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I want to explore some thoughts I’ve been having lately about money and material things over the course of a few posts. This is the first in the series. *** I’ve been working at a company since January. It’s an accelerator that invests in early-stage companies. I first got in touch with them late last year to seek investment for a startup idea, and that connection eventually led to a job. Rather than directly handling the company’s core work—evaluating investments and managing them afterward—I research and develop tools that make that work more efficient by automating and assisting with parts of it. When I joined, I hoped to put my experience and strengths to use while learning about an investment process I knew nothing about. That’s worked out quite well, and I enjoy the job. But there are definite downsides, too: I’m the only R&D person here, so it’s lonely not having anyone to exchange technical ideas with, and it’s hard to grow faster without those conversations. This is my first time working full-time at a company, and I’m earning more money than ever before. My spending has gone up along with it—not to any extraordinary level in absolute terms, but compared with last year. In fact, I spent all of last year trying to start a business without much income, and I was more reluctant to spend money than ever. I’ve found that what affects my willingness to spend most isn’t my bank balance in absolute terms, but the money currently coming in versus going out. Prices kept rising, and with nothing coming in, every expense pushed me further into the red. By the end of last year, I was genuinely afraid to go out and buy a meal. Once I started earning a steady income, that feeling quickly faded. I’ve also recently become interested in a wider range of consumer goods (I’ll go into that in a later post in this series), giving me more things to spend money on. Still, being at work limits the time I have to spend, and I’m not an impulsive shopper, so I think my spending remains within reason—for now, at least. In short, $$(\text{Highest income of my life}) - (\text{Spending that hasn't risen as much})$$ $$ = (\text{Highest savings of my life})$$ That’s the equation, and it’s only natural that I’ve become more interested in managing my assets. Ever since I became an adult and started managing my own money, bank deposits and installment savings have always made up the largest part of my portfolio. Apart from those, I’ve only tried stocks and investment funds for a few months each, so it wouldn’t be much of an exaggeration to say my portfolio was almost entirely savings products. At one point, I had nearly half my assets in stocks. I made a little money in the post-COVID recovery and started thinking I knew what I was doing, only to get battered in a downturn. I sold everything at a small net loss overall. I think of it as paying a reasonable tuition fee to learn that stocks aren’t something to jump into blindly. Since then, I’ve moved all the money back into bank deposits. Whenever income came in, my only rule was to put as much of it as possible, as quickly as possible, into the highest-interest deposit I could find. I’d estimate when my next payment would arrive, how much I’d spend before then, and therefore how much I could deposit right away. Now that many deposit products allow emergency withdrawals, and I’ve recently got my own credit card, I worry about that a lot less. I got my Hyundai Card reissued with K-Pass support, but… it’s so… ugly… I’d have ditched it if not for Apple Pay. +Or so I thought, but it’s kind of growing on me? If putting money in the bank were the only way to save, I couldn’t ask for a better policy. But it isn’t. Interest rates have stopped rising, and as my assets grow, the difference in returns between investments with different yields grows too. So I’d been thinking I should hold something with higher returns alongside my deposits. But I couldn’t just jump back into stocks blindly, and even if I studied on my own, I had no idea where to start or what to do. Time kept passing like that until one day, a YouTube thumbnail caught my eye… Click any of the thumbnails below to watch the videos. “Wait, I can’t let myself get screwed,” I thought, and clicked through as if in a trance. Despite its considerable length, I watched the whole thing in one sitting. Then I eagerly watched the follow-up, with its much more reassuring title (deliberately so, I’m sure), along with related videos uploaded much earlier: After watching more than an hour of videos in total, I came away with two things. First, a reminder that I need to keep learning about investing and actually put what I learn into practice. Not really a spoiler, but the videos don’t reveal any magic trick guaranteed to make you spectacularly wealthy. They simply advise you to invest as much as you can as early as you can to make the most of compound returns, and to diversify to reduce the risk of losing your principal. It hardly even counts as advice—who doesn’t know those are good things to do? The first point even matches the rule I already followed with my savings. But by the time we’re adults, the solution to most problems depends less on knowing what to do than on doing it. These videos are an excellent push to take action. Second, I picked up some knowledge and found a direction for further study. I used to understand diversification only in the sense of the familiar saying about not putting all your eggs in one basket: spreading your assets across multiple products. It was only fairly recently that I learned you can combine assets that move in opposite directions to reduce risk while keeping returns roughly the same. The videos made that idea more concrete for me, and I learned for the first time that it’s called portfolio theory. I followed along with a simple example of the theory in action, too. Now that I know its name, I can study it more deeply and look up more examples. YouTube’s algorithm has already put an MIT OpenCourseWare <Portfolio Management> lecture in my feed. It was incredibly useful. I was so impressed by the series that I started watching the other lessons, too. I think I’ve watched just under ten so far, and the choice of topics has been excellent every time: housing subscriptions

