One day, you’ll leave this world behind So live a life you will remember My father told me when I was just a child “These are the nights that never die” – “The Nights,” Avicii
Every time I enjoy this bright, rhythmic song, a quiet sorrow settles in. Beneath its promise of endless adventure lies a reminder of life’s brevity—and the fierce challenge of making our days truly worthwhile.
It reminds me of my own father’s voice—he loves to share life lessons, words tinged with the same worry every parent carries. They echo in my heart, urging me not just to live, but to live with meaning.
Being productive means living each moment to the fullest. This is how I carve my path through life.
I feel most alive after a good night’s sleep—usually seven to eight hours of uninterrupted rest that leaves me waking just before my alarm. At 7:00 AM, I slip out of bed, draw back the curtains, and let a sliver of cool morning air brush my face. I lace up my sneakers and head outside for a brisk five-minute walk—just enough to get my calves warming, my lungs expanding with each deep breath, without breaking a full sweat. By the time I step back indoors, my mind is clear, my mood lifted, and I’ve already scored my first burst of dopamine for the day.
On my way to work, I detour into my favorite café and order a cup of coffee. The rich aroma greets me the moment I push open the door—steam hissing from the espresso machine, beans grinding in the background—and I feel more awake than ever before that first sip touches my lips. That cup carries me through the morning push until I need another energy boost.
By 8:00 AM, I’m at my desk with a fresh to-do list, ready to tackle my top priorities before the world fully stirs.
In the afternoon, the energy dip arrives like clockwork. Instead of surrendering, I shift into my second gear: the news. Scrolling through headlines—an inflammatory tweet here, a shocking statistic there—I let a spark of indignation flare. That heat propels me forward; I jot down bullet points on how to channel this tension into my next deliverable, turning irritation into inspiration.
If I need a micro-break, I stand and stretch or grab a glass of cold water. I might crave another coffee, but I hold back—for the sake of a good night’s rest and tomorrow’s clarity.
Riding that continuous current of focus, I finish the day feeling accomplished—and ready to recharge with another night of sleep.
It’s the perfect excuse to visit Europe—to wander through its beautiful Christmas markets and experience the unique mood that only European countries can provide.
As a South Korean, I’ve always felt it’s a shame that here Christmas often feels like just another date night—Valentine’s Day has that covered already.
To me, Christmas should be the brightest, most beautiful day of the year. one that brings neighbors together, offers a moment to heal, and invites us to reminisce on days gone by.
Someday, I hope to live in a place as enchanting as my memories of Europe—whether it’s there or elsewhere—where holiday traditions are for whole families and communities.
A place where Christmas truly unites us all: sharing stories with neighbors, passing down cherished rituals, and wrapping every street in genuine festive cheer.
When you are in Europe, you’ve got to try chimney cake—it’s a sweet tradition you won’t want to miss. :)
I wish I had offered enough compliments to my loved ones while we were still friends.
I wish I had the wisdom to find joy even in hard times, knowing that too shall pass.
I wish I had taken nothing for granted.
We often assume our fulfillment and happiness will last forever, but nothing is immortal.
That is why time is so special, and why we are filled with regrets: not only for the things we’ve done, but more so for the things we wish we had done.
Let every trivial sorrow melt like morning frost when I step into the warmth of home, and sink into bed alongside my purring companion.
Yet some evenings call for sweeter remedies— the gentle rush of sugar on my tongue, or surrendering to a flickering screen to drift beyond the edges of now.
There are nights when only the familiar cadence of an old friend’s voice can stitch together my frayed heart.
Still, I close each day with whispered prayers— and in that silent communion, I discover at last I have never walked alone.
As a South Korean, I blend in a little too well in North Korea—enough that people might assume I’m one of them, no questions asked.
So there’s a pretty good chance I might never be able to come back.
Also technically, the North and South are still at war, and as far as I know, I’m not even allowed to go there.
Sometimes I think about how lucky I am to have been born in the South. If just one thing had been different, I would’ve lived an entirely different life—and I might not even know what a blog is, sadly.
It is often—if not always—the case that what truly matters to us can also make us feel the most nervous. Whether it’s the uncertainty of a new relationship, the stress of applying for that dream job, or worries about our family’s well-being, these challenges stir our emotions deeply.
Yet, it’s in those moments of vulnerability and uncertainty that we often discover where our heart truly belongs. Maybe it is a blessing in disguise.
