Want to express your gratitude to those who made your 70th birthday celebration special? Here’s a collection of warm and sincere thank-you messages.

Growing older is actually quite alright

It’s winter, and the biting cold wind makes you feel like your whole body is freezing. As the cold snaps in, it feels like my slackened cells are tensing up and coming back to life. Perhaps thanks to the winter rain that fell all night, this morning’s air feels fresher than yesterday’s, and the streets look cleanly washed. The warm winter sun gently wraps the day in its embrace, making for an unexpectedly pleasant start to the day.

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

That’s just the kind of person I am. So I don’t ask anyone to understand me. I’ve lived thinking I don’t live because of anyone, nor do I have a reason to live for anyone. On the other hand, I also thought: “I’ll only laugh when it’s fun, and I won’t laugh when it’s not. Isn’t life that simple?” Human beings seem both simple and complex. I feel like I understand, yet I also feel like I don’t.
The childhood memories each of us carries can sometimes hinder our present lives or complicate relationships with others. But when we happen to meet someone who resembles the subtle texture of those memories, we can momentarily escape the heavy burden of the past. I experienced this in real life. Forcing myself to form and maintain relationships felt like swallowing spoiled food—my stomach felt queasy, and I was constantly uncomfortable, like wearing ill-fitting clothes. Social life always felt unfamiliar and burdensome. There was no one to share my heart with sincerely, and I too had lived with my feelings tightly wrapped up, so perhaps it was only natural.
But now, I suddenly realize something. Even during those early, exhausting years of starting out in society, meeting someone with whom I could share my memories and fragments—that was a precious and invaluable experience. Perhaps we’ve been living our lives, letting slip even the chance to meet such people? Only now do I begin to think this.
Perhaps that’s why I’ve come to believe that growing older isn’t necessarily a painful or agonizing process. Instead, I feel that the stubbornness and obstinacy that were once firmly entrenched within me are slowly melting away with time. The countless people who passed through my life to make me who I am today, their warm gazes and a single word, shaped me into who I am now. There was a time when I lived under the delusion that only I was right, that I was the best.
Looking back now, it feels truly embarrassing and awkward. My perspective has broadened significantly, and my view of the world has grown far 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 anew. From the moment I held my first child in my arms, I faced the world with yet another perspective. And today, the world feels a little different from yesterday.
In my youth, I often imagined what growing old would be like. I even resolved to become a learned, noble scholar-like elder. So what kind of person am I now? I suddenly wonder, and just imagining it is amusing.
Of course, some stubbornness and obstinacy, not yet fully melted away, probably still linger within me. But I resolve to slowly melt away even those over the remaining years. Growing older is not solely a bad thing. It is, rather, a beautiful process that allows us to view life more deeply and generously. And within that process, we might just be becoming slightly better people.

I want to listen to Grandma’s advice for a long time

The wind is bitterly cold. Thinking of you all who braved this cold wind to travel such a long distance, I can’t tell you how grateful and warm my heart feels.
Not long ago, my grandson had his graduation ceremony. On days marking turning points in life, like graduations or entrance ceremonies, my own graduation from long ago inevitably comes to mind. I still vividly remember one day before graduation. Funnily enough, I once wrote a neatly composed letter saying I was “running away from home” and left. I even wrote the date clearly, thinking it was considerate so my parents wouldn’t worry unnecessarily. But what’s more interesting is that the person who encouraged that “runaway” was none other than my grandmother.
With my mind in turmoil before graduation, I visited Grandma’s house. Outwardly, I smiled and pretended everything was fine, but inside, I was a complete mess. Grandma sensed it immediately. She quietly looked at my face and asked kindly, “What’s wrong? What’s troubling you?” At that time, I couldn’t even pinpoint exactly what was causing the chaos in my heart. I had gone out for some fresh air hoping to ease my pent-up feelings, but even at Grandma’s house, that suffocating feeling didn’t easily fade. So Grandma suggested I take a ‘one-week time-limited runaway.’ She told me to go somewhere unfamiliar, a completely new place I’d never been before.
“Go be alone in a strange place. Eating alone, sleeping alone won’t always be easy, but stepping out of your familiar space will let you see who you truly are.” Her words still ring vividly in my ears. She said there’s no such thing as an uncomfortable experience for youth; rather, it’s through discomfort that you truly face yourself. That short journey became a crucial turning point in my life. My thoughts became clearer, and though I didn’t find a definitive ‘right answer,’ I could at least conjure up ‘something resembling answers.’
There is someone who reads my heart without words, just through their gaze and actions. More objectively than my parents, yet sometimes more subjectively than anyone else, she never holds back her advice. That person is my grandmother. The decisive moment that led me to choose this journey was thanks to a letter she wrote by hand. The day I received that letter, I stood there for a long time, slowly looking at each and every character. My heart felt heavy.
“Many youths sit in their places, troubled. Kick off your seat and stand up. Leaving is also courage. If you leave, become utterly solitary. Leaving yourself is ultimately returning to yourself. I wonder what thoughts you’ll bring back when you return, matured. I believe you will surely find a new path.”
Though brief, how much wisdom lay within those words. How many books must one read, how deep an experience of life must one have to speak like this? Grandmother seemed to have penetrated the very essence of the world. Now I too wish to grow into someone with a broad and deep perspective like Grandma’s. Perhaps it’s a realm one can only reach after passing through an eternity of time. So during that long journey, I hope Grandma will continue to be by my side, offering her unchanging advice and warm counsel.
I sincerely hope you stay healthy for a long time, and that you will always be by my side, just as you are now. Thank you.

