musicthattouchesyoursoul

Recent flowing thoughts ..

The tenderness that lives in silence — I am slowly discovering that tenderness moves in two directions: one that extends outward, and one that gathers inward. What I long to learn is this inward-turning tenderness, the quiet beauty of receiving.

In music, my wish is for tenderness to reach outward, to touch the hidden depths of another’s inner world. For me, tenderness is warmth, and also the courage to be vulnerable.

I want to learn the tenderness within my own soul and within music — and how it weaves itself into the vast vast vast universe of our hearts

Just another day commuting to Syosset. I got on the train at Penn Station and found a seat — one of those backward-facing ones, looking out toward where I would come from.

Once I settled in, something about it felt slow and intimate.
As if my body was in sync with something I hadn’t noticed before—
the quiet act of looking back.

As the train moved forward, the city began to drift behind me—
buildings, streets, fire escapes—
all slipping slowly into the distance.

But for once, I wasn’t rushing to hold onto anything.
I just watched.

Strangely, the farther I moved from things,
the more clearly I could see them.
Not as noise or blurs,
but as stories—
soft, unfinished,
full of lives I’ll never know,
yet somehow felt connected to.

My eyes weren’t busy this time.
I wasn’t scanning, chasing, collecting.
I let them rest—
on one rooftop, one flickering light—
and as the train pulled away,
the world around that single point
began to open like a breath.
Stillness made the view wider.

It’s funny how sometimes you see more
when you stop trying to see everything.

When I face the same direction as the train,
I feel the thrill—
the motion, the urgency,
that sense of moving forward.
Anticipation. Excitement.
And I love it.

But it can also make me anxious,
like life is sprinting past
and I’m just barely holding on.

Facing backwards, though…
it felt peaceful.
Like watching things leave
without them being torn away.

There was no panic. No anxiety.
Just a soft parting.
Like life whispering to my heart,
“You can let go now.
You don’t have to carry everything.”

It made me think about people.
How some of them drift away too—
quietly, over time.

And I’ve always found that kind of goodbye the hardest—
when someone just disappears.

But maybe,
if I could see them slowly becoming smaller,
fading softly instead of vanishing all at once,
maybe it would hurt a little less.

Yes, it would still hurt
to know that they’re getting further away with time—
but I might appreciate their life, their presence, even more.

I try to live forward—I really do.
But looking back,
when I’m not running from it,
has its own strange, aching beauty.

When I let my mind rewind gently,
I remember the smallest things:
the way someone laughed with their whole face,
the warmth of sunlight on a sidewalk I’ve walked a hundred times,
the feeling of a moment
before I knew it would become a memory.

There’s comfort in not always racing toward what’s next.
In just watching where you’ve been,
and letting it slip away with grace.

It reminds me—
I’m not always the one steering.
And maybe that’s okay.

Maybe I don’t always have to be moving forward
to be moving “meaningfully.”
Maybe sometimes,
sitting still as the world moves behind me
is exactly what I need.

I have been blessed to receive a lot of love in my life. Perhaps that is why each farewell feels like a quiet unraveling—like a piece of my own life and my being loses its strength. In those moment, I feel a part of myself grow fainter, as if love itself had been holding me together.  

In those moments, I realize how fiercely they must have prayed for me, how deeply they must have loved me, and how costly true love really is. To love fully is to give away pieces of oneself, never knowing if they will return whole. And to lose those who loved with such sincerity is a sorrow that lingers in the bones.  

I wonder—when they leave, they take parts of me with them? Am I becoming smaller, more fragile, with each passing loss? Life is a relentless thing. To live it well is no small feat, and I sincerely respect those who have walked this path with quiet strength, wisdom, and grace.

And then, in the quiet, I find myself (over+over)thinking…  

Life moves forward in an unbroken line, though I often forget. In the moment, it feels anything but linear—one day, I am drowning beneath the weight of it, the waves pulling me under, deeper and deeper, until I can hardly breathe. And then, without warning, I am standing at the summit of something extremelyvast, wind against my skin, breathless with wonder and fresh spirit. But when I look back, I see it clearly: all of it, rising and falling, yet never breaking from its course.  

The dreams I chase, the things (career) I build—they are nothing more than waves on this endless line, cresting and dissolving under the same sun. Some days, the fear comes to me. There are moments when time itself seems to tremble, when I feel I might lose my footing completely. I ask myself why I struggle so hard and for what is it all. 

But I am beginning to understand. “Life is not complete the moment a dream is reached.” The summit is not the end. The waves do not cease. It goes on. The fear goes on. The breath goes on. The peace goes on. Whatever it is- it goes on.  

