Between Two Worlds

By Great Summer

"Between Two Worlds" is a poignant journey through a tapestry of memories, where each story is a thread interwoven with the fabric of life. This collection of personal reflections invites readers into intimate moments that span different cultures, places, and times. The author masterfully narrates experiences ranging from the simplicity of childhood wonders to the complexity of adult realizations, bridging the gap between innocence and wisdom. Through these pages, the author shares stories and pieces of a soul that has navigated diverse worlds. The narrative is a compelling blend of nostalgia, joy, sorrow, and hope, reflecting the universal human experience. "Between Two Worlds" is more than a memoir; it's a celebration of life's fleeting moments, a homage to memories that shape our identity. This book will resonate with anyone who has ever looked back on their life's journey and pondered the intricate mosaic of experiences that define us. It's a testament to the power of memory in connecting us to our past, informing our present, and guiding our future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laniakea Publishing
• Release date: Dec 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798224089239

Great Summer

Great Summer is a distinguished entrepreneur and thought leader in film, media, technology, and education. With a dynamic entrepreneurial track record, Great Summer is a prominent entrepreneur and thought leader in film, media, technology, and education. With a dynamic entrepreneurial track record spanning the United States, South Korea, Spain, and Italy, his pivotal contributions have significantly sculpted South Korea's cinematic landscape. Under his leadership, initiatives like the Seoul Cinema Club, Seoul Cinema Journal, and Korea Film House emerged, playing a pivotal role in amplifying South Korea's film industry, including film festival ambiance. From an academic perspective, Great's contributions are paramount. He has enriched students' minds at Sogang University's Graduate School of Media and delved deep into research at Yonsei University's Institute of Media Art. His educational credentials include a Postgraduate Diploma in Digital Business from Columbia Business School and MIT Sloan School of Management, complemented by an Honorary Master's from Sogang University and specialized certifications from renowned institutions such as Columbia, Stanford, and Harvard. Great's literary contributions as an author are notable. Among his works is a comprehensive examination of the Korean film domain. His memoir, "Between Two Worlds," poignantly captures his experiences as an immigrant, touching upon the intricate balance of family, heritage, and bicultural navigation. Merging potent leadership, academic excellence, and diversified expertise in arts and technology, Great Summer epitomizes global entrepreneurial vision and impact.

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Copyright © 2023 by Great Summer

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatever without permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For further information, refer to the laniakeapublishing.com

Translated by the author.

Laniakea Publishing

Fourth Edition

Book design by Laura Boyle

Bookcover design by Ruby Kang

Ebook ISBN 979-8-9893981-7-1

The inception of this book into the world owes its existence to the boundless love and devotion of my treasured family: my beloved wife, YJ, my heart’s daughter, MJ, and my proud son, YW. I dedicate this luminous collection of sentences to my parents, who now watch over us from above.

Contents

AUTHOR’S NOTE vii

PREFACE ix

PART ONE

GREAT SUMMER 3

FOOTPRINTS OF LOVE 23

BRIQUETTES BRIDGING A PENPAL AND HOPE 27

ISU STATION: ECHOES OF THE PAST 47

A TUTOR’S TALE OF HOPE AND RESILIENCe 53

SURVIVING TOXIC WORKPLACES 67

A FILM FESTIVAL DIRECTOR 95

PART TWO

OVERCOMING FEAR 107

A QUEST FOR RESPECT 113

FINDING HARMONY 125

UNEXPECTED BEAUTY 163

THE BEAUTY OF IMPERFECTION 183

IN PURSUIT OF EAGERNESS 185

MANY STORIES IN ONE SHOT 191

PART THREE

A STORY OF PERSEVERANCE 221

FROM STRESS TO SUCCESS 227

JUGGLING RESPONSIBILITIES 237

IMMIGRANT PARENT’S SACRIFICES 245

A FATHER’S LOVE 251

A TEENAGER’S QUEST OR JUSTICE 269

CULTIVATING PASSION 273

PART FOUR

THE EVOLUTION OF PHOTOGRAPHY 281

HEALTHY FUTURE 293

POEMS OF LIFE AND RENEWAl 317

BELIEVING IN YOURSELF 329

CHALLENGING STEREOTYPES 337

CULTURE CLASH 349

BEYOND WHITE 371

INDEX 387

AUTHOR BIO 395

AUTHOR’S NOTE

THIS STORY DOES NOT INTEND TO DISCRIMINATE OR DISTINGUISH based on any political philosophy, religion, specific culture, race or gender, age, occupation, education, or nationality, positively or negatively. The author disregards any correlation between them.

