I’m especially interested in digital mental health, particularly how digital technologies affect our well-being. Many people today feel stressed from the digital world yet find healing in the real world; through food, nature, and simple human experiences.
It would be wonderful if our phones and laptops weren’t only stress inducers but also tools for healing. Blogging is a good example of this possibility. Instead of passively consuming endless content, we become active participants and creators. We own our space, shape our thoughts, and in the process, activate new “thinking muscles.” This active engagement doesn’t just use energy, it creates it.
This Sunday evening, I find myself once again in a cafe, chasing after my dreams. I spent the day writing essays and reflecting on the past five years of my life.
A friend once asked me how I manage to live without a single day entirely to myself. At times, it does feel as though even twenty four hours are not enough to pursue everything I aspire to accomplish. Yet anyone who has lived through such a season of relentless focus might understand. There is a certain rhythm to being immersed in meaningful work.
In college, I was surrounded by peers who shared that same rhythm, and being fully engaged required no explanation. After graduation, however, I often met people from different paths who questioned the pace of my life. At times, I caught myself justifying my dedication, though I know there is no need to feel guilty for giving my best.
Perhaps this post reads like a vent, but in truth, it is not written to build walls. This space has always been about connection. Maybe what I am really seeking is to reconnect with those who understand this pursuit, the people who know what it means to pour themselves wholly into a dream.
Recently, I was able to reconnect with a long lost college friend who is also chasing a similar path. I was so grateful to find someone in the same boat. We instantly understood each other without needing many words, and we were both willing to help and encourage one another. Isn’t it interesting how finding kindred spirits can make life feel so much lighter, even in the most daunting seasons?
My ideal house would look something like this. I have always fancied American suburban life, and these images come closest to what I imagine.
It does not need to be massive or filled with luxuries like a pool or a big beautiful garden. What matters most is being part of a community where our kids can grow up surrounded by friends, building childhood memories that last a lifetime.
I would also appreciate having a nice park nearby, since I love jogging and dream of having pets one day. The house itself would be simple yet alive, with plants filling the interior and bringing warmth into our everyday life.
What brings me to tears of joy is the kind of surprise I never imagined, a gift wrapped in the form of unexpected good news.
In Pirates of the Caribbean, there’s a scene where pirates long to capture a mermaid’s tear. She resists with fear and sadness, but when true joy overcomes her, the tear still falls. That image stays with me, because some joys are too powerful to hold back.
I felt that recently after one of the biggest challenges of my life: a massive exam. The path was long and lonely, filled with uncertainty. I worked hard to prepare, but never expected the score I received. Even now, I keep checking the results page to believe it’s real. A score is just a number, yet this one feels like an answered prayer.
Life often surprises us this way. Sometimes we assume the worst about people, only to later discover they cared in ways we didn’t recognize. Not every surprise is good, but some moments feel like pure gifts, blessings that effort alone cannot explain.
In those moments, I feel closest to my creator, and tears of joy come naturally. My hope is to hold on to that gratitude, even when life pulls me back into chaos.
And to you reading this, I hope you too experience such genuine joy, the moment so real it moves you to tears.
Korean food has taken the world by storm, thanks to K-dramas and K-pop.
I introduce to you my all-time favorite Korean meals.
떡볶이(Teokbokki)
If you’re a K-drama fan, chances are you’ve seen the classic scene: high school girls running to a teokbokki shop after school. But don’t be fooled, this spicy rice cake dish is loved by every generation in Korea.
Teokbokki comes in many forms; original, rose, mala, cheese, and more. While the classic spicy version is unbeatable, my personal favorite is rose teokbokki, which blends tomato and cream with just a hint of spice. It’s rich, slightly sweet, and perfectly addictive.
No teokbokki experience is complete without sides.
Popular add-ons include: Kimbap (mini rice rolls), Fries, Sundae (Korean blood sausage), Boiled egg (찜) for extra protein
My personal go-to brand is 청년다방 (Cheongnyeon Dabang); their rose teokbokki is always a winner.