I want to become an adult like you, Grandma. I miss you.

The scent of spring seems to be quietly enveloping the world. Gazing at the azaleas and forsythias blooming profusely along the roadside, I find myself smiling like a child. In that moment, the words of adults suddenly come to mind.

“They say you should embrace hardship in your youth, so why do you young ones complain so bitterly about living a little frugally? Youth alone is enough to overcome anything. Even if your paycheck shrinks a bit, let’s share the pain together. Yet you youngsters just pile on the complaints.”

Of course, not all adults think this way. At least, our grandmother, who was the warmest adult to me, was always different. She often said things like this: “I’m sorry it’s just talk. Even if you live your youth silently and diligently, who knows if you’ll fully reap the rewards of that effort in old age? Will this society truly grant you such wealth and glory? If only Grandma had had a little more leeway, I could have given you so much more.”
After hearing Grandma’s words, the thoughts I’d buried deep inside would spill out one by one. I often poured out my worries and innermost feelings, things I couldn’t tell my parents or friends, in tears before Grandma. I’d cry my eyes out. Each time, I think I brought up this story: how often I’d lived chasing my dreams, and how brutally those dreams shattered in the city of Seoul. Then, it was about questions like what the world I dream of should look like.
Grandma spoke quietly, yet with a firm voice. “I was like that when I was young. Just like you are now. That’s why we don’t realize how often we become misguidedly fixated on things. Without knowing what truly matters, we prioritize things, and we often place excessive value on things that don’t really matter. Without distinguishing between what we can do and the limits we must transcend, we make poor decisions.”
That brief, solid ‘little sociology’ contained far more than any 300-page major textbook I studied to death in college. Within it lay life itself, insight, and the raw reality of the nation called South Korea. Grandmother’s words always led me to deep reflection.
The world was cruel then, and it remains cruel now. It’s a truly harsh reality. They make you hope for a chance that might come once in a lifetime, but when you finally get in, no one teaches you the job. The moment you realize you’re just disposable labor to be used and discarded, despair washes over you. Having experienced this myself as her grandson, I find myself pondering what kind of adult I will become and what words I will be able to offer. No matter how many books I read, no matter how many master’s or doctoral degrees I accumulate, will I truly be able to see the world with the same depth as my grandmother? Honestly, I don’t have the confidence. That’s why I always resolve:
I must become an adult like my grandmother. An adult who comforts with warm words from the center of the world, who quietly embraces others. Character and conduct that cannot be learned from books. Where on earth can one learn such things? I want to learn them by Grandma’s side. I will learn by serving her, observing her whenever I can—I quietly resolve this in my heart.
Thank you, Grandma. And I miss you so much.

