korea, especially for its Korean language department. Located deep within the hills, it still took another ten minutes by tuk-tuk after reaching the area. When I arrived, stray dogs were resting on the stairs and sofas as if they were welcoming me.
Although it was part of a Korean language exchange program, many of the classes focused on Indian history, traditions, and language. I especially enjoyed the literature class. Reading passages written during the colonial period allowed me to feel more deeply connected to that history. Sharing the pain of colonial experience also made me feel closer to India itself.
“Man is a transitional being; he is not final.”
This quote by Indian philosopher and independence activist Sri Aurobindo means that human beings are unfinished and always changing. To me, this sentence describes India better than anything else.
Indian people rarely give absolute answers. Even my Hindi professor often avoided saying “yes” or “no.” Instead, he tilted his head slightly — a gesture that can mean both agreement and disagreement, or answered with “maybe.”
That is because possibilities are always left open. India seems to understand that deciding something too quickly can be both arrogant and careless. Perhaps that openness is why the country was able to rebuild itself after independence, developing industries such as textiles and tea while later becoming a global leader in pharmaceuticals through constant challenges and new attempts.
We all know we should leave room for possibility, yet modern society pushes us to define everything too quickly.
For the past several years, introducing ourselves with MBTI types has become almost natural. It is easy, simple, and convenient. “I” means shy, “E” means outgoing, “T” means logical, and “F” means emotional.
But from the beginning, I always felt uncomfortable with it. I was afraid of being reduced to only four letters while every other possibility about me disappeared. During introductions, I often avoided the test altogether because I disliked the feeling of being explained so quickly and so completely. Even when I asked friends whether they found this strange, most replied that it simply made people easier to understand.
Society does not easily allow people to change their decisions. It demands quick and certain answers. That is why we live in constant tension, preparing ourselves for futures that may never even arrive. And the easiest way to prepare for the future is by copying what already exists. Ignoring our own uniqueness, we stop thinking deeply and focus only on fitting into familiar shapes.
Modern society builds walls in pursuit of comfort, even though that comfort is often temporary and uncertain. But perhaps our exhaustion comes from those very walls. Maybe stopping our thoughts would make life easier. Still, it feels wasteful to live that way when we were born as people capable of reflection.
In his essay You, the Sentence, Yoo Jin-mok writes that “you” and “I” are part of the same sentence, and that we do not need quotation marks or references to explain ourselves. Every person carries a different meaning, and we can only understand each other within the full context of a sentence. Sometimes, understanding can happen simply through eye contact, without explanation or effort.
This trip to India taught me how to accept things as they are. In a country where nothing has only one answer, I came to understand that yesterday can become tomorrow, and tomorrow can become yesterday.
And somewhere in between, I think I will remain, without deciding completely which one I am.
*The author, Kim Ji-youn, is based in Korea. Her writing was submitted in Korean, and was translated into English by AI.
Copyright ⓒ Aju Press All rights reserved.