The following names, listed alphabetically, are pseudonyms: Dohak, Heatya, HJ, Hyun, JM, KN, KR, MJ, MK, MM, SJ, WS, YJ, YM, and YW.

In this fourth edition, the author has changed the book’s organization, reordered and retitled some of the articles in PART ONE, and removed an article previously part of PART Four: BLACKPINK’s Comeback in 2022 and Analysis.

PREFACE

My journey through ‘Between Two Worlds’ starts as a deeply personal exploration, reflecting on a life woven through diverse continents and cultures. Initially penned in Korean, this manuscript serves as an homage to the rich heritage of my homeland. Translating and sharing it in English stemmed from a desire to bridge worlds, transforming it into a universal narrative of discovery and resilience.

My story, deeply rooted in South Korea, took a dramatic turn with my move to the United States. This book delves into the essence of navigating between two distinct cultures, shaped by both yet fully belonging to neither. It isn’t merely about the geographical shift but a deeper, more profound journey within.

As the pages unfold, you will find a mosaic of experiences — some uniquely Korean, others universally human. The crux of this narrative is the struggle to keep one’s cultural identity while embracing another. It explores the beauty and challenges of change, the ebb and flow of life’s tides across continents.

‘Between Two Worlds’ chronicles transformation, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit amidst change. It’s about the lessons learned, the bonds formed, and the myriad ways life surprises us. I invite you to journey with me through a life lived in the crevices of cultures, discovering common ground in our shared human experiences. I hope this book resonates with those who have faced similar transitions and offers an understanding of the complex and colorful tapestry of life between two worlds for those who are curious. Let it be a bridge of empathy and understanding, extending across oceans and cultural divides.

August 2023

PART ONE

GREAT SUMMER

Penned July 18, 2017

A Name’s Journey

Names are more than labels. They echo history, embody hopes, and reflect who we are. Each has a story to tell, and some even hold hidden layers of meaning. Let’s explore this together, starting with a personal story that sparked a special conversation.

It was a sunny June 2017, not long after moving to a new home. My daughter and I, amidst the bustling routine of grocery shopping and making dinner, fell into a conversation about names.

Dad, what would it be if you could name a town or country? she asked.

Without hesitation, I replied, Great Summer. It’s unusual for me to decide so quickly, yet it seemed perfectly apt. In Korean, ‘Great’ translates to ‘위대한’ (Widaehan), a term that can also serve as a given name. My daughter MJ offered a gentle smile to acknowledge the name’s depth. She knew there was history behind my choice.

실내, 금관, 가죽이(가) 표시된 사진 자동 생성된 설명

Caption: A card my daughter made for my 52nd birthday.

Happy Birthday!

Wow, Dad’s already fifty-two? You’ve lived quite a while, huh? Gotta stay tough and live a long life ahead! Don’t drive too fast! I wish you a fantastic birthday!

The animal that resembles Dad: Bunny.

Dad’s many, many nicknames: M and ten others, including Dad.

BE HAPPY, DON’T WORRY!

On one of my birthdays, my daughter MJ, attending high school, made a card for me featuring a segment titled ‘Dad’s Countless Names,’ in which she enumerated ten distinct names associated with me. Although MJ knew about my nicknames, Korean and English words, and titles, she was oblivious that I had additional monikers.

But why did Grandfather name you ‘하’ (Ha), meaning summer, when you were born in spring? she asked.

Indeed, my birth in March coincided with the onset of spring, making ‘춘’ (Chun), representing spring, a more suitable choice. This might appear odd, but I often think my life would have diverged significantly with a different name. My father once explained the reasoning behind my siblings’ names and mine. He chose ‘하’ (Ha) for summer, valuing the season’s importance to a farmer for nurturing life, wishing to embed such aspirations within my name.

Great Summer is a nice name. It’s the season of growth, I told my daughter.

Great Summer would be a good name... the season of growth, I told MJ. She was skeptical, as I’m often fixated on names. With her upcoming US citizenship application, she pondered changing her name — likely fueling her curiosity about the name. That reminded me of a formative experience.