The other day, my parents told me something interesting, though I can’t remember what we were talking about when it came up: the South Jeolla Provincial Office used to be in Gwangju. I don’t remember whether they were simply telling me where it had once been or wondering whether it was still there, but either way, it surprised me. For as long as I’ve been alive, Gwangju has been a metropolitan city—a top-level local government on par with South Jeolla Province. And looking further back, it seemed more natural for the South and North Jeolla provincial offices to be in Naju or Jeonju, the cities that gave Jeolla its name. But once I thought about it, Gwangju had grown larger than either Jeonju or Naju in modern times, which was presumably why it became a metropolitan city in its own right. In that case, it made sense for the South Jeolla Provincial Office to have been there until just before Gwangju’s elevation. My parents were right: the South Jeolla Provincial Office used to be in Gwangju, and is now in Muan. Similar things happened elsewhere. I learned that, apart from Incheon and Ulsan, all four of the other metropolitan cities had once housed the provincial offices of the provinces they geographically belonged to. After those cities were elevated, each office moved to another city within its province. It’s a natural progression, but to me it sounded as strange as hearing that the Gyeonggi Provincial Office had once been in Seoul. My parents said my reaction made them feel the generation gap. Haha. Changes to administrative boundaries are still happening today, and they might make me feel that same distance when I talk to future generations. There have been changes in my lifetime, too, though the only one affecting a place I lived was the division of Ilsan-gu in Goyang into Ilsandong-gu and Ilsanseo-gu. It was listed on the copy of my resident registration record when I got one. That’s minor, though. A much bigger change may be just around the corner: the creation of Northern Gyeonggi Province. The proposal is to split Gyeonggi Province in two, keeping the name Gyeonggi Province for the south and establishing a new province in the north. Given Gyeonggi’s population and the way the megacity of Seoul divides it, the proposal doesn’t seem all that strange. The problem is the name. “Northern Gyeonggi Province,” or, in full, “Northern Gyeonggi Special Self-Governing Province,” is a provisional name and would be hard to make official: its two-syllable abbreviation would be indistinguishable from that of North Gyeongsang Province. So a naming contest was held, and the results came out today to considerable controversy. The grand-prize winner was “Pyeonghwanuri Special Self-Governing Province.” Just Google that name and you’ll find plenty of complaints, so I won’t go into the controversy here. Even when a website or app’s UI changes for the better, you can’t help resisting it at first. The names of administrative regions are so familiar that I doubt the public would have liked any replacement. Some said a name made from the first syllables of major cities, as other provinces were named, would have gone over reasonably well. But take the two largest cities in Northern Gyeonggi, Goyang and Namyangju, and you get… Gonam-si? That would have sounded just as unfamiliar. Even allowing for that, I think this one will be hard to get used to. Pyeonghwanuri Special Self-Governing Province—or Pyeongnudo for short. My hometown would be Goyang City, Pyeongnudo? Hahaha, there’s something really funny about that. If the trouble with Northern Gyeonggi is that its abbreviation overlaps with North Gyeongsang, maybe we could keep “Gyeonggi” and use a different way to distinguish the two. What if we used “upper” and “lower” instead of “north” and “south”? Wait… shorten “Upper Gyeonggi Province” in Korean and you get Gyeongsang-do again. Would people in the Southern Hemisphere object to the idea that north is “up”? If we called them Gyeonggi Province One and Gyeonggi Province Two, there’d be a dispute over which got to be number one, wouldn’t there? Or we could drop the “Gyeong” from both names and keep only “Gi” (畿), which already means the region around the capital: Southern Gi Province and Northern Gi Province? Would abandoning the name Gyeonggi on both sides incur too great an administrative cost? It’s clearly not an easy problem. The contest results don’t seem to have settled the name definitively, and it looks like it could still be changed. Whatever name they choose, we’ll go through a period of resistance and eventually get used to it. One day, someone will look at me wide-eyed and ask, “Gyeonggi Province and XX Province used to be one province?” ⋮ Talking about my hometown brings something else to