2. 낙곱새(Nak gop sae)
This fiery hotpot combines octopus, beef tripe, and shrimp.
A spicy, flavorful stew that pairs perfectly with rice. It’s hearty, satisfying, and exactly what you crave on after a demanding stressful day.
3. 삼겹살(Samgyeopsal)/ K- Barbecue
No Korean food list is complete without samgyeopsal, thick slices of pork belly grilled right at your table. The fun part is making your own wraps with lettuce, garlic, kimchi, and ssamjang (spicy paste).
Now, if you thought of soju while reading this, you’re officially a real Korean.
4. 닭갈비(Dak Galbi)
If samgyeopsal is the king of pork, then dak galbi is the ultimate chicken dish. Originating from Chuncheon, this stir-fried specialty is made with marinated chicken, rice cakes, cabbage, sweet potatoes, and gochujang (red chili paste), all sizzling together on a big round pan in the middle of the table.
It’s spicy, saucy, and absolutely addictive. The best part? When you’re almost done, you add rice to the leftover sauce on the pan and stir-fry it into golden, crispy fried rice. Trust me you do not want to miss this finale.
5. 냉면 (Naengmyeon)
After all the barbecue and spicy stews, nothing hits the spot quite like a cold bowl of naengmyeon. This dish features chewy buckwheat noodles served in an icy broth (mul-naengmyeon) or mixed with a spicy sauce (bibim-naengmyeon).
It’s tangy, refreshing, and often topped with slices of beef, cucumber, pickled radish, and a hard-boiled egg.
Obviously, there are countless more dishes to explore in Korea. But these are my personal favorites.
If you’re new to Korean food, I’d say start with teokbokki. It’s simple, iconic, and gives you a real taste of Korean culture. From there, you can develop your own K-food adventure.
Writing heals me. In a world where owning a home feels impossibly far away, it’s surprising how a blog can offer such a steady sense of comfort. This space is mine for as long as I want it. I choose the words, the design, and still, I’m surrounded by neighbors.
I haven’t written about the hardest parts of my life, or how overwhelming these past few months have been. Yet, leaving traces of my present here feels like a quiet way of mending.
I enjoy reading and writing alongside others who wonder about the same things. Maybe that’s why I love daily prompts. They bring together a small, caring community where empathy feels natural. And I hope that as time passes and I grow older, my writing will carry new shades, telling its story in colors I have yet to discover.
The most I’ve ever paid for a meal was at a seafood restaurant in Rome.
I ducked into the restaurant almost by accident, trying to escape the huge crowds waiting outside the nearby pizza bistros.
What drew me in was the quiet, peaceful atmosphere, something rare in a busy tourist hub like Rome.
Little did I know there was a reason for that calmness. Oh god, it was pricey. Way above my usual travel budget.
Still, since that was my last night in Italy, I figured I deserved a little treat before heading home.
Soon after sitting down, I realized just how lucky I was to get a seat – every table was reserved. People kept coming in, one after another, checking their names on the reservation list.
That’s when I knew I was about to experience something special.
And yes, I really did.
I had the best pasta of my life that night.
It was creamy and rich with the deep flavor of the sea, a perfect blend of sweet cream and salty seafood. And of course, it paired beautifully with a glass of red wine.
There are millions of things in this world that are considered important …or so we are fooled.
I think there are very few things that truly matter. Although the priority may differ from person to person.
For me, it’s always been simple: Faith Family Health Freedom Gratitude
But what if I took these elements, poured them together, squeezed them tight, and spun them into one fine, invisible thread?
That thread is Hope.
Hope that one day I’ll find the perfect family and the perfect place for me. Hope grounded in Faith and Gratitude. Hope that never lets itself break.
…Hope to keep hoping.
Today’s writing reminded me of the battle scene in Sandman.