I miss you in heaven

Today, snow fell softly and steadily. Watching the white flakes settle quietly, slowly onto the ground, a sudden chill creeps into a corner of my heart like a cold wind. The reason my heart flutters yet feels heavy around the time of the first snowfall is probably because seeing something beautiful makes me think of someone I want to share it with, someone I want to share warm moments with.
Everyone experiences the pain of loss. It’s not something you can avoid by trying to escape it, nor does it vanish if you turn away. The pain seeps deep into the heart, sometimes spreading like a wound, growing into a deeper, more devastating ache. No matter how much time passes, that pain never completely disappears. We simply learn, little by little, how to live while bearing its weight.
There is someone who invariably comes to mind on joyful days. For me, that is my wife in heaven. Though many years have passed, my longing for her remains deep and warm. Even though she left long ago, the place she holds in my heart still retains that warmth. A sudden memory may flit by on a gust of wind, and even when I’m boiling bean sprout soup and placing it on the table, I think of her. My late wife used to sprinkle a little red pepper powder on the bean sprout soup whenever we had it for a hangover cure. That one small habit has now become a vivid memory that suddenly comes to me.
At times like that, I find myself blaming heaven. Why couldn’t we have been together longer? Why was it such a short time? The regret and longing for not treating her more warmly while she was alive resurfaces as the question, “What if?” What if I had been just a little warmer back then? What if I had cherished those moments more? These are the complex emotions anyone who has experienced loss inevitably faces.
But upon reflection, we also come to understand that loss brings us only as much pain as we can bear. Sometimes, even from the depths of sorrow that felt like a quagmire, we eventually rise again and carry on. Sometimes, we learn that we must make room for that sorrow to move forward. I think I can finally accept a little now: that it’s okay to cry until the well of tears runs dry, that we all have the right to hurt as much as we loved.
Sadness may have no end. Perhaps I’ve been living all this time by tightly suppressing my sorrow. To put it metaphorically, it’s like forcing myself to stop crying after only 20 minutes when I needed 30. The tears that couldn’t fully escape eventually settle deep within my chest, only to return over time as longing, shaking me once more.
Now, I want to be a little more honest with myself. Perhaps only after shedding that last single tear will my heart finally feel a little lighter. The profound emotional experience brought by sorrow is ultimately a journey of rediscovering life’s meaning. Living life might just be the process of gradually understanding death. When I first experienced loss, the grief was so immense it felt devoid of any meaning. But as time passed, I slowly realized something: hidden within that deep sorrow was a unique healing power, guiding us to keep living. The moment meaning is rediscovered amidst meaninglessness, all those emotions begin to feel a little different.
Loss may not be something we overcome, nor something we fully recover from. Perhaps it is simply an emotion that lives alongside us in our lives. That emotion that suddenly rears its head, even in ordinary days, even in a moment of joy. But if we can cherish even that moment, the pain gradually transforms into a warm longing.
Today, on this quiet and beautiful day with snow falling, I once again think of my wife, smiling brightly in heaven. I resolve to live today fully—remembering freely, rejoicing freely, and grieving freely. Believing the time spent with her made my life stronger, I offer all the joy and gratitude of this day to you in heaven.
Thank you.

Rest is a joy

From early morning, the cheerful chirping of sparrows and the melodious crowing of roosters echoed across the front yard. The moment I heard those sounds, a refreshing sensation washed over me, as if my chest had been cleared. My heart fluttered with excitement from the morning, thinking about meeting a dear friend I hadn’t seen in a long time. Just recalling each familiar face filled my heart to overflowing, and I thought even if we stayed up all night talking, it would only bring joy. To those who willingly made time to join me amidst such busy schedules, I feel a deep gratitude that words cannot fully express.
When I was young, probably back in elementary school. My father subscribed to a Japanese educational journal at the time, and one day he shared an interesting story with me. He told me that Aesop’s fable ‘The Tortoise and the Hare’ is presented differently in Korean and Japanese textbooks. In our textbooks, the story is known as the tortoise taking advantage of the hare’s nap to ultimately win the race. However, he said that in Japanese textbooks, the story is changed so that the tortoise wakes the hare, and they cross the finish line together, holding hands.
Of course, I’ve never actually checked if that’s how it’s written in Japanese textbooks. But the moment I heard that story, the thought, ‘Even with the same fable, educational philosophies can differ this much depending on the country,’ was deeply engraved in my mind. The Korean version carries the lesson that ‘the weak can overcome the strong through effort,’ while the Japanese version embodies the message that ‘even a strong person who hasn’t made an effort can move forward together if they join hands.’ The former reflects an individualistic value system focused solely on seizing victory by exploiting an opponent’s carelessness, while the latter showcases a communal philosophy prioritizing cooperation and mutual prosperity. The former story carries the harshness of neoliberalism, while the latter embodies the warmth of social community.
Looking back, my life was always steeped in competition. The rivalry that began in the bean-sprout classroom persisted relentlessly until just before retirement. Though I can’t precisely gauge how deeply the concept of competition took root within me over those long years, reflecting now, the word “competition” had seeped into my life as naturally as if it were part of me. Therefore, when asked to recall the happiest moment after retirement, I would undoubtedly cite ‘liberation from stress’. Simply stepping back from a life spent striving to always be at the top brought such relief and peace.
The long-dreamed-of rest, that very time, has now come to me. I pondered deeply about what kind of life to live after retirement, but the first thing that came to mind was ‘traveling with my spouse.’ Not only I, but my spouse too had lived a busy life, overwhelmed by people and work. I felt that traveling together would be the true comfort and reward. There were many moments in life that might have been frightening if I had been alone, but because we were together, I could find the courage and endure those days.
Now, our children stand in the midst of that fierce battlefield. Our son and daughter, and even their spouses. Thinking about this, I suddenly realize the truth: ‘Because we lived diligently and worked fiercely, today’s rest tastes like honey.’ So, I resolve to give to more people than ever before and to live with even greater humility.
To all of you who willingly made time to join us amidst your busy schedules, I offer my heartfelt gratitude. Thanks to you, today’s quiet, warm respite shone even brighter. I hope this moment, where we slowed life’s pace and shared smiles, remains in our memories for a long time.