mind. Some cities age with an old-world charm; others simply grow old for lack of any alternative. Some are quickly torn down and remade into new cities. I think everyone has at least a small wish for their hometown, if no other city, to keep its old appearance for a long time. My hometown of Ilsan is now over thirty years old, and there has long been talk of rebuilding or remodeling its apartment complexes. Gangseon Village Complex 14, where I lived, was reportedly the first in Goyang to receive approval to establish a remodeling association, and it had selected a contractor by early last year. Progress seems to have slowed since then amid disputes over residents’ contributions and other issues, but the sense is that remodeling or rebuilding will happen eventually. I remember my childhood very happily, and I think living in Ilsan was a big part of that. An apartment complex of just the right size and age; our ground-floor home with its little flower bed. A school five minutes away on foot, and Lake Park right nearby, where even as a small child I could go by myself because I loved plants and trees. Leaving that Ilsan behind and moving to Seoul when I started middle school was emotionally hard at first. I soon adjusted to Seoul, but the happy memories stayed with me. Once I was in high school and old enough to travel that far on my own, I went back to Ilsan several times, either early on the day I had to return to school* or during vacation. After I got my driver’s license, I started driving there in my parents’ car. Ilsan is still one of my favorite places to drive. *During the school term, our high school let students leave for a weekend only once a month. We called the Sunday when we returned to school “return-to-school day.” Honestly, I’ll be very sad if our apartment complex in Ilsan changes. But what can I do? I have to accept the passage of time. Until then, I’ll visit more often and take in the sight of it as much as I can. *** This kid would later tear a cruciate ligament and still be unable to quit soccer. Look at me swinging before the teacher’s even out of the way, huh? But a few years ago, I tagged along with my parents to a golf driving range and couldn’t even hit the ball when I swung a club. How did I do it back then? Hahaha, look at those stiff m

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Currently reading *What follows is a rambling, runaway review by a writer excited to have finally found a novel to his taste. Reader discretion is advised. **The risk of spoilers is low until the “SPOILER ALERT!” below. I do mention a few things, but most appear early in Book One or won’t make sense to anyone who hasn’t read it, so don’t worry. If anything, I hope this post makes more people curious enough to read the book. *** Radiohead - Everything In Its Right Place : The original song used in one of the trailers for The Three-Body Problem. If you’re looking for something to listen to while reading the book or this review, put this on. It doubles the rush. ⋮ ⋮ --> First encounter I first learned about The Three-Body Problem from a trailer that played after I finished watching Nameless Gangster on Netflix. I watched it all the way through, but apart from its enormous scale, I couldn’t tell what the story was about. That only made me more curious. The source material was also a Chinese novel, something I’d never read before, and it seemed like a good book to try right after reading Japan’s Snow Country. Besides, it was the first Asian novel to win the Hugo Award, and Obama had mentioned it. I had no reason not to read it. I decided to start with the novel before watching the series. It was late March, not long after the Netflix original series came out, but the novels already seemed quite popular. The original story has three books. At my local library, Book One had already exceeded the maximum number of reservations; at the digital library, 15 people were waiting for it. When I checked again the next day, that number had grown to 22 (it’s 45 now, lol). That wasn’t a wait of a few weeks; there was no chance I’d borrow it this season. I gave up early and looked for another way. I considered buying it from Kyobo Book Centre, but the print edition was fairly expensive (15,300 won. Perhaps that isn’t much in a world where we spend about the same on a meal or a movie, but for some reason I’m especially reluctant to pay that much for a book). The e-book wasn’t much cheaper. Then I discovered I could borrow The Three-Body Problem through Kyobo’s e-book subscription service, sam! There was a Premium plan that let you borrow a set number of books each month and an Unlimited plan, which was cheaper. The puzzling pricing made sense once I learned that the two plans had different catalogs. Premium included The Three-Body Problem; Unlimited didn’t. Foolishly, I only realized this after the word “Unlimited” tempted me into subscribing to that plan first, and I found I couldn’t borrow the book. The Premium plan, which allows two books a month, costs 9,000 won monthly. If I kept reading regularly, it seemed cheap compared with the time and effort of reserving books at a physical library, going to pick them up on time, and returning them. The first month was also on offer for 1,000 won, so I subscribed without nearly as much deliberation as I give other online subscriptions. These days I’m keenly aware that money can buy not just things, but time and energy too. **Update** I kept getting an error when I tried to borrow Book Two, so I contacted customer