To all the guests who made my 70th birthday so special, I extend my heartfelt gratitude. To repay your congratulations and affection, I have gathered these sincere words of thanks.

Recalling the joyful times of the past

Today, even at midday, snow falls softly and steadily. The scorching summer sun, so intense it made going outside daunting, feels as vivid as yesterday. Yet, before we knew it, the cold yet welcome winter wind has arrived. It’s truly remarkable how each changing season brings to mind another. With winter here, I suddenly find myself longing for the warmth of spring.
I recall a day long ago, when I was very young, climbing the hill behind our neighborhood. A local woman handed me a handful of ginkgo nuts, their tough outer shells already removed. It was a time of poverty, when opportunities to eat ginkgo were rare, and seeing raw ginkgo nuts with their shells still attached was an uncommon sight. My heart raced at the thought of receiving something precious. I tucked those ginkgo nuts deep into my pocket, played to my heart’s content, and returned home. I carefully presented them to my mother.
“My son knows to think of his mother now.”
Hearing that unexpected praise, the taste of those roasted ginkgo nuts—bitter yet savory—still lingers vividly in my mouth. My mother, who worked a grueling side job to earn money for side dishes, had a smile warmer than anything in the world. From that day on, I think I gradually learned the habit of looking out for others, moving away from being a brat who only cared about my own mouth when food was in front of me. If there was a moment when I came of age, it might have been then.
It was a time when we didn’t even have a refrigerator, let alone a proper cupboard to store groceries. Back in the days when seven of us lived crammed together in the ‘Willow House’ down the neighborhood alley, where shops and homes had no clear boundaries, I was the troublesome second child. The house was cramped and uncomfortable, but those times were pure joy. I remember my eldest brother, who never scolded me for my lack of aptitude for studying, saying, “Not being good at studying just means your potential needs more time to ripen.” Though he seemed scarier than our father in my childhood, I only now begin to grasp how warm and profound those words were.
My brother’s words still echo in my ears: that for everyone, at some point in life, the time comes to shine their own light. Over the years, those words became a sentence that sustained my life, one I strive not to forget and often reflect upon.

‘Am I living well? Have I lived well? Can I continue to live well?’

It seems now is the time to cautiously answer that question for myself. Now seventy, a considerable age, I find myself calmly reflecting on the past, the present, and the time yet to come. This moment might be a ‘brief pause’ in my life. Yet I see this pause not as a standstill, but as a process of recharging new energy for what lies ahead—a precious time to look inward and realign myself.
Only now do I feel I can finally view life with a deeper, broader perspective. To all those who stood by me through countless moments, big and small—those who offered a warm word, those who silently held their place beside me—I take this opportunity to express my heartfelt gratitude. It is because of you that I exist today.
Thank you.

Growing older is a joyful thing

It’s winter, a season when the biting cold wind makes your whole body feel like it might freeze solid. As the chill approaches swiftly, it feels as if my slackened cells are tensing up again, coming back to life. Perhaps thanks to the winter rain that fell all night, the air this morning feels much clearer and fresher than yesterday. The streets look clean and tidy too, as if they’ve been thoroughly washed. The warm winter sun gently envelops the day, making for a pleasantly cheerful start.

“I dislike what I dislike. I dislike people I dislike.”

