Why have I already made it halfway again?

- the first half of 2025 ⭐️

It’s only been a few months, but the first half of this year has already brought a whirlwind of shifting plans and evolving thoughts—along with plenty of new ones forming too. As always, I saw and experienced things I didn’t expect, and I had to sit with emotions that were unfamiliar.

Out of all those messy, scattered moments, I tried to dig up just the ones I felt were worth remembering—dressing some of them up as neatly as I could, while leaving others completely raw, standing here in this little gallery(?).

If someone happens to wander through and look around with me, that’d be lovely, haha.

<As a New Year Begins…>

With the climate crisis, social conflicts, discrimination, and growing waves of hatred, I sometimes wonder whether we’re truly living—or slowly dying. The choices I make in the name of growth or happiness often end up hurting the planet. Creatures die for the convenience I so casually enjoy. And even as I try to stay mindful of that convenience, I still rely on it. I’m just one contradiction in a world full of contradictions—and that realization often brings a painful sort of despair, until I remind myself to accept it all, calmly.

Still, I ask: what can I do? I hope the idea that small, personal actions can lead to meaningful change holds true for a long time. But inevitably, I get swept up in the reality right in front of me and set those thoughts aside. Then, once again, the same questions return. And by the time I’ve cycled through them a few more times, I find myself standing in what people call a “new year.”

Now I know that happiness isn’t some ongoing state—it comes and goes like dots on a timeline, briefly appearing, then vanishing again. I don’t chase it as a goal anymore. Grand beginnings and endings, all the numbers that structure our lives—over time, many things I thought were important no longer feel that way. And in their place, I’m beginning to realize the value of things I once overlooked. Maybe life is just a slow unraveling of our illusions.

I still don’t know—are we really living, or just fading away?

Usually, I feel like I should end thoughts like these with something profound. But all I have are questions—no tidy resolutions. Maybe that’s the point: none of this has a right answer.

How are we supposed to live?

All I know for sure is that I don’t want to go dry inside. I want to keep thinking, aching, getting angry, feeling ashamed. But also—observing, noticing, loving. I don’t want to live this life with a cold face that pretends to have no interest in hope. If there’s one thing I can promise myself right now, it’s that. And I believe there are still many others who feel the same.

࿔

And yet, despite the bold promises I made to myself at the start of this so-called new year, it’s been hard—really hard—to hold on to hope.

In a time when everything feels suspended in transition, injustices both loud and quiet grow bolder by the day, carving out new territory across the globe. The systems we once trusted—what we called “order”—have begun to unravel, and in this chaos, some feel a twisted kind of thrill, while for others, even the simple act of looking forward to tomorrow has become a luxury.

And amid it all, my country is said to be over.

It wasn’t just the helplessness—I could live with that. What struck me more was the strange weight of realizing, with unsettling clarity, that I’m living through the twilight of the country I was born and raised in, whether I like it or not.

I’ve always looked at this place with more criticism than affection, but deep down—though I’ve never wanted to admit it—there’s always been a quiet hope that things might turn out okay. Maybe because I can’t leave. Or maybe simply because I wanted to believe, for my own sake.

What does our country look like now, seen from above all the clouds it once rose to sit on? And what would it feel like to watch that descent unfold?

But here comes the more pressing question.

At a time when the idea of “peace” has been more taken for granted than ever in human history—and now, all that was once considered natural is being put on trial in this great transitional moment—

Q: What should I be thinking? And what am I supposed to feel?

࿔

A: Even when I know absolutely nothing—there’s always that one thing that remains unchanged and certain.

<March>

There was a day that could only be described as relentlessly cruel.

I faced it all at once: the bitterness of unkindness, the harsh sting of authority, the wind that howled louder than usual, a dead phone in an unfamiliar neighborhood, rows and rows of alien buildings that felt impossible to adjust to, and cars that sped by too fast, leaving behind nothing but a jarring discomfort. And amid it all, I came face to face with a version of myself that felt smaller than anything.

I was sure I’d cry. But when I looked in the mirror, I was smiling.

And I thought—I want to be kinder.

It was strange. Had I somehow grown stronger without noticing? Or was I always stronger than I thought? Either way, that night, I held onto that unexpected will with everything I had.

I remembered a day in Bangkok last winter, when I bought some mangoes from a street vendor. Just as I was about to turn away, the vendor smiled wide and said, “Happy new year.” I remember thinking that moment would grow into something meaningful later in life. I just never expected it to blossom here—out of a place steeped in unkindness.

Because usually, unkindness breeds unkindness.