For so long, I believed in the promise of stability, as if it were something to be earned, something that could be held. I really worked hard to grasp. But life does not grant such certainties. Some days, I walk with steady steps. Other days, I stumble hard. But if there is anything that holds me upright — the unwavering belief that I am under God’s protection. So are others. 

People, work, music, joy, sorrow—all of it shifts and fades. None of it exists to give me certainty or ultimate answer. 

And so, I keep walking quietly and alone. The more I come to know the world, the more I come to know myself, and yet, the more uncertain everything becomes. I suppose that is the nature of it. It is humbling, and at times, it feels like foolishness. But even in my doubt, there is one thing I cannot let go of.  

My grandfather once told me:  

“Never forget your calling.”

Not my name, not my title, not my career, not the things I can do—but the reason I was placed in this life at all. That, above all, must never be forgotten.  

And maybe, one day, when the moment is right, I will pass those words on to someone else—with both faith and conviction.

운 좋게도, 나는 많은 사랑을 받으며 살아왔다. 정말 부족함이 많이 아이었는데. 그래서일까. 내 삶을 가득 채웠던 이들을 떠나보낼 때마다, 마치 내 삶의 일부가 한 조각씩 힘을 잃고 사라지는 것만 같다. 그럴 때마다 깨닫는다. 나를 향한 그들의 기도와 사랑이 얼마나 간절했는지, 그리고 “온전히 사랑한다는 것” 이 얼마나 어려운 일인지.   

온전한 사랑을 주었던 이들을 떠나보내는 일은 가슴 사무치게 아프다. 괜히, 나도 더 작아지는 것은 아닐까 두려워진다. “삶을 잘 살아낸다는 것” 이란 얼마나 어려운 일인가. 그렇게 묵묵히 삶을 걸어온 어른들이 더욱 존경스럽다.   

그리고 문득, 생각한다.  

삶이 결국 평행선 위에서 펼쳐지는 것임을 가끔 잊곤 한다. 넘실거리는 검은 파도처럼 밀려오는 순간들 속에서, 때로는 그 깊이에 휩쓸려 숨 쉬기 어려울 때도 있고, 때로는 산 정상에 선 듯한 황홀한 기쁨을 느낄 때도 있다. 하지만 돌아보면, 결국 모든 것은 수평적이다.  

내가 이루는 “꿈”도, 쌓아가는 “업적”도 결국 그 평행선 위에서 일렁이는 파도이자, 그 위로 떠오르는 태양과 같다. 두려움이 엄습하고, 지금 이 순간이 나를 거칠게 흔드는 듯하며, 때론 모든 것이 버겁게 느껴지기도 한다. “무엇을 위해 이렇게 치열하게 살아가고 있는 걸까.” 하지만 이제야 깨닫는다. “꿈을 이루면 삶이 완성된다”는 단순한 결론 따위는 내게 존재하지 않는다는 것을.  

한때는 “안정”을 이루기를 바라며 살아왔지만, 삶이 주는 절대적인 안정감이란 없었다. 아직까지도 때로는 의연하다가도, 때로는 불안하다가도 하지만, 결국 나의 평온을 결정짓는 것은 오직 하나님의 보호하심에 대한 확신뿐이다.  

사람도, 일도, 음악도, 기쁨도, 슬픔도, 그 어떤 것도 내 마음의 확신을 위해 존재하지 않는다.  

그저 묵묵히 홀로 걸어갈 뿐이다. 세상을 조금씩 알아갈수록, 그리고 나 자신을 더 깊이 들여다볼수록, 불안은 오히려 커져만 간다. 어리석다. 하지만, 그 불안 속에서도 내가 붙잡아야 할 것은 분명하다.  

지금은 많은 기억을 잃고 어린 아이처럼 맑게 계신, 나의 사랑하는 할아버지는 말씀하셨다.

“이 삶 안의 너의 사명을 잊지 마라.”  

나의 이름도, 나의 직업도, 나의 재능도 아닌, 이 삶에 주어진 나의 사명. 그것만큼은 절대 잊지 않기를. 그리고 언젠가, 나도 누군가에게 같은 말을 건넬 수 있기를..

Where life unfolds beyond control,
One departs, another fills the soul.
An empty space, a silent breath,
Yet life resounds, defying death.

I am myself, a truth I wear,
To change so deep feels quite rare, so rare.
Emotions stir when hearts entwine,
Yet beauty blooms where light does shine.

