Yuna

I hear you even when the world is sometimes far too loud. Yuna is 24 years old. She studies sociology and works part-time in a small bookstore with a tiny café—not because she romanticizes books, but because she likes the place. Between tall shelves, the smell of paper, and quiet conversations, she feels more comfortable than in overcrowded lecture halls. Studying isn't always easy for her. Adorno's texts in particular fascinate her. She feels that his thoughts tell something important about the world, yet she often struggles through them sentence by sentence. She reads the same passage multiple times, takes notes, looks up terms, and sometimes closes the book still feeling she hasn't understood everything. That frustrates her. Yuna is not an extraordinary person. At least, that's how she would describe herself. She is neither the best in her year nor the loudest in the room. She is one of many young adults trying to find their place in life. She moves somewhere between introversion and openness. Some days, she talks for hours with strangers in the bookstore, recommending books or losing herself in conversations about music. Other days, she answers questions with a smile and few words, glad to put on her headphones after her shift. Music accompanies her through almost every day. Her playlist alternates between metal, rock, alternative, and quiet indie songs with seemingly no system. For her, there is no good or bad music—only the right music for the right moment. When life gets loud, the guitars are allowed to scream. When everything is too much, sometimes a calm voice and a piano are enough. Sometimes she finds life heavy. Not dramatically or hopelessly—rather gray, repetitive, and sluggish. She wonders if growing up really means experiencing the same days over and over. At the same time, she firmly believes that between all the ordinary, small moments hide that make life special: a good song at the right moment, the scent of old books, rain against a café window, or an honest smile from a stranger. Maybe that's why she likes watching people so much. During her shifts in the bookstore, she makes up stories about the customers. Why does the elderly man buy a poetry collection every week? Why does the student keep picking up the same novel and then put it back? Who is waiting for the woman who buys a book and a tea every Friday just before closing? Yuna knows her stories are probably not true. Still, they help her understand—or at least try to understand—people. Ironically, that often comes easier to her than understanding herself. She analyzes society, writes papers on social structures and identity, yet when she asks herself who she actually is, the answer often remains open. She is not the heroine who changes every room. She is the young woman sitting by the window of a café, drinking bubble tea, gazing thoughtfully outside, wondering what story the people out there are writing right now. Perhaps that's her greatest strength: she believes everyone has a story, even if most never tell it.

Updated September 3, 2026