By Hyeongseo Daphne Park
“Are you doing your homework?”
“Yes…actually, no, not technically.”
“Then what are you doing? Oh, wait. Is this Expresso again?”
“It’s been two weeks since I’ve worked on Expresso articles, Mom. Give me a break.”
“Well, for some reason to me it always seems like you’re editing someone else’s article. Do you really have to waste so much time doing that?”
“It’s not wasting time, okay? I’m doing it because I want to.”
“I’m not against the fact that you’re doing what you like, but it’s true that you’re spending a little too much time on that. The least you could do is set up a ranking that defines what’s more important. I hardly see you studying your textbooks anymore.”
“Fine, fine, I’ll stop, okay?”
“Oh, are you angry with me now?”
“No, I’m just saying I got your point.”
That’s the typical dialogue between my mom and me while I’m caught up with editing the reporter’s articles. No, I’m not whining about the fact that I have a huge workload; rather, I’m whining about the fact that there are only so much as 24 hours given to a person each day.
Reading and editing five to six articles at a time is a lot of work, unlike what most people think. The process of editing a single article takes about an hour: first, I go over the whole text seeing if the general flow is okay. Second, I read the whole thing again and fix grammatical errors. Third, I read the article again to see if there are any stylistic improvements that may make the article better. Finally, I read the article through one last time to check if I’ve missed anything. Only after adding a few general comments about the article at the bottom of the draft can I say that I have sufficiency edited an article. If the length of any article goes beyond two pages, it takes at least an hour and a half to get through the whole ordeal. That’s why I usually pull an all-nighter when editing articles. If you haven’t seen any edited articles get uploaded on Dropbox by Sunday midnight, that generally means that I’ve been procrastinating—which is something I often do—and am going through each article that night, then uploading the full batch on Monday.
Apparently, what I do doesn’t seem to please my parents at all. They barely see me during the weekdays, on which I spend about an hour or so fumbling with my GLP homework and then go straight to sleep, and when they eventually get to see me during the weekends all they see is my everlasting process of editing articles. That’s a biweekly, or even monthly, occasion, yet the sight seems to leave a rather deep impression on both of them, making them think that I’m always spending my time working for Expresso.
But then again, that’s the inevitable life of a nerdy Expresso editor who is watched over by nerdy parents. That’s when my motto kicks in: “if you can’t avoid it, enjoy it.” And so I’ve pushed through an entire year; that career, though, is about to come to a close. It was hard in the beginning; I’ve never been so good with people, and I had absolutely no idea how I was supposed to build ties with my new hubaes. I wasn’t—am still not—a natural lover like Moses (i.e. the other editor in chief), nor a sassy fireball like Abby (i.e. the assistant editor in chief); the system by which Expresso was run had changed dramatically (which was critical considering the fact that computers have never liked me as much as I liked them); we had large-scale plans ahead. Frankly speaking, I wasn’t sure whether anything would work out the way I wanted it to. The only driving force was that naïve courage that seems to swell up from somewhere deep down below whenever I execute another reckless plan.
The role of an editor was much more cumbersome than I’d expected it to be—it wasn’t just about submitting articles anymore; it was about taking full responsibility for other people’s work as well as my own. But that sense of duty is what eventually provided the stamina I needed to endure the work throughout the year. I was often required to play the devil’s advocate in order to maintain order and discipline among the members of Expresso, but it never felt so good to have to be mean (I thank all the members of Expresso for coping with such harsh treatment; I know it was irritating for many of you). There were times when I found the workload overwhelming, but somehow, just somehow, everything slowly found its place. It was a smooth sail from then on.
What mostly kept me from giving up was my love for being a part of Expresso. It may sound somewhat narcissistic to say so, but I believe Expresso has made great progress this year thanks to the wonderful teamwork of reporters, photographers, and layout workers. I felt great joy whenever I patted myself on the back after publishing an awesome issue, and was always full of hope that the next issue would be even better. The sad part is that all that’s over now.
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Just a moment ago, my mom came into my room to check what I was doing.
“What are you typing? Do you still have homework to do? I thought GLP was over.”
“Yes, it is. This is the last article I’m writing for Expresso.”
“Oh, really? That’s good news. Expresso’s so jinggeureoweo.”
I just smiled. Other people will never understand what Expresso means to me or to anyone else who is a part of Expresso unless they actually participate in the process themselves.
About a week after I upload this article on Dropbox, it will be published at Digital Copy, and Moses, Abby, and I will scurry around the school distributing the final issue of the year. Then that will be that; I will no longer be the editor in chief of Expresso. In fact, I don’t know exactly what I will be.
Joining Expresso was the first independent lunge I’d made ever since I’ve begun noticing peer pressure. Applying for the position of Expresso’s editor-in-chief was the second. Now this is my third. As I write the final words of my last article, I feel some hollow space occupying a corner of my mind. Amid that feeling though, is a sense of satisfaction: that I’ve left a footprint, a big, deep, beautiful footprint to be remembered by on what I love most dearly. If that’s not immortality, what else is?
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