Savoring each day as I live

The season for walking has arrived. While we lived confined within the stark cityscape, trapped between gray concrete walls, the Earth silently kept turning, and the seasons had already swiftly approached us. Though they repeat year after year, the first snowfall still brings excitement and joy. As we inch closer to winter, it feels bittersweet, like the last few days of a vacation.
One day, while casually following a friend down a path, I stumbled upon a small park. Bathed in the soft midday sun, it was neither crowded nor desolate—a space just right, with a pleasant buzz and a sense of calm. A forest path extended deeper into the park. At first, it felt only quiet and peaceful, but over time, it gradually transformed into a ‘chatty space’ filled with small, daily changes. Walking that forest path one after another with this friend, that friend, my husband, and my child, it somehow became my own regular walking route.
A tree that had blossomed fully would suddenly shed its petals in a shower, or yesterday it sprouted three leaves, and today it silently unfurled five more, exuding a rich fragrance that drew bees and butterflies. Such changes wrought by nature felt less like mere plant routines and more like the opening of a small, simple festival. That forest path, greeting us with a completely different face throughout the four seasons, feels fresh every time we walk it. Walking while quietly conversing with someone, it feels as if we’re blooming a conversation together in the quiet embrace of the forest. The trees emit a subtle fragrance, and as you gradually memorize the names of plants that once felt unfamiliar, their presence begins to feel like that of dear friends. Sharing stories of life within nature is warmer and more fulfilling than I ever imagined, something I’ve recently come to appreciate anew.
My days flow very slowly these days. I live a life savoring the scenery as I walk slowly, facing the seasons, and immersing myself within them. In contrast, the days of my son and daughter-in-law always seem to rush by busily and breathlessly. When I occasionally see them trudging home with exhausted faces, my heart aches, thinking it must have been a day overwhelmed by work and people. Watching them like this, I sometimes feel a twinge of guilt that I get to spend my days so leisurely, savoring life.
So in this moment today, through these words, I want to dedicate the glory of this peaceful place to my son and daughter-in-law, who live far busier lives than I do. And I also sincerely thank everyone reading this. Simply being able to feel the breath of the season and savor the quiet of everyday life together is truly a warm and grateful thing. I hope everyone’s day flows a little slower and a little warmer. I sincerely wish that the time spent savoring each day like this will bring us deeper and more solid peace.

