Dear Reader,

I rest my head on the glass window, looking at the familiar spread of green fields and tangled overhead power lines that pass swiftly by. I take out and admire the intricate origami crafts that my younger cousin had meticulously folded and put into my bag, some of which had crumpled and lost their shape. Finally, the Daejeon train station sign comes into sight, and I have returned to the city of science, once again. 

During the semester, the lecture halls of the Creative Learning Building (E11), the book-filled library, the geese and cats that leisurely stroll around the serene duck pond — become home. Journeying outside the boundaries of KAIST on a train ride, especially during the long-awaited Chuseok holiday, thus brings a tingling thrill and a moment to heal. To slip into inertia with my comfort music playing in my earphones, to gaze at the rolling panorama like a film protagonist lost in thought. I hope you, Reader, had a restful break too, whether it was a hearty reunion with family or friends, catching up with overdue studies, or re-immersing into your hobbies. 

I sometimes wish that I could, like the Daejeon-bound train, simply follow an unchanging one-way track towards a visible and tangible destination. In reality, I am walking somewhere on the countless intersecting lines and creases on the unfolded origami paper, a myriad of pathways that lead to uncertain outcomes. However, I trust that the challenges I meet at KAIST will teach me the values and integrity a researcher should have, and help me find my own way of contributing to our community through science. As I watch my seniors busily heading to their labs even at late hours, excited to observe how their organoids have grown or to analyze the long-awaited results of their experiment, I too hope I can one day find something that truly floods my heart with delight. 

Researchers today, however, are pressured with the practical hurdles of producing immediate, useful outcomes. The strategic and streamlined allocation of national funds intended by the Korean government is not invalid. Nevertheless, nothing can be more contradictory than expecting scientists to bring thriving breakthroughs in an environment that leaves no room for the slightest inefficiency or underperformance — especially for a field built on cumulative knowledge and long-term perspectives. It is thus unsurprising that the drastic R&D budget cut recently is met with strong condemnation from research communities and the media, both in Korea and abroad. 

Exceptional scientists are not HEK293 cells that grow rapidly inside an incubator — they are never nurtured overnight. It is even harder to hold an optimistic stance in Korea, where a decreasing number of students are applying for science high schools and many are withdrawing from science and technology fields in fear of an unreliable future. Our country direly needs a renewed vision for STEM fields, and more support for emerging researchers to lead their academic journey. 

Hangeul, originally named Hunminjeongeum, is regarded as one of the greatest creations of our country of all time. According to historical records, King Sejong's concern about low literacy rates of the commoners arose 17 years before he invented Hunminjeongeum; thus, some historians estimate its founding to have taken as long as that. Only through prolonged contemplation, struggles and heartfelt consideration for the people could King Sejong derive the writing system that would vastly improve their lives. Furthermore, he proactively encouraged and sponsored technological inventions that put Joseon on par with the most scientifically advanced nations of that era. Revisiting the piece of history behind Hangeul Day, we are reminded that scientific discoveries are only made possible with perseverance and a long-term vision for the future. Leaders who respect scientists’ autonomy, cultivate their potential, and help them focus on their very duty — are those that we so desperately need today. 

Chaeyeon Ryu

Editor-in-Chief