That’s just my nature, so I never sought understanding. I lived thinking I didn’t live because of anyone, nor did I have a reason to live for anyone. But sometimes, this thought crosses my mind: “I’ll only laugh when it’s fun, and I won’t laugh when it’s not. Isn’t life ultimately that simple?” I think human beings are simple yet complex, existing on that subtle, elusive boundary between understanding and misunderstanding.
The childhood memories each of us carries can sometimes hinder our lives or become a factor that makes us reject relationships with others. Yet strangely, when we meet someone who mirrors the texture of those memories, we can momentarily escape the heavy burden of the past and catch our breath. I too had such an experience. Forcing myself to form and maintain relationships felt like swallowing spoiled food, causing discomfort, or wearing clothes that didn’t fit, leaving me persistently uneasy. Social life always felt unfamiliar and burdensome. There was no one with whom I could fully share my heart, and I myself had lived while keeping everything tightly hidden, so it was even more so.
But now, I realize anew. Even during those early days of entering society, when everything felt arduous and exhausting, how precious and invaluable it is to meet just one person with whom you can share your memories and emotions. Perhaps we ourselves turned away from the very opportunities to meet such a person. Only now do such thoughts begin to cautiously surface.
Is that why? I find myself thinking that growing older isn’t necessarily just painful and distressing. Rather, I feel the stubbornness and obstinacy that had hardened within me slowly melting away. The countless people who passed by me along the way to becoming who I am today, and their warm glances and kind words, have shaped me into who I am now. This fact strikes me as precious all over again.
There was a time when I was consumed by the belief that I was right, that I was the best. Looking back now, it was an embarrassing and awkward time. But now, my perspective has broadened, and my view of the world has become much more generous. It’s a change I couldn’t have imagined in my youth. After completing my military service, I began to see the world a little differently. When I held my first child in my arms, I faced the world with yet another perspective. And today, the world approaches me once more, looking slightly different than yesterday.
In my younger days, I often wondered, ‘What will I be like when I grow old?’ I even resolved to become a learned, noble adult, like a scholar. How close have I come to that image now? I suddenly wonder, and just imagining it brings me joy and a pleasant feeling. Of course, there might still be unmelted stubbornness or obstinacy lingering within me. But I resolve to slowly melt away even those over the years to come.
Growing older is not solely a bad thing. Rather, it is a beautiful, mature process that allows one to view life more deeply and generously. In that sense, at this very moment of growing older, I want to truly enjoy this life.

Contemplation and Leisure Today

American novelist James Duncan, in his 1992 work ‘Brothers K’, likened life to this:

“My father, who was a professional baseball player, used to say there are two ways for a batter to get the pitch he wants. One is to not have a preference for a specific pitch type, and the other is to be someone who wants any pitch. They might sound similar at first, but they are actually completely different. The best batter is someone who can say he ‘wants’ not only the pitches he can handle at will, but also the ones that might strike him out, even the dead ball.” ”

In this statement, the phrase ‘all you have to do is want it’ isn’t mere optimism. It comes across as a profound insight urging us to willingly accept every ball life throws at us, be it pain or joy. Ultimately, it might mean ‘just survive, accept everything.’ But is that really easy?
This statement demands we confront the very essence of life we often turn away from because it feels too heavy to bear. This message, which sometimes suggests that simply living is enough, tells us to find meaning in existence itself before seeking meaning. Yet, that very fact can already bring a wave of fatigue and fear. Knowing that life doesn’t always flow as we wish, accepting each moment isn’t as easy as it sounds.
But suddenly, we realize that happiness isn’t found at the destination; it was always in the journey towards it. We often live under the illusion that “happiness will come when I arrive,” the so-called “arrival fallacy.” We wonder if we’ve been passively enduring today’s unhappiness and discomfort as a given, clinging to vague beliefs like “I’ll be happy someday” or “I’ll finally be happy once I reach a certain state.”
But perhaps the truth is the opposite. Could it be that the person who will be happy in the future is the one who is already living happily in this very moment? It occurs to me that it’s not the successful person who is happy, but rather the happy person who ultimately achieves success. If you cannot find joy in the journey toward your destination, satisfaction at that arrival point will be fleeting. And you’ll likely drive yourself relentlessly toward another goal, compelled by the compulsion that “it’s not time to rest yet.”
But now, at last, I have the space to catch my breath and slowly look back on the path I’ve traveled. The time for contemplation and leisure I once wondered, “When will it come?”—I realize it is none other than this very moment today. My life up to now has never been easy. At times it was overwhelming and painful, and endless greed whipped me onward. Yet looking back, I acknowledge that all that time and experience formed the foundation of who I am today.
Though not everything was perfectly fulfilled, I find myself content, for it seems I have lived a more human, more profound life. I learned that lack sometimes drives growth, and imperfection yields richer understanding. That is why today, celebrating my seventieth birthday, feels all the more meaningful.
To all of you who have joined me on this precious day of my life, I offer my heartfelt gratitude. I hope you will continue to be a great source of strength for me on the journey ahead, and I also hope to be a warm companion in your lives.
Thank you sincerely.