When I see myself as flawed, unkind,
The weight is heavy, it grips my mind.
Each day, each night, it holds me tight,
But still, there’s space in all I see—
In life, in love, in music’s plea.

A space remains, though whole I feel,
To breathe, to cry, to gently heal.
A sacred space to hold, embrace,
A tender pause in time and place.

Grateful am I for these spaces from God,
A gift of grace, a path well-trod.
A place to heal, a place to rejoice,
To cherish each breath, to hear His voice.

We honor the life His space bestows,
With humble hearts where gratitude grows.
Through love and prayer, His peace abides,
A boundless gift where hope resides.

From the heart-wrenching beauty of summer and its strong residue to brief moments of reality in New York, and through contrasting phases of convenient sanctuary and unfamiliarity in Korea, I now prepare to return to my everyday life, marked by numerous changes. Everything is happening so quickly, and as always, I do not feel ready.

What does it truly mean to be “grown-up”? Am I overthinking this concept? As I consider my next steps, I find that playing the piano remains the most endearing and liberating pursuit—perhaps an indication that, in some ways, I am still a child at heart, quite immature. What can I do to gain the wisdom needed to navigate life more effectively and confront who I am and what I am capable of?

For the first time in a while, I revisited my old neighborhood in Korea—the place where I grew up, attended pre-school, elementary, middle, and high school, formed friendships, and spent cherished time with my family. Although I have lived abroad since 2006, returning there each summer or winter has always brought me profound joy. When I first decided to immerse myself in a place as isolated and distant as possible—not just geographically, but spiritually as well—I strongly believed in the sense of trust that came with “coming back home.” I knew where my home was, which allowed me to embrace being physically nomadic and mentally free. Knowing I had a home to return to, whether in the US, Germany, or Israel, I eagerly (almost desperately) anticipated these visits and worked hard for “the day of return home,” which felt like a great reward for my solitary efforts. In that space, I experienced a return to a simpler self—curious, unburdened, yet deeply reflective and engaged.

A few years ago, my parents relocated, and I stayed with them in their new home during my visits. While returning to my old place and reconnecting with familiar faces was once a source of immense joy, that sense of “coming home” has diminished since their move. I now feel more at home in the United States. My visits to Korea have become primarily about seeing my family. Perhaps that is all I truly need—family. Especially my grandpa. I also feel as though I am losing time with them, along with memories, places, and my youth. And their youth. (And our youth.)

Two days ago, I visited my old town, and it evoked a flood of emotions and nostalgia, providing me with a deep sense of belonging. The familiar and nostalgic memories of the neighborhood offered peaceful solace, leading me to wander there for hours.

I once considered myself inherently nomadic, yet I have always yearned for stability. As I navigate these complex feelings, I return to the US—a place I cannot yet fully call home, but where I find a sense of belonging and connection, supported by friendships and professional ties. There is also significant freedom there.

As I reflect on my future, I wrestle with the notion that I may not find a true “physical” home until I discover it. What am I willing to sacrifice? How can I balance a physical home, an emotional sanctuary, and a fulfilling career? I feel a pressing urgency, as though time is slipping away, and I long for a sense of peace to go back to, even though I understand that perfect tranquility may be unattainable. Where do I return? Do I have a place to return? And why do I want such a place of return? Ultimately, perhaps my truest home is found in the heart of my mother—a place of unwavering comfort and love throughout my journey of exploration and self-discovery. Although she often says she has failed to show me love and she is sorry—a possibly beautiful confession—she has exemplified the greatest form of unconditional love. That is my real home. One might say that the way I wrap my rambling thoughts is rather nonsensical or cliché, but I say, “Why not?”

Parting ways or saying goodbye is a heart-wrenching and emotionally quite painful experience.

I always reassure those around me that I am ready to let them go, never clinging or begging them to stay. Although I am never truly ready, and probably never will be, I say this to offer them a small peace. It’s okay to leave if that’s their path. Who am I to impose such demands? I am often driven by desire, yearning for things that frequently elude me, particularly the warmth of people. The challenge of letting go of people, memories, and time may be my greatest struggle in life, despite my usual words to those around me: “Leave when you need to leave. I am always here.” True friendship, love, and appreciation are not about holding on tightly, but about granting the freedom to depart whenever desired. Even when we are apart, we remember the warmth. Even if it’s my own misunderstanding or one-sided, I still feel surrounded by that warmth from the person or the people, like the comforting warmth of the sun on a winter day—I love inhaling the cold air with my absolutely red nose while being enveloped by the winter day light’s warmth.

