The Unspeakables
The Unspeakables
by JungMin Bae ’19
They are a people seldom mentioned in polite conversation, for they cast an irksome shadow on the otherwise sunny veneer of this elite institution. Their status imparts upon them a sense of social deformity; deprived of the means to forge their own academic reputations for themselves, their presence on the school’s social landscape is infinitesimal if not nonexistent. Introductions — which naturally happen with astonishing frequency upon arrival at this school — often fall flat when the introducer searches for a suitable club to which the introducee can claim membership, but comes up with nothing, cutting off any further incentive to continue the conversation, for there will be no discernible benefit from getting to know one of these Unspeakables any better. The pointlessness of the whole uncomfortable affair is glaringly felt on both sides via forced smiles, hesitant chuckling, generic “nice meeting yous,” and the inevitable whispers that trail the person as he or she despondently walks away. After all, who would want to be acquainted with one of those? There appears to be no worth in establishing relations with them, for their lack of connections will prevent them from coming into any sizeable inheritance, i.e., the coveted leadership of storied school clubs. Seemingly, their fates are sealed forever before they even become official students of this school.
While there is no official data on how many of these academic pariahs exist, it is known that they will always exist at some point in the school year, having been newly minted by the ruthless club admissions process, and that the stigma conferred by this label is something to be avoided like the plague. History helpfully suggests that such persecuted persons seek sanctuary by binding together — certainly there is strength to be had in numbers. But considering that no one wants to be publicly outed as someone with absolutely no school clubs to speak of, this plan of action is not immediately feasible for many. For a while, at least, most are fated to suffer alone.
Despite the depressing outlook for these people (we call them moo-dong), there is no need for worry should you find yourself outed as one of them. On the contrary, as the cherry blossoms burst into full bloom, midterms will soon be upon us all and you will find yourself the envy of the classmates who have been forced into academic slavery — at the very least, academic indentured servitude — by the very clubs they fought so hard to get into. As a moo-dong, all the time for independent study in the world is yours! And keep in mind moo-dong isolation is often temporary; your classmates will put aside all pretense of diffidence soon enough and, riding on the coattails of unbridled academic ambition, ask you to join them in making history by establishing a new school club to outlast all school clubs.
So I speak on a considerably brighter note when I say you’ve got three years to make your mark at this school and the unforgiving sunbaes (upperclassmen) who rejected you from their clubs just a week into your HAFS career don’t matter in the greater scheme of things. The club admissions process is admittedly scary — I remember banging my head against the wall after botching a couple of interviews — but it’s a rite of passage for new HAFSonians, and you’ll laugh about it later. So it’s really not the end of the world, even if you become a moo-dong. So welcome to HAFS, 14gis. I wish I were as young as you all.