The Life of a Contemplative Father

Do you know the German author Heinrich Böll? His short story “A Tale of the Decline of the Work Ethic” features a truly striking scene. In the image of the old fisherman within that story, I sensed an impression quite different from that of the ordinary Kim fathers in our country.
The story begins like this. A city tourist approaches an old fisherman dozing on the pier after a day’s fishing and asks:

“Why don’t you catch more fish? Then you could expand your fleet, build cold storage or a smokehouse, and make a fortune.”

The fisherman calmly asks back.

“And then what?”

The tourist replies excitedly.

“Then you could sit here in the harbor, enjoy the sunshine, and doze off while gazing at the sea!”

Hearing this, the fisherman quietly smiles and says.

“I’m already doing that. Please don’t disturb my peace with your camera shutter.”

When I first read this scene, I actually felt a strange envy toward the poor old fisherman. And suddenly, this thought crossed my mind: “Don’t block the sunlight—just move aside.” The words of Diogenes, the philosopher who lived in a barrel, came to mind, and I wondered if perhaps that philosopher’s blood might also flow within our father. Ancient Greek philosophers considered ‘rest’ the highest act of drawing near to the gods, didn’t they? Perhaps, as someone once said, ‘competition’ is an entity that never sleeps.
But if life is like the ‘Red Queen Theory,’ where one must run constantly just to stay alive, isn’t that also terribly pitiful? In contrast, my father lived his life constantly reflecting on himself, either to escape competition or to transcend it. That attitude resonated deeply with me as his child, became a profound lesson, and served as an important compass for my own life.
In life, everyone faces moments when their head feels heavy and their heart grows weary. At such times, we often hear the advice to “take a deep breath,” but for me, there’s a slightly different approach. I naturally find myself seeking out my father. Even without any particular topic, as I engage in casual conversation with him, I find my heart lightening and my mind clearing before I know it. Conversations with my father are like a tonic for me. Just as the body receives oxygen through the lungs, I too breathe in the breath of life anew through him and gain the strength to move forward. His very presence allows me to keep breathing and walk the path ahead.
Sometimes I wonder: Will I ever be able to live like that fisherman, like our father? To view the world with a more spacious heart, accepting each moment with calmness? It probably won’t be easy. Following in the footsteps of my father’s wisdom, built up over so many years, will never be simple. But I want to carry his teachings deep in my heart for the rest of my life, quietly walking behind him.
I sincerely thank everyone who has joined us here today. And to my father, who has always quietly observed his own life and walked steadfastly, I take this opportunity to bow deeply and express my gratitude.

Compassion and Service Learned from Diligent Parents

Looking around us, there are truly many neighbors in need of help. And just as many are the ways we can offer that help.
One person runs a laundry service and takes care of washing the clothes for the elderly in the neighborhood who have no family. They wash even damp, heavy blankets with care, dry them well in the sunshine, and personally deliver them to the elderly. Within this act lies a warm heart that goes beyond simple kindness, filled with concern for their health. Another person volunteers to handle all sorts of repairs, big and small, inside and outside homes, even gladly fixing broken appliances. A barber not only serves seniors who visit the shop but also travels to those with limited mobility, carefully trimming their hair, making the journey no matter how far. We can feel the sincerity in their actions.
Others travel to nearby towns and villages, taking portraits of the elderly with great care. They embrace children awaiting adoption, nurturing them with love and living alongside them until a family is found. These individuals, often called ‘unsung angels,’ share a common trait: most did not come from affluent backgrounds. In fact, many themselves endured significant hardships or trials. Through the twists and turns of life, they came to understand desperate circumstances and wounded hearts, and it was precisely that empathy that became the seed of their service.
Come to think of it, even from my childhood when I didn’t even know the meaning of the word ‘volunteer,’ my parents may have already been quietly and consistently practicing service. In my memories, my parents held my hand tightly as we went here and there. Sometimes to the homes of friends my age, sometimes to the homes of elderly adults, people with disabilities, or seniors living alone. Looking back now, those times spent together were a more vivid and profound ‘living education’ than any formal schooling. It was time spent learning through life, not just with the mind.
One day, this question suddenly came to mind: “Are people inherently good or evil?”
It was probably during middle school, when we learned about the theories of innate goodness, innate evil, and neither good nor evil. Countless philosophers and theologians have put forward various arguments about human nature. Seeing how people, like Adam and Eve in the Bible, deliberately do what they’re told not to do and shift blame onto others, or witnessing the horrific acts committed by dictators throughout history, it’s easy to think humans are more evil than good.
But I still vividly remember what my parents told me back then.

