※ 아래 스크립트는 발표자의 발표내용을 그대로 표기하였으므로 구어체 표현이 포함되어있고,
Today’s Korean youth, such as myself, have terms to differentiate between those who have many diverse friends, known as ‘inssa’, and those ostracized with perhaps a few friends, ‘assa’. Both usages of slang are short for the English words ‘insider’ and ‘outsider’, respectively. As someone who has been on both ends of the spectrum, let me explain why having a few close friends was an overall better experience for me.
Throughout my formative years, I was never the “popular kid”. Coming back to Korea after living in New York for the last seven years, the kids were not nice. I didn’t speak like them, I didn’t act like them, I didn’t think like them. My aggressively tan skin never bothered me and I was eager to speak my mind in butchered Korean. This led me to be known as the “weird Yankee from the US”. I was alone for a long time. I cried almost every day after school. To this day, I still consider grade 5 to be my all-time lowest, so far. But wait, there’s still a gleam of light to this sob story. And that gleam was my best friend from that time. Although she grew up in Korea for her whole 12 years of life, she was caught up with all the shows I watched in the US. We clicked instantaneously. Sparks flew whenever we were together. She constantly stood up for me when no one else did. I finally had someone to trust. The problem erupted when 6th grade rolled around the corner with its ugly superficial head. I craved for more friends; I craved for popularity. Long story short, I had more than a few friends by the end of the 6th grade, but I didn’t have a best friend anymore.
After regretting my mistake, I vowed to never sell out my friends and stayed loyal to those I love. However, that doesn’t mean I swore off new friends. I still craved more. During the phases where I hung out in cliques and went to parties as an “inssa,” I couldn’t feel any more paramount. Adrenaline rushed through my veins when seemingly every student waved at me in the hallways. I felt a sense of eliteness when I sat at “our” lunch table. Finally, people cared about me. Or did they? Perhaps they did back then but I don’t talk with any of them now. They certainly don’t seem to care about how I’m putting up the current pandemic, and I don’t blame them. I didn’t ask either.
This cycle of hanging out with only close friends and then expanding to as many people as possible went on a few times throughout my life. And at the end of every cycle, it was never worth it. Friends whom I shared a weak connection with soon dissolved into yet another Instagram follower I never bothered to DM. On the other hand, the close friends I made during my hardships last to this day. I still use the same group chat I made with my middle school friends as we remain rock solid as each other’s support group. The amount of support we provide each other is immense. When one friend finds useful information we share it with each other, no strings attached. When a friend goes through the loss of a family member, each one of us sends lengthy texts of condolences. We are genuinely happy for each of our successes without thinking about how it could benefit ourselves in return.
Some people give the argument that we can get stuck in our ways by only hanging out with the same close friends, instead of broadening our selection. I bear to disagree. Yes, I get different opinions and perspectives meeting with a variety of people, however, I can’t tell if these opinions are ever honest when I can’t even be honest to myself around them. It’s difficult to grow as a person when you’re surrounded by a pool of diverse leeches waiting for a chance to use you at your peak, just to shun you at your worst. I admit a few of my closest friends may seem like carbon copies of myself. However, my remaining best friends range from a Japanese nerd with a pink laptop to a 50-something-year-old man with a start-up. It’s these people I can be vulnerable with. And it’s these "assas" I can trust.
Thank you.