So now, I’m determined not to lose this brave and willing heart—the one that dared to bloom through the cold. It’s one more quiet promise I made to myself.

📖 I’m simply doing my job for the day, yet the outcome might mean the difference between someone going hungry or not, getting a job or not, grasping something essential or being left to flail in confusion. And still, I find myself growing numb to the weight of that possibility. Of course, days when my work actually causes that big a shift are rare. Most of the time, I’m just a face behind a desk, or a pair of hands shelving books. So when those rare moments come—when my words or actions become a central axis in someone’s life—it’s easy to miss them if I’m not careful.

I have no illusions about my job. Most of what I do doesn’t mean much to the library’s visitors. But on a handful of days, I’m struck by the realization that I’m acting as a therapist, a counselor, or a teacher. I’m not trying to pretend I deserve those titles—but when those small but meaningful moments do arise, I want to meet them with everything I’ve got. Even if someone else might think that person’s outstretched hand isn’t worth the effort.

It’s terrifying—and if I’m being really honest, sometimes it’s thrilling. There are moments when I feel overwhelmed by rage, or completely dragged down by sadness.

So, if you ever find yourself working in a library, remember this:
Leave the rage at the door when you go home.
And don’t let the moment pass you by when you have the chance to make a difference.

Allie Morgan. (2023). The librarian.

“Don’t let the moment pass you by when you have the chance to make a difference.”

✦

Every time I talk about things like this, my mind always drifts back to a day two years ago. I had spent the entire day having fun and was on the bus ride home when our departure from the stop was delayed. Up at the front, two passengers were having trouble boarding—something seemed to be wrong with their transit cards—and the driver, clearly worn out, was getting into a bit of a back-and-forth with them. Eventually, the two had to step off the bus, left to either wait for the next one—which came only rarely—or find another way home And I… I just sat there. Completely still, staring out the window, assuming we’d be on our way in a few minutes. It wasn’t until after everything had played out that something inside me clunked sharply into place. Not a single person on that crowded bus had moved, said anything, or even shown the smallest gesture of concern—including me. I spent the remaining hour of the ride steeped in regret.

Of course, thoughts came rushing in to comfort me.
‘Was it really that big of a deal?’
‘It’s something that happens all the time.’
‘I wasn’t obligated to do anything.’
‘Maybe I’m just being too dramatic.’

Each one tried to justify my inaction in its own way.

But the important part wasn’t the what.
It was the why.

I just… wasn’t thinking.
I had zoned out.

Being kind itself is never easy.
But snapping out of your own world to be a little more kind—
to notice those small moments and not let them pass you by—
that’s something far harder.

But on the other hand, I often find myself realizing just how easy—how frighteningly effortless—it is for us humans to wrap ourselves in cynicism and hatred.

Sometimes it takes just a moment. Without anyone noticing. Not even ourselves.

Unlike the loud and persistent effort that kindness and goodness demand, those darker feelings slip in quietly, swiftly—almost mockingly.

And when I catch sight of this sharp-edged bitterness poking out from within—without even knowing when it got there—I’m first embarrassed. Then unsettled. My mind starts racing.

How long can I keep blaming “a lack of time,” “too much stress,” or “life being overwhelming”? The truth is: I can’t. Not really.

So I keep telling myself—I have to come back to my senses, again and again. Shame is something we need to face and let go of. Even if we keep slipping up and falling into the same traps over and over. That’s just being human. What matters is not giving up—getting up, facing it, and letting it go.

Because becoming a clumsy, cowardly person full of hate can truly happen in just one careless moment.

It’s not at all hard or rare to shove the world into arrogant little boxes—each labeled by our narrow views—and lock even ourselves inside them, relying only on the tiny strip of vision just a few steps ahead.

It’s easy.
And it’s always waiting close by.

So let’s remember

there might be someone standing right in front of me
who could be knocked down by a stone I carelessly toss without a second thought.

It could be someone I love.
It could be a stranger who once sat quietly beside me.

That person, hit by my thoughtless words or actions,
might be the very one to reach for my hand when I’m at my most hopeless.

And one day,
I might be the one in their place—
the one struck,
by a stone I myself once threw.

Of course, it’s only natural that all this can feel exhausting and heavy.
Especially in times like these, where even holding a single grain of calm feels like a luxury.

But what if we tried to see it a little differently?

A single word, a small gesture, the way we carry ourselves—
these things might become the spark that helps someone start their day with a little more light.
Or, perhaps, they may become something far more profound—
a moment that saves someone, even just a little.
They might awaken a quiet, hopeful desire in someone to be more kind,
not immediately, but maybe later on, at an unexpected bend in the road.