“When you hear news of earthquakes or typhoons in distant, unfamiliar countries and shed tears, it’s not simply because you’re overly sensitive. The human brain is designed not to ignore the suffering of others. That’s what it means to be human.”

Just as they said, my parents taught me the emotion of ‘compassion.’ Compassion is different from mere ‘sympathy,’ which is pitying someone. It’s a deep feeling of genuinely understanding another’s pain and suffering alongside them. And surprisingly, this compassion warms and brings happiness to both the giver and the receiver.
Even after retirement, my parents have become even more actively involved in volunteer work. Seeing them like this sometimes makes me worry. I often worry first about their health, wondering if they’re pushing themselves too hard. Yet, whether they sense my concern or not, the sight of my parents walking toward their neighbors with bright faces is always a source of deep emotion and respect for me. That quiet way of walking through life, gently touching someone else’s existence, was true education—showing the example of life not through words, but through action.
I want to live like my parents. Hoping that someday my own child will look at me and feel the same way, I make this resolution again today.
And with all my heart, I want to say this:

“I love you. I respect you. And your life is my guide.”

I want to challenge myself

It’s already December.
It feels like 2025 just began, yet another year is drawing to a close. Time always flies by. As each day passes in a blur, seasons shift unnoticed, and the calendar strides toward its final page.
Looking back on the past year, so much has happened. Through waves of countless emotions—crying, laughing, getting angry, feeling happy—I’ve navigated them all. Yet, a thought suddenly strikes me: Though there were clearly many moments of laughter and joy, for some reason, the particularly difficult memories seem to stand out more vividly. Perhaps because happy memories are the very force that keeps us going, they are quietly stored deep within our hearts. After all, the more precious something is, the less likely it is to easily reveal itself on the surface.
For me, one such precious happiness is ‘writing’. I’ve lived with a longing for writing since childhood, and when I began learning poetry at a cultural center after retirement, another chapter of my life opened. If my twenties were Act 1 of my life, then the day I first encountered poetry was the beginning of Act 2. And that beginning brought a deep, quiet change to my life.
The homeland I’ve lived in has always endured turbulent times, and my own life within it has rarely been smooth. Perhaps that’s why I sincerely wish for people to live in a world that is a little safer, warmer, and happier. Sometimes, when I mention writing poetry, people ask if I have some deep, profound worries. But it’s not necessarily for any grand reason. I simply want to say it’s because life felt a little lonely and desolate.
To be honest, poetry resonates more deeply with me as I grow older. I truly love the resonance that comes from the blank spaces and silences in poetry, something prose cannot convey. These days, intuition and inspiration speak to me more than logic; insight and sensitivity touch me more than speculation. A poem I learned in school when I was very young, “The Yellow Flower,” has recently seeped back into my heart.

“To bloom your four yellow petals / Last night / The frost fell so thickly / And I suppose sleep eluded me.”