In my late teens, I prepped for the GED at Geumjatap Academy, tucked in a Seoul alley near Kyobo Bookstore. It was an edgy area — infamous gangster Kim Doo-han (1918-1972) dominated the neighborhood during the Japanese occupation. It’s where I met my lifelong best friend, Kwon Sunuk. Among that academy’s staff was a talented Korean language teacher in his late twenties or early thirties who played a fateful role in inspiring the subtitle of this essay, A Name’s Journey.

One day, he decided to analyze the students’ names, offering insightful comments on each. His observations often left the students in awe. For example, after a girl shared her name, he pinpointed a chronic ailment she suffered from, which left her and the class startled. His unique approach focused on the phonetic qualities of names, intentionally overlooking the literal meanings of the characters and sidestepping traditional forms of fortune-telling. We were captivated!

He also considered the stroke order of Hangeul characters. The teacher claimed some people develop a fist-sized mark somewhere on their bodies — entirely new, not an ordinary birthmark. He believed these marks held a special connection to the universe as indicators of a person’s destiny to achieve greatness.

One summer in middle school, my mother washed my back by the faucet. Suddenly, she gasped. What’s this large spot on your side? When did this appear? It was the first time I’d noticed it! The spot was in a place where I couldn’t see it myself. At that time, boys used to take off their shirts in hot weather, so if the spot had been there before, my mother would have noticed it sooner.

The Korean language teacher’s mention of such marks reignited this memory with a rush of excitement. It led me to embrace the name Wi Dae-han, symbolizing Great, seeing it as a sign of my potential for significant achievements.

The teacher shared a story that chilled us to the bone: Once, I was lecturing when a terrible premonition struck me. I ended class abruptly and raced home. Oddly, every traffic light was green, like fate cleared my path. I arrived just in time to see my young son leaning in a deep ditch trying to pick up his fallen shoe. I barely saved his life!

His profound and unsettling story cemented our belief in his words. Following this revelation, he was no longer merely an educator to us but rather a wise sage deserving of a place of respect.

He shared that individuals whose names end with the Korean consonant ‘ㅇ’ might face challenging lives. This, he attributed to the phonetic characteristic of ‘ㅇ,’ which does not require closing the lips or tongue, leading to a metaphorical ‘leakage’ of energy. Consequently, such individuals may find seeing their endeavors to fruition hard. Besides phonetics, he also considered the number of strokes required to write the Hangul characters of a name, integrating these elements into his analysis. Hangul, composed of forty elements, including twenty-four consonants and sixteen vowels, varies in the number of strokes for each character. By aggregating these stroke counts with the consideration of the individual’s surname, he provided a nuanced understanding of names and their impact on one’s life trajectory.

In Korea, name analysis usually uses Chinese characters, not Hangeul. But this teacher was a Hangeul purist, and I respected that. Middle school Chinese class had been a nightmare of memorization for me! His reasoning made sense: When people call your name, it’s the sound that matters, not the written form.

That got me thinking deeply about names. I told these experiences with my daughter. Although I have yet to inquire about my own name, the teacher during those lessons. According to his theory, my name ends with Ha, the sound that leaves the mouth open, letting energy leak out. It made me feel my name lacked strength. So, in my mind, I changed Ha to Han, meaning solid and broad. Eventually, I decided my name was Wi Dae-han — the Great.

Wi Dae-han

Wi Dae-han. That was the name I used when I got a waiter job at the Queen, a fancy Western restaurant in Jegi-dong. Before enlisting in the military, I served as a waiter at a Western-style restaurant named ‘Queen,’ situated at the bustling intersection near Gyungdong Traditional Market in Jegi-dong, Seoul. The restaurant, known for its Western dishes and cocktail bar, boasted a luxurious interior that attracted a fashionable crowd. During my job interview, the manager, Huh In-ha, who was in his late twenties, inquired about my name. It was then that I introduced myself as Wi Dae-han for the first time, experiencing a twinge of guilt for not using my real name.

Manager Huh noticed my careful speech and dignified behavior, which set me apart from other young male staff. Our conversations revealed mutual respect; despite his position as my senior and superior, he treated me with genuine regard. He’d even shield me from the rowdy staff when I got lost in thought like he knew I needed the space.

One day, to my surprise, a young woman who had once been the object of my unrequited affection entered ‘Queen,’ now joining as a bartender. She moved with a grace that commanded the room, reminiscent of a queen herself. I recognized her immediately, but she didn’t recognize me like she did before.