In the show, Dream (aka Morpheus) and Lucifer engage in a strange, poetic battle. They don’t throw punches or cast spells—they speak in symbols. Each word becomes a form, an idea, a transformation.
The play goes like this,
Lucifer: As the challenged, I set the meter and take the first move. Morpheus: Very well. Make your move. Lucifer: I am a dire wolf, prey-stalking, lethal prowler. Morpheus: I am a hunter, horse-mounted, wolf-stabbing. Lucifer: I am a horsefly, horse-stinging, hunter throwing. Morpheus: I am a spider, fly-consuming, eight-legged. Lucifer: I am an anthrax, butcher bacterium, warm-life destroying. Morpheus: I am a world, space-floating, life-nurturing. Lucifer: I am a nova, all-exploding… Morpheus: I am the universe—all things encompassing, all life embracing. Lucifer: I am anti-life, the beast of judgment. I am the dark at the end of everything. The end of universes, gods, worlds… and everything.
Lucifer: And what will you be then, Dreamlord? Morpheus: I am hope.
And just like that, the battle ends.
Not with power. Not with fear. With hope.
I know—it’s a fantasy show. Maybe a little over the top. But that moment genuinely gave me goosebumps.
Because I couldn’t think of anything that can win over human hope, either.
For me, a true friend is someone royal—with an honest heart.
Royalty—not the crowns and castles kind, but the kind that carries dignity, loyalty, and unshakable value. The kind of bond that isn’t swayed by social rules or the whispers of the devil—those quiet temptations to betray, compare, or compete. Real friendship rises above all of that. It just is.
And then there’s what I call the honest heart. Not the honest mouth—because let’s be real, most of us aren’t sitting across from a friend hoping to hear brutal truths. What we crave is empathy, not judgment. To feel understood, not corrected. A truly honest heart doesn’t say everything it thinks—it knows how to hold the truth gently. With care. With love.
I believe these two qualities—royalty and an honest heart—are more than admirable. They’re vital. But I’ve been wondering lately… what if I’ve set the bar too high? What if, in holding so tightly to these ideals, I’ve made it too hard to let people in?
Because if I’m being completely honest—with myself and with you—I can count just one friend who truly fits that definition. One person who’s been consistent, loyal, and kind-hearted through it all.
And you know what? I’m grateful. Deeply.
There’s a saying that goes, “Anyone who has at least three friends is successful.” It refines how hard it is to find even one person who truly, wholeheartedly cares. Who sees you without an agenda. Listens without judgment. Stands by you without flinching.
Yes, that kind of friendship is rare. And maybe, that’s enough.
Little travel souvenirs are my time machines. Magnets, postcards, bookmarks—they all have their charm. But my all-time favorite is Snow globes.
There’s something magical about them. Unlike flat cards where everything is fixed, a snow globe is multi dimensional. It changes with every shake. No two are quite the same—some are delicate, some clunky; some filled with glitter, others with soft white snow. The quality varies, the designs always a surprise. There’s a little fun, a small gamble, in picking the perfect one.
Every time I shake a globe, I don’t just see the miniature version of a city—I feel it. The moment I bought it comes rushing back. Maybe it was a freezing day, and I ducked into a souvenir shop to escape the wind. Maybe that very snow globe reminded me of the actual snow falling outside, which then led me to buy those beautiful, well-made boots I ended up loving for years.
It’s funny how one tiny item can start a whole train of thought. A chain reaction of memories. A sense of place, of self, of time. It grounds me in a world that often feels like a shallow whirlwind.
If I were richer, I would collect singing music boxes too—orgels, the kind that play a delicate tune when opened. Adding sound would bring another dimension to the memory. But for now, the silent dance of snow inside a globe is enough.
With these memories, the stay may be short, but the happiness can linger a little longer. Sometimes, late at night, I shake a few and watch them settle one by one. The world slows down. The memories swirl. The traveler in me feels quietly seen.
Because in every snow globe, I see two things: a city I loved (or barely survived)—and a version of me who was brave enough to go.
A journey in ink 
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