The emotions I couldn’t grasp as a child now strike me deeply. Each line, filled with imagination and sensitivity, creates quiet ripples in my heart.
Not long ago, for a friend’s birthday, I wrote a poem myself and gave it as a gift on a postcard. My friend was truly delighted and offered the warm words, “It’s so nice to see you challenging yourself with something new.” Those words lingered in my heart for a long time, becoming a quiet source of encouragement.
Truthfully, starting new challenges becomes harder as we age. Hesitation creeps in, and for someone like me with a passive nature, turning thoughts into action is especially difficult. Yet, despite this, I gather my resolve once more. I live by my late father’s words, always etched in my heart: “Without change, there is no progress.” I hope for a better tomorrow than today, and for a more mature and profound version of myself the day after.
People often say, “Happiness isn’t made, it’s found.” Perhaps that’s why. If we pause to look around us, we discover that both big and small joys are hidden right beside us. Yet, we might miss these precious moments because we’re too busy, too tired, or simply too distracted. On a gloomy day, why not take a moment to slowly examine a familiar object from your daily life? An unexpected little object might just offer comfort and solace. Small joys often begin with such unexpected, tiny discoveries.
Moving forward, I intend to keep striving, persisting in my efforts, and embracing a life of challenging new things. I want to trust more in the growth and resonance that change brings, rather than fearing it. I aim to live each given day with care and to cherish this very moment.
Thank you.

I look forward to tomorrow even more

The sun’s gentler rays quietly tell us summer has left. It feels like just yesterday we were suffering through the hot, breathless days of summer, yet the seasons have already moved swiftly forward. How quickly time passes—I feel it anew each time I face the changing seasons. Once this winter passes, the trees will shed their green and don a golden hue. Soon, spring flowers will bloom with their subtle colors and fragrances, quietly announcing the start of another new year. As always, the new year arrives without fail, and at that moment, a certain flutter of excitement will surely blossom somewhere deep within my heart.
In my youth, I often thought: ‘I don’t want to live like my father, nor like my friends. I want to live my own way.’ Back then, my mind was filled with such resolve and ambition. I burned through each day, determined that even if I couldn’t change the world, I would at least change myself. But as time passed, I came to understand. The journey of change is never one you walk alone. Because I came to believe that living alongside others is where the essence of life truly lies. Perhaps that’s why. At some point, I began dreaming of escaping this rat-hole city to live a life alongside the people I respect and love. Before it was too late, before I lost more, I started envisioning a daily life of laughing, sharing, and living together with them.
Now I think I understand a little. That most of life is fleeting. When a person leaves this world, the traces of their life are buried in time and gradually forgotten. Yet despite that, I still believe. That every person is the protagonist of their own life. Even if we leave no name behind after death, even if no one remembers us within a hundred years, we are living this very moment, and that is why ‘now’ is the most important thing. My life was filled with many mistakes and regrets, yet life never stopped, even in those moments. Sometimes I grieved over foolish actions, turned away and blamed myself, but I endured because I believed tomorrow could be a day splendid enough to cover those mistakes. And even today, I still hold onto that belief.
Though my 70 years of life have been neither perfect nor complete, the single fact that ‘tomorrow exists’ brings me great comfort and joy. The thought that tomorrow can be a little better than today, that hope, is what allows me to live today. Some leave behind records of their lives, some leave behind their names, but I believe living this moment sincerely is more important than that. So, I am deeply grateful to all of you who are here with me today. I cannot fully express it in words, but the mere fact that there are people sharing the same time and air, looking in the same direction, warms a corner of my heart.
Tomorrow will surely be a day I look forward to more than today. And that anticipation for tomorrow is the greatest strength that sustains me as I live today.