I have experienced two major failures on my journey so far.
Failure One: Medical Entrance Exams
Ten years ago, I faced my first major setback-failing the medical entrance exam twice before finally succeeding on my third attempt. After my first and second failures, I felt completely lost. At eighteen, I believed that becoming a doctor was my only option-the one path destined for me. The weight of failure was almost unbearable.
However, during my third attempt, I shifted my focus to what I could control and set aside what I couldn’t. I recognized that I excelled in mathematics but struggled with linguistics, so I honed in on my strengths. I also learned to manage my time independently, even though I wasn’t as adept at handling the intense pressure of a competitive environment. I dedicated an entire year solely to self-improvement.
Most importantly, I found solace in my faith. Even though I was trying for the third time, I felt a sense of calm and trust that everything would work out. I even applied to a backup school, reassuring myself that if I didn’t make it into my dream school, it was all part of a bigger plan. Ultimately, with wholehearted devotion and acceptance of any outcome, I was admitted to the med school I had always dreamed of.
Failure Two: The Online Business Experiment
Two years ago, fresh out of med school, I decided to start a small online business. Driven by a desire to break free from the relentless whirlwind of everyday life, I planned a community website specifically for doctors and medical students. I envisioned a unique space where young and future doctors could connect, share experiences, and collaborate—a platform that would unite a doctor community that felt increasingly isolated in Korea. I even added a medical news section designed as a debate arena, which inspired the website name “DoctorAgora.”
Fueled by passion, I built the website, secured a domain, and even rented a shared office space for a few months. However, I soon learned that generating revenue from a community website is incredibly challenging, especially when targeting a niche group like doctors who often prefer traditional, well-established platforms. It became clear that not only was the model difficult to fund, but building a sizable, active community would likely take years.
In hindsight, I can attribute this failure to several factors: a lack of preparedness, courage, and finance. Yet, the most significant factor was my own arrogance. I mistakenly believed that success in one area could be easily transferred to another after reading a few books. I lacked self-awareness and neglected to make the sacrifices that life demands.
Unlike the first obstacle, there is no twist in this story. I accepted my failure and redirected my focus to my profession. In retrospect, I’m incredibly grateful for the experience—it introduced me to professionals from other fields I would never have met otherwise, and it taught me valuable lessons about online work, digital ecosystems, and social business skills.
Most importantly, I learned that I am not the type of person who thrives on unpredictability and instability. This realization only fueled my passion for my chosen profession more than ever before.
For my future self
At twenty-nine, as I write this, I hope that my future self-at thirty-nine-remembers these lessons well.
I hope she remains someone who values dedication and devotion, and who continues to live life to the fullest.
Considering that social media is all about sharing and emphasizing moments, ideas, or identities—this blog is probably the closest thing I have to it.
But unlike the fast-paced, filtered world of traditional platforms, this space serves a different purpose. Here, I share and reflect—not to impress, but to understand. I use it to explore how others think, to gather insights, and to collect bits of knowledge that spark curiosity or growth.
It also offers something rare: rest. A quiet break for my brain in a world of noise. No endless scrolling. No dopamine traps. Just me, words, and thought.
And because it’s a blog, there’s a different kind of communication involved—more delicate, more thoughtful. It gives me a chance to sharpen how I express myself, something other platforms often overlook.
So while it may not be “social” in the mainstream sense, this blog connects me—both to myself and to others—in ways that feel more meaningful. And maybe that’s the kind of social interaction we need more of.
There are moments in our days that are too precious—yet easily overlooked because they’re common. Only when we pause to notice them, they reveal deep meaning.
Here are five that bring me immense joy:
The first sip of coffee that wakes me at 8 a.m.
Bright afternoon sunlight streaming through the window.
The quiet joy that comes from completing a daily task.
A delicious dinner after a hard day’s work.
A simple “Love you” text from my boyfriend.
As I write this list, I feel so grateful for my simple, yet colorful, daily life. But I also carry soft wishes for the future—hopes that add another layer to this joy.
One day, I’d love to experience:
The start of a new day beside my husband.
Hearing children’s laughter at breakfast.
Coming home fulfilled—reflecting the personal growth of the day.
A delicious dinner shared with my family.
A “Love you, good night” whispered from the people I love most.
The elements are the same—growth and warmth—but in my dream, there are simply more people in it. And that, to me, is the most beautiful evolution of joy.
A journey in ink 
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