No way

It felt like I had lost my way—like letting go of my mother’s hand in a crowd and suddenly being left alone, not knowing where to go.

“This can’t be true.”

A text from a friend came in: Ms. Choi Wol-hee passed away from a heart attack. A wave of darkness seemed to crash over my face. I couldn’t breathe. All I could mutter was, 

“This can’t be true.”

My friend wrote:

“I can’t keep reading A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man for book club. What’s the point? Ms. Choi showed us what true beauty of character means, what humble knowledge looks like. I looked forward to each month, checking the calendar and reading with hope—hoping to connect more deeply with the next book. I didn’t realize just how much space she took in my heart. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this way, not wanting to say goodbye to someone. I want to hold on—but am I just being selfish? Why didn’t I ever think that she, too, could leave us? I’m not ready to let her go.”

I heard my friend’s sniffles and had no words.

While she was grieving, pacing around in sorrow, I sat crouched on the floor like someone lost, picking up fallen strands of hair. I stared into the corner of the room, blankly repeating, “This can’t be true.” Maybe I was able to stay silent because I knew she was feeling the exact same thing.

It was like walking through darkness, finally spotting a faint light, only for it to suddenly disappear—leaving me to fall again into the endless depths of a dark cave. I never got to fully see the bright flame, and now I’m left sifting through ashes, hoping to find the last glowing ember. I’ve lost my way.

“We are all artists. “We must step outside our habitual lives and use involuntary memory to recreate our realities. Don’t judge everything as bad or good. Be open-minded. Step out of yourself and connect with others,” she once said.

We all listened to her many passionate lectures, and I believe each of us became freer spirits because of her.

Though she’s gone, I don’t want to lose our book club too. I hope we can welcome another wonderful teacher—not just someone full of knowledge and degrees, but someone with humility and compassion. Someone who treats everyone fairly—whether educated or not, wealthy or poor, high-status or humble. Someone who doesn’t only listen to the loud voices but notices the quiet ones sitting in the corner, offering them kindness and warmth. Ms. Choi Wol-hee, I hope to meet you again in the next life—as your student once more.