Before my military service, I worked at a quaint electronics company nestled in the basement of Sadang 3-dong, Seoul, with a friend from my hometown. This company produced FM radios and record players, primarily for Cheonggyecheon markets and OEM businesses. The president, a man in his mid-thirties, was intelligent and had a unique talent for designing circuits on printed circuit boards (PCBs) despite using a wheelchair due to polio. Our small team consisted of just four employees, including us, the newest and youngest members at seventeen or sixteen by Korean age standards.

Among us was an experienced individual in his late twenties, navigating life in a wheelchair, followed by a jovial man in his mid-twenties. My hometown friend stayed on, gaining significant expertise over the years, while I left after a few months.

Before my departure, a young woman joined the company, taking up the role of assembling electronic components onto PCBs alongside us. She was the epitome of beauty I had never encountered before, and her presence made my heart flutter with anticipation and dread at the prospect of confessing my feelings. Regrettably, her tenure was brief, disappearing from the workplace — and my life — within a week, leaving me with the lingering pain of unrequited love.

Years later, in a twist of fate, she reappeared as if conjured from my memories, this time stepping into the ‘Queen’ restaurant where I worked as Wi Dae-han. Despite the years that had passed and her mature appearance that made me question my recognition, the impact of our fleeting encounter at the electronics company remained. This moment of reconnection, albeit uncertain, stirred the embers of a love that had never entirely extinguished, challenging the notion of forgotten feelings and the paths our lives had taken since those days in the basement workshop.

DURING THIS PERIOD, my life was confined to the restaurant; I dined and slumbered there, finding rest on the long sofas designated for customers. And then, as quietly as she had re-entered my life, she vanished again after a few weeks. Subsequently, I, too, left, heading back to my hometown to gear up for military service, taking up temporary work as a field laborer on a school construction project.

Then, quite unexpectedly, I received a letter from Huh In-ha. It began with the salutation The Great One Who Thought Greatly...! which conveyed his deep respect for me, derived from our brief encounters. Yet, a misunderstanding formed the basis of this respect; my introspective nature at the time was not due to philosophical ponderings, but the woman primarily dominated the scene. My serious mien and evident concern for her might have projected a sense of depth and maturity not typically associated with someone my age. Mr. Huh’s perception was undoubtedly shaped by the name ‘Wi Dae-han,’ meaning ‘Great,’ not realizing it wasn’t my given name until after my departure when I informed him of my actual name through a letter. This incident prompts me to ponder over my actual name and the essence of my identity.

I remember conversing with my colleagues using my real name when I was at the electronics company I mentioned earlier. He was Kim Gyung-il, a mid-twenty man who always had a sense of humor, and one day, he threw a joke at me.

A shrimp? A big shrimp?

He laughed heartily, and I replied, It’s a great summer, not a big shrimp. The letter meaning is summer, not a shrimp. That was the first time I learned that my name’s character also meant shrimp.

He told me that I would become significant and that he should remember my name, repeating it to himself several times. Then he complimented, Your name is truly magnificent. I might have lived without worrying about my name if I had not met that peculiar language teacher at Geumjatap Academy. There is a saying, Knowledge is poison.

While I served in the military, although I was a reservist commuting to the 22nd Division’s engineering battalion in my hometown, I often ended my letters to a few friends in Seoul with ‘From the Wi Dae-han.’ Indeed, I wanted to be great. But I needed to figure out what I wanted to achieve greatness through. It always filled my heart with a vague passion. However, my expectations proved far removed from reality. Therefore, my heart was always oppressed and in pain.

Memories of Huh In-ha from the Queen

Even after 35 years, I haven’t forgotten the ‘Huh In-ha.’ His handsome face, long hair, and long fingers made him appear like a protagonist from a Japanese manga. As I mentioned, he was the manager at the restaurant ‘Queen’ in Seoul, where I worked as a server before joining the military. To this day, I sometimes wonder how he is doing and wish to meet him again. I’m writing this because of a serendipitous event that happened today.

실내, 금관, 가죽이(가) 표시된 사진 자동 생성된 설명

Caption: An envelope was sent to Kang Ha-neul by KR in Paris in September 1994.

