I began to write a series of essays from a pull-out bed at City of Hope Cancer Hospital on February 8, 2015. My mom was dying, and as she slept, I wrote. In the five years prior to entering that hospital, I lost my sister, my father, and more recently, my husky Storm. After a year in the hospital, my mom passed away, and then a month later, my wife lost her father. And throughout, I never stopped writing. It was all I could do. I've had hard times but nothing as hard as this. These frequent glimpses of death challenged me to reconsider the meaning of life.
In Korea, there is a concept known as "pil seung," translated into English, it's "must triumph." As a young martial artist, I was attracted to that ideal. Sometime during high school, it became my mantra. Whenever I felt my world crumbling, I would tell myself "must triumph" and endure. That led me on a deep winding journey into philosophy. What was I enduring for? And what did it mean to triumph?
My writing started as a conversation with myself, that I'll get through this. Then I began to release my essays online, and it was no longer me writing for myself, but me writing for everyone who needed the same type of encouragement that I did, that you'll get through this, but there are still other challenges ahead. Get ready. I'll help you prepare.
With my mom, my writing became practice for all the things I wanted to say to soothe her, to put her at ease. Most times she wasn't lucid for long, so I wanted to get my words right. It seems everything I've ever done in my life conspired to help me get my words right. Not just for my mom or me, but hopefully, for everyone reading this.
I'm not a writer, and before this, I was just some guy. Actually, I'm still just some guy. But I left a part of me in my work—and everything you will read from me helped me endure.
PS: From what I've learned, triumph doesn't mean to win, it means short or long, live the most meaningful life possible—because that's all that matters.