Just like that greeting I once received in Bangkok.
Something small, but it stayed.
And really, isn’t that enough?

I believe we all know that sometimes people survive on just a few simple words.
We just forget—over and over again.

Still, I think this is my honest truth:
even now, I want to hold onto hope—for myself and for all of us.
Especially when we’re all riding this strange boat of transition together ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁

There might be someone right in front of me
who’s trying to get back on their feet—
because of one smile or a quiet moment of understanding I offered.
It could be someone I love,
or a stranger who happened to sit beside me once.

And maybe one day,
I’ll be the one standing again—
because of a kindness I once gave,
a warmth I once left behind.

So, let’s all hang in there to be just a little more kind!

📖 I’ve come to realize that just because the heart cannot intervene in the causality of reality, it doesn’t mean that having a heart is meaningless. If laying a small tribute upon what cannot be undone were futile, then people’s hearts would simply crumble away in vain.

Hajin Lee. (2024). The final proof. Safe House.

࿔

I’ll keep dreaming quietly, steadily

<April>

This year marked a new chapter for me, as I returned to school after completing my long Find Myself Project (a.k.a. taking a break from university).

Honestly, right before coming back, I held this grand farewell ceremony.
A dramatic one — with my dreams.
I told myself that I’d spent enough time chasing the foolish desire to become a rainbow, and now it was time to pull myself together, face “reality,” and start living a “real” life.

But 🤨 that face quickly melted into 🥺 this one.

“How could I forget them… when I love them this much…!!! How could I ever call that a foolish dream.”

But now, I know: I don’t have to become a rainbow with all seven colors. They don’t have to be bold or brilliant. That doesn’t need to be my only pursuit, and nothing in this world can ever be the whole of my life. What I can do is stay faithful to what’s right here in front of me, and wait—openly, actively—for the colors that will come. And when they do, I must never let them slip away. I try to remember the saying: if you walk with one eye open and your heart sincere, the chance will come someday.

no matter what, I’ll keep dreaming quietly, steadily.

📖When someone has pursued something for a long time yet fails to achieve it, people tend to laugh at them. One even ends up laughing at or hating oneself. I hope you will never treat yourself that way. Cynicism and ridicule are cheap things anyone can afford. As for me, I still hold dreams and desires that make my heart race even at the thought of them. And one of them is to screen my film right here.

Daegun Jung. (2020). GV Villain Ko Taekyung. Eunhaengnamu.

✦

And along the way, I’ve reunited with an old friend 🎶 Music has always been a significant part of me, something that holds so much of my life, so I’ve long dreamed of writing songs that carry what I see and feel. I dabbled with it a bit last year, but it’s hard to keep going alone. By luck, I stumbled upon a class and decided to join. The catch: I needed a keyboard to practice at home. Then, as if by fate, I spotted a free giveaway online. I jumped on a bus for an hour to pick it up, carrying it home carefully. Honestly, that part of the journey isn’t something I want to repeat twice ◠‿◠

I once heard someone say that what you love will always drag you into a little suffering.

I also met new friends. When I found out my school was offering a webtoon course, I didn’t hesitate for even a second—I signed up immediately.

“If not here, if not now, then when else will I ever learn something like this?”

To have a clear skill among many passions—that feels wonderful. But to be able to teach it to others? That feels even more extraordinary. That thought lingered in me all throughout the first class.

Balancing variety and clarity is difficult.

But hardest of all—still—is bearing with anxiety.

I’ve promised myself to keep dreaming, but I’m always worried: how long can I wander under the name of “dream”? Anxiety, it seems, is still my permanent roommate. Sometimes it disappears, and I think maybe it’s gone for good, but it always returns—sitting back down next to me like it never left…

Like it is for most people, my relationship with anxiety is also complicated.

Anxiety isn’t a good friend—it makes me turn everything into a tool. Even things I start with sincerity become “not what I should be doing right now…” as soon as anxiety covers them. Time with loved ones gets slapped with a “wasted” label, and I’m too foolish to notice the trick. Everything in sight ends up scored according to how much it benefits me. Honestly, I’ve never once won a fight with anxiety.

But do we really have to live like this? There’s no joy in being at war with your roommate.

Maybe I should just accept it. The variables, the uncertainty, the worries I can only feel now—if I can’t avoid them, then let me feel them fully, without tears. At the very least, when I look back later, I don’t want to see an album filled only with photos of me suffocating in anxiety. Someday, even today—the day I sit here, confused, watching the picture I once drew grow messy with scribbles—might turn into a cherished memory I can never get back.

