By Lee Nan-hee

When I woke up in the morning, I used to listen to the sound of birds. I used to listen to them when I was a teenager in middle school. During that period, the stress and pressure of studying weren't as severe as they would later become. I didn't dislike going to school back then. However, over time, the sounds of birds gradually faded away. This became particularly noticeable after I moved to a new house in Seoul, where the chirping of birds wasn't easily heard, and there was no garden in my new residence either.

As I grew older and progressed through my academic journey, obtaining both my master's and doctoral degrees, I noticed that as I began working and waking up in the morning, a sense of heaviness would often overwhelm me. There were times when I felt I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. I would feel that way even more when I had bad, dizzying dreams at night. It's likely because I've always been quite sensitive, prone to harboring numerous thoughts and worries. Indeed, the culmination of such heaviness and hardship ultimately leads to death. At the bottom of that deep abyss, where I would endlessly sink, lies death—an ultimate conclusion that terminates everything.

Witnessing and enduring the depths of that abyss, I resolved to alter not just my mindset and attitude, but even my outward demeanor. No, change wasn't merely an option. It became a necessity. Living with a burdened, shadowed mind, fraught with hardship, does not equate to living authentically with integrity. I aspire to live sincerely while maintaining a light and joyful spirit simultaneously. This inclination brings to mind the lines of a poem titled "Returning to Heaven" by the late renowned poet Chun Sangbyung. In this poem, he wrote of life being akin to a picnic. Despite enduring indescribable hardships and unjust suffering, the poet exhibited a broad-mindedness and generosity, transforming all such dark and murky experiences into a light-hearted picnic.

In our lives, we cannot fully explain or rationalize every detail. Life transcends all knowledge and theory. In this present moment, where I find myself living, I aspire to smile, to laugh, to live with a sweet smile upon my face, filled with laughter.

We live constantly surrounded by all kinds of sound. Such is the unavoidable reality of life in a bustling metropolis like Seoul. Despite my reluctance, I am compelled to hear these sounds. At times, they even feel like acts of violence. The cacophony of cars, engines, honking horns, music blaring from markets, and the loud chatter of passersby—all assail my senses. Even when I seek solace in a quiet park near my home, the distant rumble of radios intrudes upon the tranquility.

Certainly, living among others in this world entails encountering sounds. However, I yearn to hear the quiet melodies, the enchanting harmonies—the sounds that I cherish. I prefer to avoid those sounds that evoke feelings of melancholy or irritability. Although it may seem like a simple desire, even this modest wish is not easily fulfilled in today's world. This late afternoon, I want to go to a park and listen to the sounds of birds and the wind. What sound do you want to listen to?

Lee Nan-hee studied English in college and theology at Hanshin University.