While translating, I learned so much from the speaker, Margo. Her message really resonated with me: love is the solution to many humanitarian issues. To feel secure as individuals, humans need love—and as a society, we all need to show more love too.

Thanks to the people who helped, encouraged and supported me throughout the event, it turned out to be a valuable experience.

The beauty of snow is captivating, but its power is humbling—a reminder of nature’s duality. I hope those who were affected can recover swiftly and find comfort after this hardship.

But while Seoul basked in the snow’s beauty, nearby areas like Gyeonggi faced a harsh reality. The heavy, wet snow damaged farms and livestock, with agricultural buildings collapsing under its immense weight.

The streets shimmered with patches of melting snow, but some untouched mounds remained pristine. I couldn’t resist stepping onto the fluffy piles, leaving footprints behind.

Later, I wandered through Insadong with a friend. The trees looked magical—those with leaves seemed frosted, like delicate cakes, while bare branches were coated with layers of snow as if painted by nature itself.

From a cozy café, I sipped warm tea, watching snowflakes drift softly from the grey sky. On the streets, people paused to take photos, their joy blending with the quiet charm of the snow.

For so long, I thought I needed many readers to feel validated. But now I see it differently. What truly keeps me writing is the belief of just a few people who see and hear me.

I don’t remember much about the moment itself. But I do remember the words of those around me afterwards: “I could picture everything so vividly.” “You’re already a writer.” Those simple words stayed with me, giving me a strength I didn’t know I needed.

Watching them shake only made my nerves worse. So I set the paper down, clasped my hands, and read.

Yesterday, I read my work aloud for the first time at a writing workshop. The topic was pain, and I wrote about the scars on my legs. I thought I was ready, but my hands began to tremble as the person before me finished reading.

I stopped trying to make my writing look perfect. I just let it be sincere. And to my surprise, it resonated.

The next challenge was harder—sharing my words with others. For a long time, I was terrified of it. Sharing felt impossible, as though I were stepping into a spotlight I wasn’t ready for. But one day, I decided to stop overthinking. I chose honesty instead.