※ Zoomanet[*] hosted a two-day camp last September entitled “Strengthening the Ability to Earn Money Humanely: a Record of the Work I Am Comprised Of”. It was a space for giving names to the work experiences that are not recognized socially or rewarded with money and are therefore made invisible, and for participants to identify the meaning of those experiences themselves. This series shares the writings of Obo, a 29-year-old woman who participated in the camp, in three installments. It also serves as a record of the past selves she could not contain in a resume.

 

[*] Ajumma is the Korean term for “middle-aged woman” or “married woman” which can also take on a derogatory tone. Zoomanet (pronounced ‘jummane’) combines the latter two syllables of this word and the suffix ‘ne’ to create a word that means “ajumma’s place/home”.  The organization describes itself as a “place that assists women’s independence and artistic growth”. Source: https://cafe.naver.com/zoomanett

 

▲ Time to reconstruct the work I am comprised of. ©Zoomanet

The Work I Am Comprised Of

 

Morning came. Slowly, we ate breakfast, then gathered once more in a circle.

 

“Now for the highlight of this camp. We’re going to take some time to write about the work we are comprised of. We spent all day yesterday bringing our memories to the surface through various activities, so think of this as writing a simple chronology.”

 

Following Osol’s instructions, the participants each found a spot with a piece of paper in hand. I settled down at a small table in front of the bookshelf. I couldn’t shake the sense of being stifled, but decided I’d just try to write—starting from the moment that I began shooting a film.

 

As I revisited my memories one by one and wrote down what I did each year, the thoughts I’d had at those times also gradually came back to me. It was as if the things I couldn’t see or feel when I was writing resumes night after night were being reorganized. I thought of a scene from a TV drama that said a resume with blanks is evidence of a life not lived to the fullest. Up until now, I’d struggled to make myself fill in those blanks, but today, my sheet of paper was full. The memories kept coming as I wrote, and I couldn’t put the pen down even when the facilitator told us the activity had come to an end.

 

▲ A record of the work that comprises me, which I wrote on the second day of camp. (Written by Obo)  ©ILDA

It felt as though it was only at the end of the camp that I’d found a small clue. I tried to keep a hold of it as I got back on the yellow bus. But in a few days, the memories and emotions that had surfaced at the camp evaporated.

 

Starting Over

 

A week after the camp, I got another call from Zoomanet. This time, they asked me to transcribe recordings from the camp. It seemed they were planning to turn the transcribed recordings into a book. I was having a hard time finding a part-time job, and hadn’t received any responses from companies I sent my resume to, so I audaciously said I’d do it. I thought I’d at least make some money instead of idly letting time pass by. Once I received the files, though, I saw that the recordings added up to over 10 hours. I listened to the voices of the 20 participants again and again, and put their words into writing. Did we really talk this much? During the two weeks I spent transcribing our stories, my ears grew tired and my fingers became sore. I don’t know how many times I threw down my headphones. But the words from those days returned vividly to my mind.

 

And once again, I’ve brazenly said yes to writing this series. Four months have already passed. I’ve spent many more nights sleepless and distraught than I did when I was writing resumes, because writing this series requires me to face myself. Every night, I’ve found myself surrounded by countless questions. More than anything, I needed to think again and again about what work means to me. Whenever the writing didn’t go well, I would blame myself once more. In those moments, I pulled out and reread the record of work I wrote on the last day of camp.

 

There haven’t been any dramatic changes since the camp or during the process of writing this. It’s hard to even articulate what the clue I thought I’d grasped is. But I’m in the process of learning that the countless days I looked back on with regret because I thought I hadn’t been living to the fullest—the blanks on my resume that remain empty—are there for a reason, too. Even now, I don’t know what ‘work’ is, but if I rewrite a list of the work I am comprised of someday, the record will have grown longer to include these past four months.

 

▲ A while ago, the booklet of the stories that the 20 women shared at Zoomanet’s camp was released. “A Record of the Work I Am Comprised Of” (Edited by Zoomanet, January 2018). To inquire about making a purchase, contact zoomanet@naver.com.

Epilogue

 

In the midst of agonizing over how to finish this piece, I felt like my eyeballs were going to fall out from staring at the blinking cursor for so long. As my frustration grew, I got a text message from a friend, asking what I was doing. I started to type, “I’m working”, then deleted the words to reply, “I’m writing something”. After a long while, Hari, from Zoomanet’s planning team, walked into the office.

 

“Obo, are you doing work?”

Only then did I reply,

“Yes, I’m working.”

 

[About the author] Obo: A jobseeker who has been writing a screenplay while holding various jobs as a part-time script writer, radio recording engineer, member of documentary film directing team, and member of a film company editing team. She wants to make a film of her own.

 

Published February 18th, 2018

Translated by Hoyoung Moon

Original article: http://ildaro.com/8127

 

◆ To see more English-language articles from Ilda, visit our English blog(https://ildaro.blogspot.com).

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