A time to look inward

It’s the season when stepping outside the front door feels hesitant in the cold. Not long ago, the scorching sun felt suffocating, yet now, the biting cold wind makes me pull my collar tight. Seasons truly change their appearance in the blink of an eye, passing by our side. Last winter night, it seems snow fell. Seeing the softly piled snow, my heart warms for no reason, and only now do I truly feel the year drawing to a close. Snow somehow seems to have the power to pull at one’s memories. Suddenly, a long-ago memory surfaces.
When I was young, my parents would laugh and say, “Just watching you eat grapes shows your whole personality,” as I spit out the skins and seeds. I just laughed it off then, but now, with time passed, I think I understand a little of what they meant. The act of taking something in and then letting it out again—eating and spitting—is a process that endlessly repeats itself in our lives. Yet, I find that even within this simple act, our character and attitude subtly reveal themselves. After all, how we take things in and how we let them out can determine a person’s disposition and the direction of their life.
I have always been an extreme and challenging person. I pursued an enterprising life, and when I found something interesting, I wouldn’t rest until I saw it through to the end. My parents always worried about me, yet they quietly comforted me or sometimes firmly guided me. Thanks to them, I learned to compromise with the world little by little and find balance in life. Looking back, I know well that becoming who I am today was never achieved by my own strength alone. The wanderings of adolescence, the confusion during military service, the big and small conflicts after marriage—I endured them all because someone’s hand and help were there. I am sincerely grateful to everyone who stood by me.
I often wonder if a person’s character is ultimately shaped by how they receive what enters their heart and how they choose to express it outwardly. It’s about the attitudes that naturally reveal themselves through our words and actions. In my youth, I seem to have focused on ‘what to spit out’. I would bring out things I didn’t want to acknowledge, emotions I wanted to hide, and spit them out as if they weren’t mine. I truly believed that would make them disappear. But looking back, it was merely covering up emotions, not resolving them. Back then, I was somewhat rough, even violent at times. Fortunately, however, there were people who guided me onto the right path. My parents, my spouse, and my children became my mirrors. Their presence steered me so I wouldn’t lose my way and allowed me to reflect on myself.
Society, where people live together, may appear peaceful on the surface, but beneath it lies a space filled daily with countless emotions and unconscious forces colliding. Perhaps that’s why the world sometimes feels incredibly complex and dangerous. Though unspoken, the emotional bowstrings drawn toward each other always seem taut, and within that tension, we grow weary, exhausted, and battered. If you don’t keep your wits about you, it’s easy to get swept up in situations without even realizing it.
The more the projections originating from within oneself grow, the harder it becomes for a person to move toward maturity. That’s why I felt that the attitude of self-regulation, self-restraint, and finding compromises in life is more important than anything else. If there’s one most valuable lesson I’ve learned from those around me, it’s this. “Everything is my fault.” This phrase is not mere self-blame, but the only starting point for self-reflection and change. Living with this sentence in your heart, many things begin to look a little different.
Before inner reflection became a habit in my life, everything in the world felt difficult and burdensome. But now, I feel the direction is slowly shifting. And I know better than anyone that such change is impossible through one’s own strength alone. I am still lacking. So today, once again, I gather my resolve. With a grateful heart, I strive to become a better version of myself.
Just as the seasons cycle, the human heart changes from moment to moment. But if there is one thing that should remain unchanged within it, isn’t it the ‘heart that reflects on oneself’? As the wind outside grows colder, I find myself wanting to revisit the warmth within. I hope a quiet reflection also settles in the hearts of those reading this. Thank you.

Dreaming of becoming a broader person

Even when the cold wind blows, making my hands and feet numb, these days I can’t just stand and watch the sky growing clear and high. Before I knew it, I found myself bundling up and stepping outside more often. Yet, even when I venture onto the street, taking that first step isn’t easy. The sky I can only see today, the wind I can only feel today—they’re so close, yet strangely, I often hesitate to take that first step. Each time, I quietly resolve within myself. “Since I’m already out, I might as well walk around the neighborhood.” I coax myself forward, but soon my nerves are on edge at the sound of a car that might come rushing from somewhere, and I cover my mouth against the acrid exhaust fumes. Before I know it, my feet are scurrying along, and my mind grows increasingly impatient.
City life has always felt unfamiliar and burdensome to me, someone born and raised in the countryside. In my youth, the unfamiliar alleys and endless towering buildings I first encountered here, knowing no one, were simply strange and overwhelming. Yet, strangely, time has brought familiarity. Now, even the cold city air feels somewhat natural, and occasionally, this city feels like a part of my life. At this point, calling me a ‘city dweller’ might not be too far off. Yet, I still can’t relax for a single moment on the streets. Even on days when I set out for a change of pace, I end up returning home tense and exhausted. Amidst the daily grind of city life, where even a carefree stroll feels difficult, the people I’ve lived with, loved, and encountered, along with the scenes I’ve faced, have created a small but definite change within me. Now, I’m slowly learning not just to frantically ‘survive’ each day, but to fully ‘enjoy’ and live it. And within the texture of each day, I feel I’m finally beginning to understand what that deep, heart-filling happiness truly is.
As I walked my own path, free from anyone’s interference, what I quietly encountered was ultimately ‘myself’. As those quiet moments accumulated layer by layer, it feels like I’ve rediscovered my original soul, something akin to primordial purity buried somewhere deep in my memory. I now truly realize that such moments create very subtle ripples within life, ultimately leading to large and fundamental changes. Lately, I feel my senses have grown remarkably acute. Just a few days ago, I revisited a place I had been to barely a year ago. Though it was the same location, it felt entirely different. I realized it wasn’t the scenery that had changed, but my own perception. The world appears broader and draws closer with greater depth. Perhaps I am gradually transforming into a broader and deeper person.
The crashing waves sound as vivid as live music, and the sea breeze tickles the back of my neck, bringing a smile. The joy of that moment—breathing in the full fragrance of flowers, picking wild strawberries and mulberries hidden in the grass, watching even the delicate flutter of a butterfly’s wings—is difficult to fully express in words. The comfort and peace nature offers is incomparably warmer and deeper than anything the city can provide. Flowers I never noticed before, birdsong I never heard, grasses I never saw—they finally touch my heart. All these changes stemmed from a quiet resolve to “become a broader person,” and that resolve has quietly become the direction of my life. Holding onto this quiet resolve, I intend to move forward step by step, slowly but surely.
Thank you.

