It Doesn't Matter Anyway.

I’ve lived in this neighborhood for over 10 years, but recently I’ve fallen in love with taking walks.

Listening to music, admiring various nameless flowers,

the ducks that occasionally visit the waterfront, and a long, unknown bird,

the sunset sky, and the cute four-legged bundles trotting along,

my eyes are busy the whole time I walk.

As I walk and walk, just like fish leaping out of the water,

various thoughts pop up.

Among the Daily Seula’s serialized writings I’ve been receiving since May,

a particularly impressive passage I read lingers persistently, and then suddenly comes to mind again while walking.

I feel jealousy, gain courage, and receive inspiration.

📎

Seula’s writing, too, surely had its first ‘because of you.’ Was it because of kindergarten homework? Or a birthday card sent to her grandfather? Or praise from a favorite teacher? Now, I don’t remember exactly. It doesn’t matter anymore. Because over thirty years, so many reasons have been added. Those who made me want to write were countless. The good you. The hateful you. The funny you. The crying you. The sick you. The jealous you. The sorry you. The you who deserves congratulations. The amazing you. The strange you. The beautiful you. The you who was just unlucky. The animal you. And me, seeing, hearing, smelling, touching, eating, and remembering such a you… The reason for literature is the sum total of all those others.

Regarding the reason for writing,

regarding the reason for wanting to write,

I thought it was only me who complicated it and felt the need to define it,

but reading this sentence made my mind go ‘ding!’

Because not just one reason, but many layers of reasons and ‘others’ have accumulated.

Yes, it doesn’t matter anyway!