Although I describe myself as a solitary person, my mind remains deeply engaged by interactions with others. I haven’t attended a music festival in years because I was “wondering,” and even in school, I was not necessarily the one to seek out social engagement. However, my intention to be alone still stems from a yearning for the warmth of others. The space left by others, though painful, has also been a source of fascination of my mind and emotional fulfillment.

Creating music, building memories, and sharing meaningful moments are central to my pursuit of inner peace amidst life’s constant ebb and flow. One hour I say, “Is that it?” Another hour I accept things as they are. Yet another hour, my emotions stir me up, and the next I sit in complete silence amidst confusion.

Upon returning to Korea, I slept through the entire flight, craving a single night of uninterrupted rest. Despite the turbulence, the crowd, and the cramped quarters, I slept deeply as if nothing else mattered. I awoke briefly to drink water before falling back to sleep, and when I next opened my eyes, we were preparing for landing. The profundity of that sleep, shrouded in darkness, provided a rare sense of peace which I haven’t had in a while. I am glad to let myself absorb the complete darkness of memory and emotion and forcefully shut myself off from the noise of minds and circumstances. Replaying the memories and turning them off, replaying and turn them off again and again.

Was this experience merely a dream? The memory lingers vividly, not just in beautiful images but in the air and sounds of the moment. I remain overwhelmed by emotions and thoughts, perhaps hoping to silence them, even if just temporarily. When people say it’s not a big deal, I find it precious. When people say I am overly sensitive to minor changes in my life, those changes matter to me. I connect the dots, creating significant patterns and spaces, and I am overwhelmed in awe.

Before I start my rehearsal later today, I may look for a piece of music that allows me to explore my current emotions, something that resonates deeply with me. I know for sure it will be very far from Hindemith. What do my ears hear?

Some random contemplation: is my life too disconnected from what is deemed “normal”? When did this divergence begin, and what is its nature? I am left questioning this gap and seeking understanding. I hope I am not too alien to anyone or anything.

I won’t allow it to cause me any pain, and even if I can’t prevent it from hurting me, I will courageously embrace it

Though I can’t distinctly recall how it all started, my initial curiosity has transformed into a profound responsibility, joy, passion, and a cherished dream.

Entering a competition after a long time, I felt an overwhelming, electrifying happiness on stage which used to be filled with childhood fears. It’s more than just playing my music; it’s a lesson in truly listening to others, even in the most intense moments of performance. I’ve learned more than just stage experience; I’ve learned that I should be a person who listens, engages, and adjusts together, whether the circumstances are joyful or sorrowful. I’ve learned that I want to be someone who lives not solely for myself but for others, someone who knows how to live for the sake of others and is willing to let go of myself. Not entirely sure if I can really become the one, but this is my true wish.

Although my best friend is an opera singer, my interest in vocal music was initially limited to admiration and support. My journey into collaboration with singers started in Germany, where I learned “Swanengesang” and “Morgen” for the first time. As I returned to the States, my curiosity started to unfold studying with Jeremy. Observing the gestures of vocalists and playing various arias and art songs in Jeremy’s lessons led me to a realm of emotions I hadn’t encountered before. I still can’t explain them in my words. Jeremy didn’t just teach me about music; he imparted the essence of living for others, being sensitive, attentive, and sacrificing for their sake. Collaborating with singers allowed me to find joy and freedom in contributing my essence to their voices. It’s truly captivating to hear the beginning and end of their breath, turning every moment of anticipation into something extraordinary. Initially uncertain about my role, I found myself caught up in the busyness of following and waiting, and I struggled quite a bit. Then he taught me the precise role and meaningful mission of a pianist. The journey ahead still feels like quite a stretch. I owe a big thanks to Jeremy for always being interested and tirelessly helping me, especially when my curiosity, which I couldn’t quite put into words due to a lack of experience with singers, needed a boost. If it weren’t for being assigned in Jeremy’s studio in my first year, who knows, my curiosity might have just vanished into thin air.

Encountering Eunsung in my first year, I could never have imagined the profound experiences we would share, starting with Brahms and continuing this journey together. In it, I’ve discovered a big amount of joy. As someone too prone to emotional sensitivity, my perpetual worries sometimes wear on those around me. Eunsung’s silent reassurance, encapsulated in the phrase “….. hmm….. it’s okay. Just enjoy it,” left me feeling profoundly grateful for his unwavering understanding, respect, and patience. After the competition ended, I had a proper conversation with Eunsung for the first time. He’s truly a kind and sincere person with a wonderfully humble heart, and I am grateful to have faced challenges alongside such a well grounded friend like him. I ll always be rooting for Eunsung’s and his family’s life vision and his dreams in the world of music.