I am happy you are by my side

Know-it-all parents often display this attitude: “I know exactly what you’re feeling.” “That kind of thing just passes.” This definitive tone often trivializes a child’s feelings and skips the effort to genuinely understand them. That’s why when discussing parent-child relationships, we must always examine various elements together: conversation style, tone of voice, attitude, facial expressions, and more. But this issue isn’t limited to just parents and children. Between spouses, tone, actions, and attitude are paramount.
We Koreans aren’t accustomed to expressing our feelings. Children raised by blunt parents naturally fail to learn how to express emotions, and even become confused about their own feelings. Looking back, I was one of those people. In the past, when my spouse would seriously discuss their feelings, I would dismissively say, “Why are you even thinking about that?” Each time, my spouse felt ignored and gradually became less talkative. I also tried to sweep problems under the rug with phrases like “It’s okay” or “It’ll get better soon,” not realizing at the time how hurtful those words must have been. Looking back now, those moments were times when we both felt helpless.
Then one day, my partner cautiously said, “I want us to have conversations where our personalities truly meet. Conversations where we share deep love and feelings.” Hearing that, my eyes widened in surprise. I didn’t fully grasp what it meant, and perhaps even then, deep down, I dismissed my partner’s words as unimportant. It took me a long time to realize that each thoughtless remark and indifferent attitude I had dismissed had gradually driven us apart. I was truly lacking and foolish.
But as I slowly changed my attitude, our relationship began to transform. My spouse started showing their bright, talkative side again, just like when we were dating. I can’t tell you how welcome and endearing that sight was. ‘Ah, this is who they truly are. This is the person I fell for and married.’ Yet I realized I had been forcing them to live as someone completely different all this time. Only now are we slowly learning how to truly talk to each other. When starting a conversation, I stop what I’m doing and try to give my partner my full, undivided attention.
A friend once gave me this advice: “Try using phrases like ‘Oh, I see.’ ‘You must have been really hurt.’ Try using that ‘I see, I see’ phrasing. It really works.” It felt awkward at first, but that advice was spot on. I deeply realized anew how crucial it is to truly listen and empathize. When you genuinely tune into the other person’s feelings, the relationship begins to warmly mend, bit by bit.
As we grow older, my spouse’s presence feels increasingly precious. The tender feelings from our courtship naturally faded amid the busyness of married life, and we seem to have lived neglecting what truly mattered while focusing on our respective roles. But now, as we look into each other’s eyes and talk again, it feels like new emotions are sprouting. Only now do I truly realize how precious it is to share our hearts. I believe that when listening and empathy are present, our relationship will grow stronger and deeper.
I want to take this opportunity to say something I’ve been meaning to express. I’m truly grateful you’re by my side. And I’m happy. To everyone reading this, I also offer my heartfelt thanks.