If I’ve gained anything while wandering with my anxieties, it has given me real endurance against my own clumsiness. I’ve become less afraid of being a beginner. Because now I know—growth always follows steps, one by one.

Everyone has to endure their own awkwardness, swallow their embarrassment, and keep moving forward. Without those first times, nothing would ever exist. That’s not necessarily bad, but for now, I still want to endure, to swallow, and to try a bit more •˕•マ.ᐟ

In that sense, I want to pause here and thank all the teachers and adults who’ve endured my clumsy mistakes (all the times I was wrong, confused, or just rambling nonsense). Later, when I’ve grown older, if I meet a wandering friend like me, I’ll do my best to endure their awkwardness alongside them.

࿔

why don’t I try harder to hold onto these moments?

<May>

Personally, I’ve always kept this 😑 kind of attitude toward school festivals. But when my sister insisted on seeing a certain singer who was performing on campus, I tagged along almost randomly.

And well…

It was amazing.

When I first walked into the concert hall, I caught the very end of a performance. The energy that hit me was overwhelming—but in the best way. Even the light drizzle falling outside added to the mood. (though I did end up soaked like a drowned rat)

Suddenly, I wondered: why don’t I try harder to hold onto these moments? Sure, I’m busy, tired, sometimes uninterested. But look! when I pause for a moment and lift my head—it feels this good! You know, each thing I encounter here and now happens only once after all.

I keep telling myself, “Don’t take on a cynical attitude,” “Don’t look at the world with dry eyes.” And yet, in my own daily life, I’ve been drier than anything else—without even realizing a drought had come. And maybe most of my friends are like this too. That thought makes me quietly sad. I want me—and my friends (you, swimming through this vast ocean of life with me 🫵🏼)—to be happy. Truly happy. I don’t usually like using that word, “happiness”—it feels too vague, too subjective. But right now, no other word comes to mind. I just want us to be happy. More than anything, I want our hearts to be at ease.

Forget the bitter truth that happiness isn’t lasting but fleeting, that it only dots our lives here and there. Forget it. Let’s just be happy now, this instant. Forever. Until we die. Happy. That’s all. Why does it have to be so hard?

Anyway, what I really want to say is…….

I love you guys!!!

Wherever you are, whatever you do—I’m your cheerleader.

📖 It was always like this, Furlong thought. Always moving on automatically, without pause, to the next stage, the next thing that needed doing. He wondered what life would be like if there were time to stop, to think, to look back.

Claire Keegan. (2023). Small things like these.

࿔

Isn’t there a way to fully enjoy the present while

<June>

Every year, around my birthday, I find myself reflecting on how I’ve lived. And this year, I’ve brushed past so many more connections than I expected. Among them, there are many I want to hold onto tightly. New challenges and new environments are exciting, yes—

but why must they always come with inevitable endings and farewells?

I know it’s the law of relationships: what once felt eternal and special will fade, little by little, into each of our busy lives, into new connections. I understand it clearly with my head. But my heart, my attitude—they’re still messy, still unwilling. Right now, I want to tie down everything I love—people, things, acts, moments, time itself—tie them tight so no one and nothing can slip away.

And selfish as it is, I dream: while I keep leaping forward, may the things I love stay right here, waiting. May they smile the same when I turn back to them. Maybe reality is that they’ll move faster than me. Or maybe it’s me, always careless, always realizing too late.

“When the time comes, I’ll let you go, but know that I loved you with all my heart.” That line feels far away from me still—something too mature, too distant.

Isn’t there a way to fully enjoy the present while still holding the past in my hands?

Anyway, what matters most is this: I still don’t know how to properly let go—of what’s passed, what’s passing, and what will pass.

So please—tell me you don’t know either. Let’s all just not know together, and fumble through this clumsy sadness, side by side.

Because maybe, when the day comes that I finally do know, I’ll feel a different kind of loss, haha.

As for what lies ahead—I have no idea. I can no longer predict a thing, since each step forward uncovers new layers of variables and uncertainty. And honestly, even the path I’m on right now—maybe I won’t know where it was until long after it’s gone. If that’s true, how much meaning do “plans” or “predictions” really have? What I only know is that no matter where the road leads, it’ll always be full of meetings, beginnings, partings, and endings. And I know, too, that endings still scare me.

But what else can I do?

Always, I circle back to the same conclusion: Stay faithful to what’s right here in front of me, and wait—openly, actively—for the colors that will come to me!

✦