[Student Voices] Beneath the Bubbles
Published: 17 Mar. 2025, 09:12
Seunghyuk Jeong, Chadwick International
by Seunghyuk Jeong, Chadwick International
The sound of the alarm unwrapped me from the silence. I moaned, pulled myself out of bed, slung my bag over my shoulder and walked out the door and into the still-stiff morning light, half-asleep. The walk to the bus stop seemed to last forever with my mind drifting in a haze—why was I going to school on a Saturday?
The plan seemed simple: My school club was going to sell bubble tea to raise money for the disabled community in Korea. When I imagined the event, I saw people grinning and eagerly taking their beverages, satisfied to be helping a charity. But this vision dissolved as I arrived at school and the bleakness began.
The first challenge arose in the kitchen. Steam from boiling tapioca pearls—those soft, black balls that turn into bubble tea—filled the room with the vaguely sour, starchy odor of vomit. It made me nauseous. To keep from choking, I immediately averted my face and muttered to myself: “I wish I was still in bed.
When the tea was ready, we placed our tray on the counter and patiently waited for customers. One hour followed another. Still, there was no sign of anyone coming. My heart was sinking into a swamp of frustration as the minutes passed. Not ready to surrender, I took the poster we created—BUBBLE TEA, THREE DOLLARS—and walked around calling, “Bubble tea for sale! Bubble tea for sale!”
With every look of disdain, every negative head toss, my pride was whipped. The humiliation was severe and humbling.
Then came the Coca-Cola man. In my mind’s eye, this was the chance of redemption. Finally, someone was going to purchase something. But he came to us and said, “Do you have Coca-Cola?”
My smile evaporated. “We only sell bubble tea.”
He nodded his head and walked away without saying another word.
My club and I went back to the drawing board and changed our plan. We grabbed an empty cart from the cafeteria and loaded our bubble tea onto it. If people weren’t coming to us, we would go to them. We pushed the cart to the soccer field where most of the people were gathered. They began to approach our cart, especially children who were thirsty and bright eyed. Each sale lifted our mood. At last, I thought, it was a victory.
Then I heard a parent say, “The tea has no flavor.”
One little boy looked disgusted after taking a sip. “Yucky.”
The rest of the comments were no better.
Had we failed completely? I looked at my team and saw the same fears reflected in everyone’s eyes.
Could we go on? Could we endure any more of this? At that point, we remembered that this wasn’t about us. We were here to support disabled people. We were here to help others. Every hindrance, every defeat was just a bump in the road. Fatigue? Bad smells? Rejection? Frustration? Embarrassment? They were merely bumps. We had a purpose, and that purpose provided the strength and motivation to continue our work.
In an act of desperation, we dumped chocolate powder into the tea. What else could we do?
The reaction was astonishing.
“Mmm. Chocolate!”
“Delicious!”
The empty cups kept piling up.
“I want to try some!”
“I’ll take one!
“It’s really good!”
Soon, the last cup of bubble tea was sold.
with the Korea JoongAng Daily
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