service. Apparently The Three-Body Problem had been removed from the catalog in the meantime! Good grief. I’m canceling you right now. You can’t give me something and then take it back! An author soaring into the sky on the twin wings of science and imagination *Someone’s description of Liu Cixin. Obama said of The Three-Body Problem that its scope was so immense that his day-to-day problems at the White House seemed petty while he was reading it. Before I read the book, that puzzled me. It was only a book, words on a page—how could it leave such an impression? But it took only a few pages for me to understand. Soon after Wang Miao starts the “Three Body” game, I read about people dehydrating during a Chaotic Era and turning into thin sheets of skin. I was floored. It seemed plausible, yet it was an image I had never seen or even imagined! That was when I fell for the author’s ability to imagine strange, fresh things most people would never think of—and to build a setting where they belonged. The behavior of the stars in the three-body world is another example. I already knew that the three-body problem has no general solution and that binary star systems are more common in the universe than single-star systems. Even so, I had never imagined a system with just one more star: a triple-star system. Much less what life would be like there under the stars’ complex three-body motion. (The system with the most stars actually observed—or inferred—apparently isn’t a triple system but a seven-star system !) Suddenly the old Samsung Electronics logo looks different to me There were a few parts where the plot felt a little less natural or the science a little less convincing. Flying Blade was deployed in an operation when it was still too immature to mass-produce, for instance. And there was proton unfolding—I wonder whether that’s possible in the first place, but even assuming it is, it seems like a sophon could cause far more destruction than the book describes. Still, these were well within what I could accept as artistic license. Among the comments on the Netflix original series trailer, someone worried that the novel’s scientific foundations weren’t entirely solid, which would make adapting it for the screen difficult. I’ll have to read more well-known science fiction novels before I can compare how firmly their worlds are constructed. Thoughts on the novel as a medium — How it differs from film Reading this book made me like the novel as an art form even more. Novels resemble films in that their main purpose is to tell a story. But I noticed advantages they have over films. The first is that I can take them in at my own pace. I enjoy films and have watched plenty, but I’ve always thought I wasn’t very good at fully grasping the characters, their relationships, and the flow of the story on a first viewing. Lately I’ve even preferred watching films on my laptop, where I can replay a scene several times (apart from certain films built around grand visual and sound effects). With a novel, though, I read at my own pace by default. I can read slowly, reread a passage, or take notes as I go. It may take longer to finish, but when I do, I don’t feel as though I’ve missed anything. The second advantage is the scope for expression that comes from the flexibility

To me, Japan is a country both near and far. Apart from North Korea, Japan is the country physically closest to ours, and it’s the overseas destination Koreans visit most. Yet despite having traveled abroad quite a bit, I’ve never been there. The main reason has to do with circumstances particular to me that come into play when I travel overseas. But even aside from that, I’ve always felt that Japan and I just wouldn’t click. Travel is one of my biggest hobbies, but photos of Japan have rarely given me that thrill of wanting to set off. Actually, there is one place I’ve wanted to visit: Sapporo in winter. What interests me there, though, is the snow-covered landscape rather than the people or culture. Japan’s “culture,” it seems, isn’t what draws me in. Of course, it’s risky to decide something isn’t for you before you’ve properly experienced it—whether it’s a travel destination, a career path, or a person. So if someone asked me to travel around Japan with them, I wouldn’t say no. If that doesn’t happen, I might go alone someday. I have even more reason to give it a chance when I think of China, another country close to home: I thought much more highly of it after visiting than I had before (though I think it helped enormously that on both trips I could travel comfortably and safely under some form of authority). But as things stand, Japan doesn’t feel like a good fit for me. The same goes when I narrow the subject to Japanese art. Japan’s animation industry occupies a league of its own, and I find that impressive, but apart from Spirited Away , none of its works has truly moved me artistically. With Japanese literature, it’s even worse: I’ve barely finished any. None that I can remember, at least. So when I started this book a few days ago, I knew finishing it wouldn’t be easy. It had been in our house for ages, and a few years back I’d read ten or twenty pages before tossing it aside. But I told myself I ought to give Japanese literature a proper chance at least once—and that there must be a reason it had won the Nobel Prize in Literature. I straightened up and got down to reading, telling myself, “If you can’t even finish a book this short, you’re a baka” (oh, Japanese really hits the spot for that). As expected, it