Grandmother’s words resonate deeply

So many people love autumn, don’t they? Neither too hot nor too cold, with rain or snow falling infrequently—it’s the season that refreshes the spirit. That’s autumn. Personally, I also adore autumn immensely. Gazing at the gentle autumn sky unfolding outside the window, I often suddenly feel the urge to just take off somewhere. Every year, Grandma’s birthday arrived with this crisp autumn air. Looking back, Grandma’s very presence was the crispness in my life.
How many people truly live each day without a single worry? The word ‘worry’ always felt difficult and complicated. Perhaps that’s why its weight often felt overwhelming, and sometimes I desperately wanted to avoid it. But ultimately, all those choices and decisions were my life’s responsibility, impossible to ignore, making many moments even more arduous. Above all, the hardest part was never knowing the ‘right answer’. Even in those bleak times, Grandma was always by my side. She was my life’s guide, steering me so I wouldn’t lose my way, always soothing my heart with her wise words. And above all, she was a precious presence who filled my heart with warmth like no one else.
There was a time when I lost my job and sank into deep despair, lacking even the slightest confidence in my future. The deeper my worries grew, the more life seemed to stagnate, and my sense of helplessness only intensified. Then one day, my grandmother called. She spoke calmly, yet her words carried great weight. “Go. Go to a strange place. Escape the repetition that wears down your days, and the answer will become clear.” Those words resonated deep within my heart, far beyond simple comfort. And that resonance ultimately became the decisive turning point that changed the direction of my life.
One day, as I faced repeated arguments, big and small, while preparing for marriage, my grandmother’s words came to mind once more. “You must understand that when a person comes, it is truly an immense thing. Because a whole lifetime comes with them.” Only then did I realize. Without even noticing, I had begun judging people by their profession, their appearance, their salary. It pained me deeply to live in an era where people are not cherished, but increasingly treated as insignificant. In such a world, Grandma spoke with a quiet yet profound resonance. She taught me that people are beings who can never be measured by price, and that we must look at each other with warmer eyes.
When life felt overwhelming and exhausting, I would often find myself sighing deeply without realizing it. Each time, Grandma was invariably there on my side. Like the wind and sunlight that stand by you, she was always right there. Thanks to her, I could find courage again and take steps forward even before hesitant challenges. Even in a rough and desolate world, Grandmother was always my greatest comfort and warm light. And ultimately, she reminded me of the truth we must never forget—that we must love people. Every beautiful flower must have bloomed while trembling. That I too could bloom amidst the trembling was because of Grandmother’s wisdom and warm words. I know well that those words of hers held within them the full weight of her past life, weary and poor. That is why, all the more, I strive to live like Grandmother, and I try to see the world as she did.
I try to love this very moment even more, and I try not to forget that when the path ahead is blocked, it’s okay to rest for a while. I learned from Grandma that taking a break can reveal new paths. Her words, which gently guided my heart through life’s challenges—I want to live engraving each phrase deep within my heart.
Grandma, I sincerely congratulate you on your seventieth birthday. And I am always, unceasingly, grateful.

I wish to ponder all my life and answer the world’s questions.

Amidst the recent bitter cold, thankfully the weather seems to have eased a bit today. I worried you might have had a difficult journey coming from afar, but it feels as if the heavens themselves have taken care of your steps, and I feel unnecessarily relieved. Notifying everyone about this 70th birthday celebration and exchanging greetings made me realize anew just how many dear friends I have scattered across the country. That thought alone fills me with strength and a deep sense of satisfaction, like a full belly. It’s truly a blessing to know that wherever I go, there are people to share a drink with and exchange well-wishes, never feeling alone. It means I haven’t just grown older, but have built connections through life itself. That I could stand here today was ultimately possible only because of the direct and indirect help from all of you. I am sincerely grateful and deeply thankful.
Not long ago, my granddaughter, who has entered adolescence, bombarded me with all sorts of questions. She probably thinks of her grandfather as some sort of “know-it-all” or “expert on everything.” The questions weren’t exactly easy either. They ranged from everyday queries like “Do I really have to go to school?” and “Why do people have to get married?” to philosophical ones like “Why is there no end to war?”, “Why do people condemn each other, and even kill each other, just because they think differently?”, and “Are humans inherently good or evil?” Facing such questions, I often find myself pondering for a long time, unable to come up with an easy answer. You might think she’d feel sorry for me as I struggle, but my granddaughter seems to find even that amusing, promptly throwing another peculiar question my way. Thanks to her, I’ve been spending more time lately dwelling in the forest of deep thought, just like I used to. I discuss these matters with friends and seek out relevant books to read, but none provide a satisfying answer. In the end, I find myself cautiously asking someone, “What do you think?”
Faced with the world’s countless questions, I still feel inadequate. I wonder if it isn’t time we seriously reconsider who we are, what it means to be human, and the values we’ve taken for granted—love, marriage, family, and friendship. Furthermore, shouldn’t we also grapple together with a more objective and open perspective on the political, social, and cultural issues deeply embedded in our lives, like democracy and freedom, money and time, inequality and religion?
That’s why I started my own small study group. My wife grumbles with a laugh, “More money going out,” but I find those times simply joyful. I’m truly happy and grateful that I still have so many questions and so much to think about. Meeting people again, sharing conversations, eating together, and laughing and chatting at after-parties have become a new vitality and a joy in life for me. I truly cherish the process of sharing our individual thoughts, respecting differing opinions, and finding common ground. I sincerely hope that these times of reflection and conversation will someday contribute, however modestly, to making tomorrow’s Korea a warmer and more profound society.
I extend my deepest gratitude once more to everyone gathered here. Moving forward, I wish to live a life of lifelong contemplation, deep reflection, and sincere efforts to answer the world’s questions. Thank you.

