Duplicate

Author: (Korean) Choi Su-jik
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-04-01
Features: Now I have arrived in the land of cicadas, where there are many different species, such as spring cicadas, grass cicadas, true cicadas, black-tailed cicadas, hairy cicadas, evening cicadas, and so on. Their names are rich and varied. They slightly stagger their calling times, choose their preferred tree species, and coexist peacefully without interfering with each other. My body is in the form of a typical cicada—the true cicada. Coming to the world of cicadas, I have seen many things that cannot be seen in the human world or the cicada world. However, being able to see things in the human world that I couldn’t see before also means I will no longer see things I could see before. In both the human world and the cicada world, I have lost all my fantasies.
In Mexican mythology, there is a story that explains why cicadas constantly chirp. Once, there was a male cicada living alone in the depths of the jungle, lonely and without a mate. One day, out of loneliness, he encountered a female cicada. The two fell in love and began a happy life together. However, their happiness was envied by other insects, who tricked a spider into weaving a web at the meeting spot where the female cicada would go. The female cicada became entangled in the spider’s web and struggled desperately. The male cicada waited for his lover, who did not show up, and chirped endlessly, endlessly. That fairy-tale story spread in the human world, and now I am trapped in a web. But when I became a cicada, I realized that the reason for the cicada’s chirping might be to transform into a perfect, flawless dry shell. The chirping of a cicada is definitely not language; it is simply an effort to empty the abdominal cavity, expand it, and turn itself into a perfect specimen. This was an epiphany for me, and initially, I gave the cicada’s behavior great significance.
As a cicada, I chirped for a while, and I always felt that everything inside me was becoming empty. Whenever that happened, I felt as if I had entered a new realm. This made me more like a true cicada. Over time, I slowly transformed into a part of the shell. During this transformation, perhaps I could hope for a day when I could be reborn completely, when I could finally shed my old self. So, with a competitive mindset, I chirped even louder, endlessly. But the louder I chirped, the more empty I felt inside, and the more hollow my heart became. Moreover, I gradually developed withdrawal symptoms for the self I had lost on the ground, or for the loss of my memories. In other words, I gradually developed withdrawal symptoms for myself. Since other cicadas no longer remembered the underground life, but I seemed to do so, I remained trapped by the memories of the past that had not left me after becoming a cicada. After shedding my skin, I should have sought my true self. Even like an onion shedding its layers, leaving nothing but emptiness inside, I had no choice. So, I was not yet a true cicada.
Now, at this very moment, the memories of the human I once was are intruding on the cicada I have become. This makes me constantly confused about what I am—human or cicada. But in that confusion, perhaps it is precisely because of that confusion that I cannot deny that I am gradually establishing my footing as a cicada. As a result, at some point, I stopped chirping, and ope