wasn’t easy. It took me over a week to read some 160 pages. Dozens of times I wondered, “What are you trying to say?” My mother, whose chemistry with Japan seems about the same as mine, looked over and told me I wouldn’t know even after I finished it. I tried to dismiss her warning and eventually made it to the final sentence. And the result… nothing stayed with me. I don’t know what it was trying to say. The casual adultery? Fine. The story is set in a time and culture different from my own, and even something generally considered immoral can have a place in a work of fiction if it conveys a message. But I couldn’t find any message in the story. Should I focus on the prose, then? Judging by the criticism, the book does seem to be famous for its style. As I read, I could tell the author had a distinctive way of telling the story. But rather than moving me, that distinctiveness made me cringe and recoil, much as I do when I watch Choi Jun’s B-Daemyeon Date . Why? Is it because I don’t know Japanese culture? Is it because elements beyond meaning, like rhythm, were lost in translation? Or is it really just not for me? If it’s the last one, this is a fascinating case. I’m actually a fairly boring person: there are quite a few things most people enjoy that I don’t, like drinking coffee or alcohol, or rooting for a sports team. I don’t enjoy those things, but I understand why other people do. What makes Snow Country different is that I can’t even see why someone would like it. People who like Snow Country are harder to find than Hanwha Eagles fans or soju lovers, but the fact that it won the Nobel Prize in Literature must mean there are plenty of them—even outside Japan, among people who don’t speak Japanese. So if anyone reading this genuinely enjoyed Snow Country , I hope you’ll strike up a conversation and enlighten me. Help me understand what on earth this world is all about. It’s a little disappointing that, after writing such a long book review for the first time in ages, all I’ve really said is “I don’t think it’s for me.” But that’s honestly how I felt. *** Below is a YouTube video I’d come across before that came to mind while I was wondering whether I couldn’t enjoy Snow Country because I don’t speak Japanese and couldn’t hear the rhythm of its language. The bigger the circle of the known, the greater the contact with the unknown. The speaker says that the more languages they learn, the sadder they feel thinking about how many masterpieces exist in languages they’ll never learn in their lifetime. It sounds a bit like a humblebrag, but I can relate to it, too.

Our company’s CEO gave me this book because there were extra copies lying around in the lounge. Without my even realizing it, Daiso has become the store I visit most often. I’d always been curious about the company, though not curious enough to look it up, so I really enjoyed this book and read it in no time. The next time I visit Daiso, I think it’ll be fun to see whether Chairman Park Jeong-bu’s descriptions of the stores ring true and to imagine all the thought that went into the products.

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The title looks a bit intimidating... but that's what happened when I translated the original English title literally. Yesterday, I noticed that my GitHub repos had passed thirty, so I was clearing out the ones I didn't need when one repo caught my eye. Once I got comfortable with git in the later years of my undergraduate degree, I started backing up the original code for programming assignments on GitHub, and this was one of them. It was the second assignment for [AI-Based Software Engineering], a course I took in fall 2021. We had to find a real-world problem suited to metaheuristic search and implement a solver for it. It's only been two years, but I'd forgotten everything about it. I read through the report with the curiosity I'd have for something written by someone else, and, to my surprise, it was pretty interesting. I'd chosen the topic after thinking about the Line 9 express train I took all the time between my home in Seoul and the Express Bus Terminal, where I caught the bus to Daejeon. The way I developed the idea felt surprisingly fresh. It's a little embarrassing to say that about my own work, but that was my impression on rereading it after so long. So, for my own satisfaction, I decided to put it on the blog too. Haha. Assignments that let students choose their own topics are a double-edged sword for their growth. A creative choice the professor never anticipated can help you develop your skills enormously; on the other hand, you can make a complete mess of it without much chance of serious consequences. Luckily, most of those assignments seem to have worked out in ways that helped me. This one is relatively ordinary. Looking back, several assignments where I picked an even stranger topic, cursed my past self, and somehow forced my way through ended up helping me grow even more. Building a two-way communications satellite, developing a 2D reusable-rocket landing system, and so on... lol. I hope I'll get to tell those stories here someday too. ⋮ The assignment submission consists of the solver and report in the GitHub repo below. It takes finding the minimum-time path through a metro line with multiple levels of express service as its real-world problem and shows how to solve it through metaheuristic search using a genetic algorithm. 