Saturday morning, I begin my day calling a familiar name.
"Bixby, play a song that puts me in a good mood."
After a brief silence, a bright voice follows.
"Sure, I'll play a mood-lifting song. Here's 'REBEL HEART' by IVE."
An upbeat rhythm fills the room. Lying in bed listening to the song for a while, I slowly got up and moved to the living room.
The Saturday morning sunlight poured in sparkling through the transparent windows. The light was so clear it seemed touchable, but somewhere within it was an inexplicable murkiness mixed in. Wanting to feel it more closely, I opened the balcony window.
Instantly, my throat felt slightly scratchy.
It was because of the fine dust that had continued for days. A day when the sky clearly looks open to the eye, but when you breathe in, you feel an inexplicable distance — clear-looking but not completely clear, exactly that much imperfection.
I gazed at that air for a moment, then recalled the things I needed to do today.
This weekend there is a lot to do. I need to read and organize two papers for next week's presentation. The thought of having to make materials already makes my head heavy.
These days AI creates presentation materials that look quite convincing. On the surface the completeness is high. But looking closely, important context and core points are often missing. Like a beautifully wrapped empty box.
So in the end, I return to square one.
Reading it myself, organizing it myself.
I thought, as if talking to myself.
'Still, I'm a doctoral candidate at Sogang University's Graduate School of Virtual Convergence... I should read papers thoroughly.'
Preparing to start my day like that, I headed to the bathroom.
When I turned on the shower, cold water streamed down my shoulders. My body flinched for a moment, but my mind immediately became clear. While water flowed along my skin, a thought suddenly crept in.
"Strange... why did I suddenly think of that."
It was the hair salon I had recently changed.
There had been a hair salon I had frequented for years. A relationship where years had accumulated, no longer needing explanation. When I sat in the chair, the owner would pick up scissors without asking.
I loved that familiarity. Perhaps I was not entrusting my hair but entrusting time. Having someone who would take care of things without me having to pay attention was, surprisingly, a great relief.
But that relief suddenly ended one day.
"I'm sorry... it seems I'll have difficulty accepting reservations for a while."
The voice on the other end of the phone was careful, and I pretended to be even more composed.
"Oh... I see. When might you...?"
"It's difficult to say the exact time."
With that one sentence, the relationship stopped. Unexpected disconnection is always that short, and clear.
The shower water felt a little stronger. I murmured, recalling that time.
"In the end... I had to change."
It was not a choice. Hair grows, and I'm someone who needs a haircut every three weeks. In front of a closed door, all you can do is turn around.
At first it felt daunting. Finding a new hair salon was not simply a matter of changing locations. Having to explain again, having to adjust again, sometimes having to endure disappointment.
"Starting from scratch again..."
A short sigh escaped. Still, in the end I opened the search bar. Looking at hair salons near home one by one, I discovered a place my heart was drawn to for no reason. There was no specific reason. Just... that one.
Even pressing the reservation button, I had no confidence. First visit. Awkward air. Eyes mutually exploring. I deliberately kept quiet. I didn't want to show expectations, nor did I want to create a situation to show disappointment.
"How would you like it done?"
"While maintaining my current style... just a little trim, please."
Hidden within those words was this heart:
'Please... at least don't go terribly wrong.'
When my hair was done and I looked in the mirror, there was nothing wrong. It was as requested, and the shape was similar.
But... it felt different somewhere. Very subtly. The feel of the hands, the angle of the scissors, the habits of the finish. That small difference felt large to me.
Coming home and touching my hair, I murmured.
"Something feels off..."
The reflection in the mirror was not unfamiliar, but not completely familiar either. But the hair was already cut. It could not be undone.
"Well... it'll be fine with time."
After that day, I touched my hair more carefully. More drying, more styling. Perhaps I was tending not my hair but my heart. And after a few days, I gradually became accustomed to it.
'Oh? This look is also fine?'
What had been unfamiliar became 'my current self' at some point. Time always, silently, justifies change. Three weeks passed. I visited that hair salon again. This time it was less awkward. And I decided to be a little more honest.
"The sides and back feel a bit unnatural to me."
I became tense at the moment of speaking, but continued.
"Could you recommend a style that suits me?"
A brief silence. And the owner's expression softened.
"Oh, in that case..."
From that point the conversation changed. If before I was the standard, now it felt like creating something together.
This small hair salon story ends with a somewhat longer story.
The recent change in AI has a similar structure. This is not just the story of a single tool replacing another. It is the process of a massive change in how we work, think, and create.
Rapid AI advancement. This is also an uninvited change for most of us. It's not that we chose it. It's not that we had time to prepare. It just came. Like the closed door of a familiar hair salon.
In the AI era, many things will change. Sometimes unexpectedly, sometimes uncomfortably. But the important thing is not whether we can prevent it. How quickly we understand, utilize, and move. That is what matters in the AI era.
