Interlude; It's Not That Deep

This is a story from registration day, right after the university website crashed. It was the first time I called Seri, and we shared a conversation that often crosses my mind — after all, I’m the only one who still calls Seri by her nickname.

Like a predator in the midst of a hunt, I stalked the website’s loading screen for my prey, priming the position of my mouse and its sharpened cursor.

Tick tock tick tock.

The page was still buffering. Then, out of the blue, it happened: the enrol button appeared.

Click.

“I got it!” Seri exclaimed immediately.

I inhaled, waiting for the page to load. Doubt surfaced, which I faced with denial, before experiencing anger at the result I was shown.

“I… didn’t get it.”

Life was unfair. Since the website’s servers were so bad, getting the classes you wanted was based on internet connection rather than skill. My gaming-honed reaction time and reflexes didn’t matter if my wifi was trash.

“At least we got the same maths class,” Seri tried to cheer me up. “English is just nap time anyways.”

My voice was muffled as I rested face down on my desk. “But media analysis sounds so fun.”

“What about research analysis?” she asked.

“…which part of that sounds fun to you?”

“Well sign up for it before you end up with underwater basketweaving.”

Sigh.

I clicked my way through the laggy website. The research analysis class still had spots open.

“This prof still has room. Doctor… how do you pronounce that?”

“Which one?”

“English 103.”

“Ohhh,” Seri mused. “That kinda sounds like my name.”

“Ah,” I remembered. It was an honest mistake that I never bothered to correct. “I keep thinking your name’s Seri. Do you mind me using your nickname?”

“It’s fine, I actually kind of miss it. It sounds prettier than my real name.”

“Is that why you started going by Seri?” I asked. “Your real name sounds fine to me.”

“Thanks. But no, my friends started calling me Seri because I was obsessed with Seri’s Heart Market.”

“The Korean drama?”

“Yeah! Have you watched it?”

“Just the first episode. It was really popular.”

“Yeah! It was all I ever talked about. And since it was easier to pronounce than my real name, people just started calling me Seri.”

“Huh,” I pondered. “What was the story about again?”

“Seri gets kicked out of her rich family because she was too spoiled and ungrateful, and her dad says she’ll be allowed back once she has a happy family of her own! Then male lead happens to need a fake girlfriend, so they get married on paper and adopt a kid. Since Seri’s an academic prodigy that only thinks about money, she decides the only way to appear like a happy family is for her to get rich by becoming both a heart doctor and stockbroker.”

It was still early in the morning, and I zoned out halfway through her explanation. Needless to say, I didn’t get all of that… but faced with her eager expression, I felt compelled to respond.

“That’s a… pretty crazy story.”

Seri’s eyes looked suspiciously moist. “It’s so great! They fall in love for real, and the deaf orphan they adopted was secretly a mind reader who learns about the warmth of a family…”

The plot just got more convoluted.

But…

“That kinda sounds like you, doesn’t it?” I asked.

Seri raised an eyebrow. “Adopting deaf orphans?”

“No, I meant Seri. I’m saying she’s just like you.”

“You’re saying I…adopt deaf orphans?”

“No! Like…” I racked my head for something thoughtful to say. “You dropped out of nursing, right? And you’re trying to reclaim your life through accomplishing a hundred items on your bucket list.”

She smile-squinted at me. “I don’t think it’s that deep, buddy.”

“But it could be! So what I’m saying is…”

“Yes?”

“We should trade classes. I think I’m pretty suited for media analysis.”

Seri snorted, and then started choking.

“My analysis was pretty good,” I pushed. “I’d totally pump out some fire essays on movies and stuff.”

“Ha ha,” she laughed mockingly. “Nice try, buddy.”

I sighed. Still staring at the enrolment page for research analysis, I cursed my luck.

Click.

~~~

This is a story from after we first grabbed hotpot and coffee. By now, studying together had become a post-class ritual for us.

I smacked the bitter taste of cheap bean water into my lips. There wasn’t much sugar in there, yet the faint aroma of high fructose syrup overpowered the drink itself… not that it bothered me. Others might’ve said it was too watered down, but as a tea enjoyer, my taste for coffee had not yet developed beyond what was worth three dollars. By those standards, the two dollar campus version received a michelin star from me.

Afternoon sun stared through the geometrically sectioned glass roof. Yet again, I shifted my laptop to account for the awkward shadows being cast over my screen. I checked the time and sipped my coffee. Seri’s lecture had ended a few minutes ago.

She should be coming any-

“Heya!” Seri slapped my back.

Choking on my drink, I turned my laptop screen towards her.

“What’s this?”

I halted her with a finger as I recovered from asphyxiation. “My essay…” I panted.

“The effect of acetaminophen on empathy? What’s this?”

“It’s my final analysis project,” I said. “Can you look over the grammar for me?”

“Yeah sure. This is a crazy study though. Will Tylenol make me become a psychopath?”

“I think there’s a small correlation. My conclusion’s that the study should be repeated multiple times and on a larger scale.”

“Isn’t that everything though?”

“Yeah,” I said. “You just regurgitate the same shit and pray that the prof likes it. How’s your class going?”

“It’s great! Wanna read my final project?”

“Sure, what’s it about?”

“Here.”

Seri handed me her personal computer. It was a rose pink laptop smothered with stickers of a cartoon girl, which I recognised as a caricature of the titular character from “Seri’s Heart Market.” The device kind of smelled like her too…

“How is it?” she asked.

“Uhhh…” I started scrolling through the document. “This is about… the symbolic use of curtains?”

Seri replied happily, which made me wish I could love English as much as she did. “Yup! I’m analysing a painting about a depressed girl. I’m writing about why her blackout curtains are tinted blue, while the boy living across from her has light yellow curtains. Thirteen-hundred words so far.”

I skimmed her paper. “Thesis… conclusion… what are your main points?”

“Blue means sad, yellow means happy, and together they make a hopeful green, just like the plant growing on the boy’s windowsill. My conclusion is that the painter uses these colours to represent the relationship between the girl and the boy.”

“Are you sure it’s that deep?”

She clicked her tongue. “It’s the world of art, Sunny. Every detail, every decision, even if it’s unconsciously made, has meaning. Of course it’s deep! It always is.”

“Why not just google what the artist really thinks about it?”

“That defeats the-”

I pressed enter before she could finish her sentence. We scanned the search results together. The first result was an interview from the artist, about his painting of the girl. The headline read:

“I ran out of red paint.”

…

Seri silently leaned over my shoulder and closed the browser window.

“…you were saying?” I asked.

“I still need to come up with something for my prof…” Seri mumbled.

She’s pouting.

“Does your prof take off marks for being wrong?”

“Ha! That’s where I’m better,” Seri declared. “The beautiful thing about media is that it’s subjective. My analysis just has to sound good and make sense. Can you do that?”

“I guess not,” I said.

“Loser.”

“How about I email your prof that interview of the artist then?”

“Hey- no! She probably won’t even read it.”

“Let’s bet on it.”

“Don’t!” Seri whined. “I’m sorry, are you mad? I'll take it back, you’re not a loser! Don’t send that email!”

I smiled as she tried to block me from my laptop. “I’m not mad, don’t worry.”

After all…

“It’s not that deep.”