🔗 GunheeYi/cs454-ass2 — Github Repository Report (Slightly revised from the submitted version) 2021 Fall CS454 at KAIST Assignment 2: Solving Minimum-Time Path Problem in a Metro System Involving Multiple Levels of Express Lines, Using Genetic Algorithms Gunhee Yi (20180431) In almost every weekend I take the line 9 of Seoul Metro. It conveniently connects the Express Bus Terminal and my town, and the 18 minutes that I spend there becomes the last step of the long journey from KAIST in Daejeon to my home in Seoul. 18 minutes, that is the time when I take the express train. There are both express and local trains in line 9. It takes 30 minutes if I take the local train, so it is better to take the next express rather than the local one even if I just missed the express. Though knowing that already, I still check the metro app often to see the arrival time of the next train. Then one day, as I was staring blankly through the screen, I started wondering about the cases where the departing or arriving stations were not express stations. In these cases, going forward some local stations before/after getting in/out of an express train was a common doing. But what if going BACK a little actually earned you some time? It turns out that it is not the case in line 9. Refer to the following deduction: Settings: $s_1$ is a local station right after the express station $s_0$. There are $n$ local stations between $s_0$ and another express station $s_{n+1}$. You are now at $s_1$ and desires to reach $s_{n+1}$. It takes constant $l$ minutes for a local train to move 1 station. It takes $e$ minutes for an express train to move from $s_0$ to $s_{n+1}$. Going forward for $n$ local stations takes $ln$ minutes, whereas going back a station and taking the express takes $(l+e)$ minutes. If the backward route is to be better, it should be $l+e There are not any adjacent pairs of express stations in line 9 that has more than two local stations in-between, so going back should never be an option for the passengers. But further search revealed that there was another line that had expresses. It was line 1, and its expresses passed through well over 10 stations during their operation. Now that we have found a real-world example that going back would actually benefit us, many path-finding algorithms may fail or struggle to utilize the fact. Take a greedy algorithm for example, which picks a path that is now possible and most decreases the distance to destination at a constant time. It will never try going back because it increases both the distance and time taken, in short sight. An algorithm that looks through every possible routes, will succeed on finding the optimal path but will still struggle, for two reasons. First, the capability of going back practically doubles the number of edges. Most of the path finding algorithms has a time complexity proportional to this number, so the solving time will double as well. Second, loop is newly introduced. A loop may cause the path finder to iterate in it indefinitely and fail eventually, so we should modify the algorithm to detect and exclude loops from its routes. This is where I thought the genetic algorithm could come to place. In a problem like this, we expect that suboptimal solutions will be a lot alike with the actual optimal solution. And in alike I mean that their paths are likely to be the same part by part. This is what the genetic algorithm directly looks for. By some predefined methods, my genetic algorithm will try to preserve the optimal part of genes (that is, sub-paths in this case) and try new types in other parts. By doing this, the genetic algorithm exceeds other algorithms in that it retains some memories and only tries solutions that are likely to be good, using prior memories. There is also some factor of "exploration" such that the solver lies not only in local optimums. One may argue that even though the amount of calculation increases due to the addition of reverse ways, it is still in a manageable range for the traditional algorithms and a modern computer to handle if the number of stations is limited to about the magnitude of a single metro line. I was also convinced by this self-argument, so I decided to complicate the problem in a useful way: adding multiple levels of expresses. There won't be many metro systems that has multiple levels of expresses in a single line, but we can think of it as an analogy of the whole transportation system that involves not only metros but also buses, trains and even airliners. Level 0 should be the slowest means such as town buses, and the highest level should be the airliner. This kind of expansion will allow the problem to be applied to a system not only with higher levels, but also with bigger number of "stations" (Think about the number of stations that you would have to pass if you were to travel from Seoul to Busan only on town bus!), where traditional algorithms will begin to fall. Now that I have pictured the problem, I formulated into a real set of stations and local/express lines. Refer to the following: <div class="mon

●○ I think this is the first novel I’ve liked because it left me unsettled. Dam (◯) Grandfather Aunt Gu (●) Parents Noma Deoji Jinju Though my body was weary and the future looked like mush, I felt as if I held a warm ball of rice in a corner of my heart that would never spoil. (73) We filled the word “dating” and overflowed so far beyond it that the word itself was no longer visible. (76) I’m not saying we should be together to be happy. I’m saying we should be together even if we’re unhappy. (151)

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