I want to learn from my grandmother’s wisdom

I read a book for the first time in a long while. One sentence in particular stood out to me.

“Change happens unexpectedly, regardless of our expectations. Like a sudden, massive tidal wave engulfing everything, change can swallow us whole in an instant.”

How true. Everything in the world is constantly changing. Nothing stands still. Yet people often choose to freeze in the midst of change. I believe that’s when the suffering begins. When we fail to accept change as inevitable, become trapped in fixed thoughts, and cling only to the familiar, life becomes harder.
Life is like riding a bus along a winding road. The more the road curves, the worse the motion sickness becomes. Yet I’m still not accustomed to such winding paths. Perhaps it’s because I haven’t experienced the big and small storms my grandparents’ generation weathered. Suddenly, I recall walking with my grandmother during elementary school. To spare me from severe motion sickness, she suggested walking instead of taking the bus. On that path, I asked her, “Why do we get motion sickness?” Grandma smiled and said, “It’s because we can’t adapt flexibly to roads with sharp changes. People on the bus just surrender their bodies to it, right? When the bus turns left, they mistakenly think it will just keep going left. But who really doesn’t get motion sickness? The driver. The driver knows how much the road curves and understands how the body reacts when it sways left and right.”
Those words stayed with me for a very long time. As we live, everyone faces unexpected changes. We meet many people and experience unpredictable moments in a world that feels vast yet sometimes unbearably narrow. Facing such changes, I always recall my grandmother’s wisdom. Her words always contained truths that pierced through life, and reflecting on each one leads to one crucial lesson. Namely, to navigate life well, I must be mindful of every action I take and cherish even the smallest connections. This simple yet profound teaching was the greatest wisdom I learned from my grandmother.
She often said, “Never forget that my thoughtless, careless actions can come back around and cost me dearly.” I live my life with these words etched in my heart. Just as the ‘butterfly effect’ suggests that a butterfly flapping its wings on one side of the Earth can cause a storm on the other, Grandma always emphasized that even a small, thoughtless word or action could later impact my life. So today, I hold Grandma’s life and words close to my heart, striving to observe, listen, learn, and put them into practice. Her wisdom remains a warm lamp illuminating my life even now.
Grandma, I sincerely wish you a happy 70th birthday. Your warm heart and profound wisdom always brighten my life. I hope you stay healthy for many years to come and continue sharing your unchanging love and teachings with us.
I love you, Grandma.