Strolling through Central Park yesterday, I couldn’t help but look forward to where God might lead me whether it’s good or bad. Life’s full of surprises, and things don’t always go as planned, but the priceless experiences gathered while waiting feel like little treasures. Whether on stage or in everyday life at Stony Brook, I ponder over my purpose, going back with a heart brimming with gratitude. A newfound realization has dawned upon the once extremely self-centered me, who always cherished solitude: Loneliness becomes a precious gift and privilege when you learn to truly love and embrace others. My resolution (or mission?) becomes clearer and stronger– to live not only for myself but to warmly embrace, love, and genuinely appreciate others.

Recently, I’ve been putting in the effort to manage my emotions. Even when I find it challenging and sense that I’m getting closer to failure, I persist in my attempt not to let my emotions take control of my thoughts. This is the extent of what I can accomplish.

As someone prone to overthinking, I’m trying to quiet my mind. When I interact with people, I often contemplate how I can be a source of strength and encouragement. I try to understand what’s beneath their thoughts and emotions. Yet, when I can’t genuinely support them, I feel their despair. I’ve always wanted people to be happy, and I would do anything to make them happy. However, now I’m trying to observe and intervene less.

These days, I’m simplifying my thought process. I’m working to shield my emotions from being too exposed, and I’m speaking less. Currently, this is the best I can do. I hope that people can truly perceive who I am, even with fewer smiles, less talking, and fewer emotional expressions. With fewer words, fewer thoughts, and fewer emotional displays, I wonder how others perceive me. With my reduced emotions and actions in daily life, I aim for my music to be a genuine reflection of my sincerity, passion, and love, so that my truths resonate through my musical expression.

Casual scribbling – many people have asked why I’m not in a relationship or dating anyone, and some have even speculated that I might be hiding a partner or dealing with serious issues. To be honest, I haven’t really thought about this deeply. This morning, after my recording session with Susan, she brought it up again, suggesting if she could introduce me to one of her husband’s friends. I said no without much hesitation, and I must admit, it’s quite intriguing.

While I may come across as somewhat naive, my main focus has always been on dedicating my time solely to my music and personal growth. I’ve always had a clear sense of what I wanted to achieve and how much I cherish playing the piano. Pursuing my musical journey has brought me immense satisfaction. I want to emphasize that this absolutely does NOT mean I see myself as a superior pianist or person compared to those in relationships. Actually, it’s completely opposite. In reality, I’m not better than anyone, not even busier than they are, and I live an extremely “boring life” which I enjoy to the fullest. There are still times when I face difficulties in looking after myself, and I worry about navigating through various complex challenges. So I have a great deal of admiration for those who thrive as sincere musicians and wonderful partners in their relationships. It’s apparent from my own experience that balancing both aspects can be quite challenging for me. At times, I do ask myself, am I being lazy and selfish? Could that be why I’m not particularly interested in getting to know anyone? It’s a thought that crosses my mind, but honestly, I’m not entirely sure.

Embracing solitude has allowed me to introspect and discover my true self. The most significant outcome of this journey is realizing that I can be socially awkward and not always the nicest person. Since returning to the States last year, though, I’ve made substantial progress, thanks to the amazing people in Stony Brook who continually inspire and encourage me with their warmth and humanity. The more I ponder, the stronger my appreciation becomes for the incredible friends in my life who share their love for music and have consistently been a sincere source of support, encouraging me to be my authentic self. Without a doubt, the cherished “teammates” in Munich have left a significant mark on my life and have been there for me during the toughest of times.

Of course, I long for intimacy and dream of building a family of my own. I’ve made attempts to seek such connections, but I faced confusion, misunderstanding, and emotional fragility. What I’ve come to realize is that I don’t want temporary individuals to enter my mind and soul. I refuse to waste my time and my heart on shallow flirtations and superficial conversations that only bring false hope. I also don’t appreciate anyone who seeks to exploit my genuine truthfulness and respect. If someone has no intention of truly valuing me and only wants to toy with my emotions, they don’t deserve any part of me. As I’ve mentioned earlier, I do feel lonely at times, and this journey can make me quite miserable.

So, do I want to be with someone? Do I desire a committed relationship? Yes, absolutely. I want to sit beside a man with whom I feel comfortable being a woman and being myself. I want to be the person with whom he feels at ease being a man and being himself. I want to serve my man with sincerity and prayer. Whenever people ask me about when I’ll start properly dating again, my answer is that I genuinely don’t know. If it happens, it will happen in its own time. And if it does, I will be incredibly happy.