Reflective Writing and Poetic Musing by Condemiang + Stories About the World

One winter night, I wondered if the aurora that had supposedly appeared a few days earlier might be fluttering faintly in the sky. I decided to step out into the backyard. I hadn't even opened the door yet, but I could already sense the persistence of the winter wind humming loudly. I parted the blinds and gently slid open the patio door. The moment I did, the cold-laden wind surged in as if it had been waiting. The two cats that had been trailing me flinched and froze in their tracks, twitching their noses, alternating their gaze between the dark backyard and my face. Even in this loudly frigid night, their desire to go outside remained undiminished. I quickly stepped out onto the deck and shut the door behind me. The two cats stood motionless behind the glass, wearing their usual expression—one that seemed to say they couldn’t quite accept being shut out again. Soon, they would each settle into the plush fur rug on the bench, limbs stretching with drowsy ease. Modified image of...

Yeonwoo had a peculiar compulsion—one that gripped him every time he tried to buy clothes. He could never quite shake it off. Each time, the pressure would mount until, in the end, he surrendered to it, doing exactly what that quiet obsession demanded. In his childhood, Yeonwoo’s parents ran a large clothing store in the bustling heart of town. It was more like a department store of its time, offering everything from children’s wear and men’s and women’s fashion to accessories, sundries, cigarettes, and even intercity bus tickets. The shop was big, and so was its staff—six or seven people working at once. Those who weren’t married lived in the residential quarters behind the store, known as the anjip, making the place feel like a giant extended family. Oddly enough, Yeonwoo—the eldest son of such a fine establishment—insisted on wearing old clothes. His mother, the matriarch of this upscale store, would argue and plead with him, often at her wit’s end. She couldn’t stand the sight of h...

“I know what you mean—even if you don’t say it.” “You may say it that way, but I understand what’s really in your heart.” There was a time when this kind of communication held great appeal for us. Even if someone’s words came across as curt or awkward, we tried to read between the lines, to sense the warmth behind them, and accept it. A complaint muttered under one’s breath might still be steeped in affection, and we would embrace that unspoken care—recognizing the dissonance between tone and heart as a uniquely human exchange. But today, anything less than warmly spoken or emotionally affirming is seldom welcomed. Even if a voice carries love, concern, or comfort, we often fail to recognize it. Rather than tuning in with emotional sensitivity, we build defenses—screening out anything that might bruise us and turning our backs to ambiguity. We now live in a world where so much must be processed in such little time. We are too busy parsing the literal meaning of things to sense what lie...