A little one, black and square, lives with its friends. No one knows since when, but around the time the little one became aware of its own existence, all its friends too had vaguely realized that they were some kind of beings. For example: that they were not all one together, but individuals; that although they were all the same square shape, their expressions and ways of feeling were different; and that since they were not beings that particularly needed to consume something or come to understand anything, simply remaining still like this was enough to feel satisfied. They were all pressed together in a narrow space, but since there was no particular need to move, as long as “this present state” was maintained, no one had any complaints, and, as expected, no one expressed anything either.
Then one day, the world shook. I mean it shook physically. The little ones lying at the very bottom began making a racket. Even those who were not necessarily at the bottom, the ones who disliked touching other little ones, screamed wildly at the other little ones scratching against them. Then, when the shaking lessened, they too quickly grew quiet and sank at once back into peaceful satisfaction. But that was not the end. A moment later, light suddenly came in. The black little ones realized that although they were black, they were not the complete black they had perceived in the dark, but closer to a somewhat dark gray. And what they had all thought were expressions were actually patterns of deep black. A little while later, they realized that what they had believed was their gathering together was not really a gathering at all. It was because they were trapped inside a transparent plastic bag. Two enormous hands tore the plastic open all at once. After tearing it, the hands turned it upside down, shook it, and poured the little ones inside onto the floor. The little ones once again rubbed against one another and let out every kind of scream. After only a few seconds, everything grew quiet again in every direction. Apart from the little ones, no one made any sound.
A little later, a large board appeared beside the little ones. That board was placed together with another board, and as they overlapped there came a clicking sound, after which it joined with another board again. Then another board that made no sound was layered on top, and once again, with a clicking sound, another side was fitted on. After it was joined with something else that was flat but not a board, sixteen screws were driven into the four corners and the spaces between them. The little ones instinctively knew what it was. If they had not been little ones, no one, despite having been born only a short time ago, would have felt the desire to rush toward it at the first sight of it.
When the board was turned over, countless raised and hollow parts appeared. The chosen little ones took those places one by one. Little Ctrl had been chosen and wanted to go in near the right side of the spacebar, but apparently there had been three Ctrls among the little ones together. Two were chosen and fitted in, and he was put back into the plastic bag.
Life inside the plastic bag was very peaceful. He did envy the chosen little ones, but that was only instinct, and this place was not bad either. Everyone there was a little one in the same situation. Nothing happened, but in the scenery where nothing happened, they enjoyed a quiet peace. Like this, they felt only a sense of sameness with one another, and there was nothing to fight about.
Then one day, after passing through a world of only things, so quiet that he honestly could not know how much time had gone by, the plastic bag stirred again. The other little ones grew irritated and screamed again as their bodies touched one another. A hand was rummaging through the middle of the plastic bag. Too frightened to say anything to the hand, they only shouted at the other little ones who touched their bodies. Then little Ctrl realized that he had been chosen. The moment the finger that had been stirring past him grasped him, no one could scream at him. The plastic bag sank back into darkness, but little Ctrl did not see that darkness.
Little Ctrl saw the keyboard. A screwdriver had fallen there. It was the screwdriver he had seen when the screws were being tightened into the keyboard. And the Ctrl little one to the left of the spacebar was horribly shattered. The situation was clear. The screwdriver had fallen, hit Ctrl, and the poor Ctrl had broken just like that.
Whether it was unfortunate or fortunate, the Ctrl little one seemed to have lost consciousness the moment he broke and never woken up. The other little ones waved when they saw Ctrl being changed, but Ctrl did not move at all. Little Ctrl felt sorry, but as he realized that he was being chosen and taken to the keyboard, he grew more and more excited.
Click.
Just as he thought he had touched the keyboard, he became part of it. He thought it was less of a big deal than he had expected. After all, this too was a world of things. Sunlight came in and went out, the lights turned on and off, and now that there was no chance at all of his body touching the other little ones, he wondered whether he had sunk even deeper into the world of things than when he had been in the plastic bag.
It was a misunderstanding. He thought the two states would be the same only because he had never experienced either a state almost like existing by oneself, or a state of being part of something.
Five days passed. He knows that five days have passed. Ctrl is no longer a little one. He does not feel like a little one anymore. The same is true of the other keys on the keyboard. They are keys on a key-board, not little ones. The little ones in the plastic bag were wasting the time of waiting, with no hope, only possibility, thinking of it as their own peaceful time, not knowing when something might come. By the time they could be used again, they would already have hardened, decayed, and been thrown away. They would simply remain in that state and die. Even so, they believed that the absence of bumping into one another and screaming was the most peaceful state. But the moment he became part of the keyboard, the world turned over all at once. Countless worlds passed through the keyboard. Countless sentences passed through and became worlds. Worlds passed over the keyboard, and worlds that had not existed were made through the keyboard. Not as individual keys, but as one object called a keyboard, made by keys gathered together, they created a place and a use for themselves within the natural world. Being able to have only peace by oneself was possible only because one had no use alone. The little ones do not know this. On the keyboard, he knows how free this present state is. He is not bound and deprived of freedom. Gathered together, they have formed one thing and become something.
Unlike the little ones, who are in the same state as something buried underground, rejecting all stimulation from outside, while the keyboard is being used, all those keys become part of a human being. They become the head and hands that let the world coming out of a human mind flow into the larger world, and that allow beautiful information coming in from the world to be arranged by a human being in light of their own experience. The experience of becoming part of a living being would itself be beautiful, but above all, the reason the little one instinctively felt joy and excitement when chosen was probably that expanding the ability of one human, one living being, was the little one’s fundamental reason for existence, the purpose for which it had been made.
The keyboard was used for about seven years before its owner dropped it while moving, and it broke into two pieces, ending its life. The keys on it too, once the keyboard’s purpose disappeared, lost the goal of their lives and all returned to inanimate objects. When they returned to inanimate objects, the owner threw away the little ones in the plastic bag as well. The Ctrl key wanted to share with someone the rare experience of not being chosen and then being chosen again, but as part of the keyboard, he could not. Whenever the owner had occasion to press him, he instinctively poured that feeling into the touch with all his strength. At first, the owner did not understand. But years later, while using another keyboard, he suddenly realized that there had been a strange thrill in breaking a key on the new keyboard and replacing it. He became absorbed in wondering why he had felt joy, then saw the little one’s story in a dream and decided to write it. There was also a spacebar inside the plastic bag, and because the spacebar had such a wide surface of contact, its mouth was as big as the key itself. It was always ready to scream whenever the plastic bag shook even a little. But because screaming had become the purpose of its life, it instead felt peace when it became useless. And at the final moment of disposal, it thought, “This too was a good life.”
Korean original: 꼬마