While searching for an image to include in a piece titled ‘My Father,’ I was writing today on my blog, I stumbled upon an unexpected shot in my computer folder. It was an image I had scanned a long time ago. That image led me to reconnect with her on Facebook after 25 years. Her familiar name ‘KR’ appeared on a friend recommendation list, and I added her. It was a scanned image of an international mail envelope she had sent me. I scanned the letter, but the picture was too blurry to make out the details. Until then, I had no recollection of such a fact. However, judging from the September 14, 1994 postmark, KR sent it to me. She majored in French literature at Yonsei University, and I had met her and her friend several times around that time. The mail probably contained materials related to a documentary about Baek Un-chol, whom I oversaw producing then. I was planning the production in Korea for a French female director who was filming a documentary centered around Mr. Baek, an artist and photographer, the owner of Tamna Mokseokwon in Jeju Island. In any case, I found the unexpected discovery very intriguing and delightful.

Prompted by nostalgia, I went down to the basement. Since moving into this house, I hadn’t touched a particular cabinet until today, when I retrieved a bundle of letters and photographs from an old plastic bag. These were my items from before I married. I had checked the bag’s content once or twice over the years but had yet to look through each item individually. Most of the things were letters exchanged with friends during my time in the military. I had lost my possessions on two separate occasions. Having lived away from home early in life, I frequently moved and sometimes even lacked a place to sleep. Once, after storing my belongings at a relative’s house, I lost everything. Another time, I was storing my personal belongings in my office on the seventh floor (same address on the envelope sent by KR), and I lost them all.

I opened the plastic bag and examined each item. I exchanged most of the letters with my friends. Then, to my surprise, I found a letter from Mr. Huh In-ha. I had thought I had lost his letter, but it was still intact, along with the envelope.

Indeed, I used to think he possessed a traveler-like soul. Upon reading the letter, I discovered he described himself as a traveler. I guess I worked at the Queen for about a month, perhaps even less. I say this because I don’t remember ever receiving a salary there. When I departed, I left without a word to the manager. The female bartender partly influenced my abrupt departure, though not by my desires.

ONE NIGHT, A FRIEND named Jeong Sun-il, who had never been of much help to me in my life, came to the restaurant where I worked. He was two years older than me, so we weren’t real friends. However, that night, he confessed that we were the same age. Moreover, his birthday was twelve days later than mine. For years, I had respectfully addressed him as hyung (older brother), which is a title of respect reserved for older males in Korea. So, when I learned the truth, I felt a great sense of shock and betrayal. From that day on, we became awkward friends. He begged me to call him by name, which I found incredibly uncomfortable.

As you know, in Korean culture, calling someone older than you by their name is considered disrespectful. I still remember vividly at that moment how unpleasant it felt to call him Sun-il instead of hyung, which I had used for years. I felt deeply uneasy at the time. The following day, confused by Sun-il’s sudden appearance, I left the restaurant without saying goodbye or leaving a note for the manager, Mr. Huh In-ha, and went with him toward my hometown.

When I presented myself as ‘Wi Dae-han’ to Mr. Huh, he immediately adopted the name and addressed me without hesitation. I wonder where and how he lives now, as he must be in his mid-sixties. Perhaps, as he once said, he would become a bohemian and travel freely elsewhere. Will there be a day when we reunite?

실내, 금관, 가죽이(가) 표시된 사진 자동 생성된 설명

Caption: During my military service, my friends from Seoul came to see me. I was sitting at a coffee shop in a downtown area.

I was profoundly serious about my life when I shaved my head and enlisted in the military in the photograph. Someone took this photo during my military service, and I often lost myself in thought. That is probably why Mr. Huh described me as having profound thoughts in his letter.

Mr. Huh’s Letter

실내, 금관, 가죽이(가) 표시된 사진 자동 생성된 설명실내, 금관, 가죽이(가) 표시된 사진 자동 생성된 설명

Caption: An envelope was sent by Huh In-ha from Korea in 1983 with a 60-won stamp. People wrote the recipient’s address on the front, and the sender’s information was on the back. It was on April 21, 1983.

The text below is a letter sent to me by Huh In-ha, and I translated it to reflect his wishes as much as possible.

To the Great One Who Thought Greatly...!

