The 500th Story

I never expected to write my 500th story. Especially alongside my 500th piece of artwork.

It all started on June 11, 2008, with my first story, "Maria Living Upstairs." At the time, I lived in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. Maria was a 92-year-old lady from Austria who lived on the fourth floor of the building. Her husband, Tony, was active enough to climb those four flights of stairs every morning to go to the senior center. Maria, however, rarely left the house except for hospital visits. I thought Tony was the healthier one, but he passed away first, leaving Maria alone. In her youth, she had worked so hard to save money that she never had children. Once a week, I would visit her with a carton of milk and chat for about an hour. "Tony, Sooim is here!" she would call out, acting as if her husband were still alive.

When I first started writing, I worried that once I finished telling stories about my neighbors, I would run out of things to say. Yet, here I am, 18 years later, still writing for the JoongAng Ilbo. Whenever I send in my writings and paintings with a "Thank you," the editors reply with a simple "Received." I send my work on time, and they publish it on time.

I am the type of person who sticks with something once I begin. Because I had to submit a painting with every story, I rarely put down my brush. Writing became the motivation for my art. While the JoongAng Ilbo provided the space, my husband provided the inspiration. Even when I write about my complaints or frustrations regarding him, he doesn't mind. He encourages me to write whatever I want to relieve my stress. At first, I hesitated, wondering if I was bringing shame to my family. But then I thought, "Our family isn't that grand anyway," and I just let the words flow. It turns out, a certain "shamelessness"—the ability to ignore what others might think—had been hiding inside me, waiting for its moment to shine.

I prefer things that go on "thinly and long"—lasting a long time without being flashy. I don't write about difficult or overly intellectual topics. Instead, I write about the everyday things that happen around me from the moment I wake up, much like a diary. Perhaps that is why the stories keep flowing, like water from a leaky faucet.

To all the readers who have followed my journey all this time: Thank you so very much.