I’m proud of my father’s generous spirit

The cold seems to have eased. A breeze, light and airy like a spring wind, is already signaling the changing seasons. It seems spring, which Father loves most, is fast approaching. Even now, Father remains active in his social engagements, a man who never loses his passion for anything. Not long ago, I had a meal with my father and a friend. It had been a full year and a half since my friend and father had seen each other face to face. That day, Father said, “I’ll treat you to a delicious meal,” and took the wheel himself. He still showed off his seasoned and skilled driving. In the car, my friend smiled and asked how he was doing. “Seems like something good happened to you lately?” Father laughed out loud and shared unexpected news. He had recently been diagnosed with stomach cancer and undergone major surgery to remove more than half of his stomach. My heart sank instantly, but that day, Father didn’t look like someone in pain at all. He mixed his rice with relish, wrapped it in dried seaweed, and ate it just as he always had. My friend, looking shocked, laughed and said, “I had no idea. I thought you were still perfectly healthy.”
But the illness didn’t stop there. This time, he developed a problem with his spine and had to undergo another major surgery. Despite the successive blows of illness, my father never lost his spirit. As always, he greeted those around him with his bright, cheerful smile. He laughed as radiantly as a boy and spoke with his usual strong voice. Seeing him like that, I realized: the secret to staying healthy isn’t some special trick, but living each day with a positive mindset, just like my father. Suddenly, I remembered something he once said. “I yelled at the cancer cells. I told them, ‘If I die, you die too, so let’s just get along.’” Even facing illness, Father laughed heartily then, and that laughter carried more defiance than fear. “If you let the cancer cells intimidate you, won’t they just get bolder? That’s why I figured I should yell louder and live even more energetically.” “ Everyone laughed at that, but behind that laughter lay my father’s unyielding resolve and passion for life.
My father often says, ”You only get one shot at life, so you’ve got to play hard.“ And he always adds, ”The time when a person can live with real vigor is barely thirty years or so. So shouldn’t we focus on this very moment to minimize regret later?“ Hearing this always brings to mind Anna Mary Robertson Moses, known as America’s People’s Painter. She began painting at 76 and never put down her brush until her death at 101. Moses left behind the words: ”Life without struggle is no life at all.” She filled her life with passion even in her later years, and her sincerity earned her the respect of many.
If America has an artist like Moses, Korea has my father. He is someone who believes that growing older doesn’t mean growing old; he is my father, whose heart remains forever young. I want to be like him. I want to live a life without regrets, as a wise and intelligent person, and above all, as someone positive and passionate. Father, I sincerely congratulate you on your seventieth birthday. That smile of yours, always so hearty, and that dignified attitude you take toward life will remain in my heart for a long time. Your broad embrace and warm energy have been a great pillar of support in my life. I always respect you and love you with all my heart.

I want to learn my grandfather’s positive mindset

The human mind is truly a mysterious and remarkable entity. Depending on one’s mindset, a person’s entire life can change completely. It’s no exaggeration to say that a person’s life is determined by what kind of mindset they hold and how they think. There is a psychological phenomenon called the ‘placebo effect’. When a doctor prescribes a ‘fake medicine’ – a placebo – which has no actual effect, and tells the patient, “If you take this medicine and manage it well, you will soon get better,” the patient’s condition can actually improve simply because they believe those words. In this way, the power of the mind can sometimes exert an astonishing influence that even surpasses medical prescriptions.
These days, it seems like an era where external standards determine life’s worth. Regardless of age or gender, many believe one must own at least one luxury bag or coat, wear a fur coat costing tens of millions of won, and drive an expensive imported car to maintain their dignity. In such a world, I witnessed the courage of a person who, without a single thread on their body, boldly stretched their arms toward the sky. That person is my grandfather. I am still small and narrow-minded. So when I encounter vast intellect and warm insight, the world often blurs before my eyes. It was my grandfather who opened that world of wisdom to me. Simply having the chance to grow up observing and learning from someone like him makes me feel I am already blessed beyond measure.
Sometimes, when I see the traces of life left on my grandfather’s waist, my heart aches, and I ask him about the story behind them. Then, as if there were nothing to be ashamed of or hide, he affirms life itself and tells me the story. His words are always calm, yet they resonate deeply. I, too, once obsessed over external beauty. I spent millions on skin treatments and dreamed of a beautiful figure under the guidance of a personal trainer at an exclusive fitness club. In an era obsessed with appearance, I felt an urgency that I couldn’t be left behind. But now, I’ve come to understand how precious the very ability to feel shame truly is. The twisted spine and stretched skin are marks etched by time. These marks provide me with precious opportunities to reflect on myself, learn from my mistakes, and grow. And it was through my grandfather that I learned the attitude of accepting and embracing all of it.
Not long ago, when I suggested a family celebration for his 70th birthday, Grandfather laughed heartily and said, “I’m happy. And I’m grateful for your heart that keeps track of my age.” Those few words struck deep into my heart and have stayed with me ever since. Grandfather once said that on a day when he was crying so hard his whole body shook, his heart felt full because someone far away was crying with him. Those warm words linger even more deeply in my heart as the year draws to a close. Many people feel emptiness or loneliness around the turn of the year. I am no exception. But this year, because I could share Grandfather’s seventieth birthday with him, it will remain a warmer and more meaningful memory than ever before.
Grandfather often says something. “Just as a tree dreams of warm spring days and sinks its roots deep into the ground, I hope we too can firmly plant ourselves on the soil of hope and live well.” Like a bare tree silently waiting, trusting that spring will come again, I hope we can also have the grace to await the new season with warm hearts. I intend to continue learning and practicing the power of positivity from my grandfather for the rest of my life. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.