Like the great guy you are (just as you always said), you ruthlessly discarded our ties and hopes, leaving me all alone in the void. Yet, whenever I think of you, the image of Wi Dae-han, barely over 20 years old, still appears pure to me, In-ha, constantly contemplating and reflecting on each day with untarnished thoughts, fueled by the frustration of an undefined faith and always sparking flames in your eyes. QUEEN is still thriving.

In the place where your precious sweat and frustration briefly lingered, I, In-ha, still live a daily life where I have to run to answer the call. My heart is always empty, but no one else is there to share it. I’m still curled up in the corner of my heart’s room, unable to chase away sleep.

실내, 금관, 가죽이(가) 표시된 사진 자동 생성된 설명

Dae-han!

It seems that all humans are like that. With a seemingly plausible tongue, they lead lives that embrace others over trivial matters, just like I receive your precious letters on a non-particular topic without knowing it. When you left like that, I thought you were that kind of guy, and it turned out to be a precious gift for someone who never thought of you again. It’s good to hear that you’re healthy, Dae-han.

Suddenly, I picture you carrying pain in the manual labor frontlines, fueled by anger, as you move through the construction site. I live on ambition and faith. I challenge pure, poetic literature and laugh at the corrupt, speculative world. Thus, my 20-year-old passion burns amid dust, pain, and hard labor. Come on, world. For the great ideas of the great, great Dae-han — you shout, with sweat streaming down your face... That’s the image I see, with your eyes full of burning curiosity.

실내, 금관, 가죽이(가) 표시된 사진 자동 생성된 설명

Humans cannot easily live in this world because they lack the foundation of a life to share. That’s why you, too, live in frustration. Amidst all this, there’s a useless, incompetent bug called In-ha. But both In-ha and Dae-han were young and had tenacious strength, determination, and endurance. Even if we’re stranded, we have the power to repair ourselves and enter the route again. We must be able to maintain our lives with that power. The same goes for you, and In-ha must also be the same. So even if our bodies experience fatigue and agony, our minds must not rot away.

A tree with deep roots does not fall in drought and wind; it always sprouts fresh branches, just like the situation, environment, and conditions we face cannot change our lives. In other words, a person with solid self-establishment will not have a rotten spirit. A person with an unspoiled heart will know how to smile in despair, laugh when abandoned, and rise when fallen.

Dae-han. We’re still young, with ample time ahead to chase our dreams. We must wait while preparing (with our eyes always holding the unwavering light of progress). We can do it (the odds of winning and losing are fifty to a hundred).

As your enlistment in the military is drawing near, I know you must fill your heart with uneasiness. Despite this, you must focus on discovering the greatness within you (constantly engaging in deep thoughts, maintaining a simple life, and getting ample rest). Unfortunately, your lack of effort in writing letters has led me to write this one similarly carelessly. I don’t care much about winning but don’t want to lose. And as for the fountain pen, please try to return it when you can. This was a gift from my dear friend, just two days before he died. Though it’s only worth 2,000 won, I cannot simply discard it.

실내, 금관, 가죽이(가) 표시된 사진 자동 생성된 설명

You may not even know this story about the pen. If you don’t wish to send it back, please keep it as a token of our friendship, and remember the name In-ha until the day you close your eyes for the last time. That pen has always been tucked in my vest pocket, breathing life into my heart as I lived my time-limited life alongside my 27-year-old friend, Hyung-seok.

Dae-han...!

During your short yet intense time at QUEEN in Seoul, you became a friend to In-ha, who always concealed his deep anguish and lived with a smile. The life of a traveler often reads like a sentimental tale of endless wandering and dying alone on the outskirts of an unknown city, not knowing where they belong. Draped in tattered clothes, they roam the world searching for their lost hometown (a longing they call homesickness in the traveler world), soaked in deep sorrow, and ultimately meeting their end. Fortune-telling songs with melancholic melodies and strange-looking stringed instruments are their companions, along with countless conversations and long, wandering journeys.

Yes, perhaps In-ha is a gypsy with gypsy blood cursing through his veins. Having become an outcast traveler in this land of Seoul, where seven million people with different personalities live entangled amid dry, polluted air and ruthless self-interest, In-ha is a traveler who roams today in search of truth, faith, and a lasting connection with others.

But I love poverty. That is why, and perhaps, I am suddenly thinking of you, who used to dwell deeply in your thoughts amidst anger and sorrow. Dae-han, thank you for your letter. Whenever you find the time, please keep sending me letters and poems. Let’s get