When My Blog Became My Friend

When My Blog Became My Friend

When my blog became my friend, I realized how wonderful it is to write. Writing allows me to look back on my life, discover stories hidden in ordinary days, and enrich my world through those stories.

Today, I had a parent–teacher conference for my younger child. At the end of each semester, parents meet with teachers for about fifteen minutes, and I always look forward to this time. It is a chance to understand how my child is adjusting to school and moving through the year.

With my older child, these meetings were less urgent because he talks easily and vividly. Even without asking, he would describe everything that happened at school as if he were painting a picture. Sometimes I felt as though I attended the school myself because I knew so many details of his day. When he first entered the dormitory, he even gave me a full “tour,” explaining every corner with excitement.

But my second child is completely different. When I ask, “How was school today?” she simply answers, “Good,” and that is the end of the conversation. No further details, no additional stories. So if I want to know more about her school life, I often hear it from her friends instead. Thankfully, her friends describe things as well as my older child does. I am truly grateful for that. Perhaps this is why I look forward to her parent–teacher conferences even more.

Today, her teacher, Miss Lynch, reminded me how fortunate my child is. I remembered the Open House earlier this year, when she showed us the small classroom library she created. It was filled with books from her own children, books she purchased herself, and books that had been donated. The warmth, enthusiasm, and genuine love for teaching were evident in every corner of that space.

I donated a copy of Our Treehouse, the book Emilia and I created together, to her little library today. Miss Lynch received it with such joy. A teacher who loves stories and cherishes books is truly the best kind of teacher. My children have been lucky to meet wonderful teachers who teach them the power of storytelling and the importance of imagination.
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Without imagination, how dry and difficult our world would become. Stories sustain us. They make us laugh, give meaning to our days, help us connect with others, and allow us to understand a world bigger than our own. I am realizing more deeply than ever how essential stories are to a full, beautiful life.
I am deeply grateful to Miss Lynch for the meaningful time and energy she shared with me today. As I write these thoughts, my blog once again feels like a dear friend, holding this memory gently for the future.

Ever since my blog became my friend, expressing myself has become much less difficult. Even as I walked the path of an artist, I often struggled to reveal myself and share my inner world. This was not just my own challenge, but something many Koreans of my generation have experienced. From a young age, we were trained to look the same, move in the same direction, and avoid standing out. Perhaps that is why showing our individuality feels frightening, and why we hesitate to express ourselves fully.
In the beginning, I avoided writing about myself and posted only informational content. I didn’t want to expose too much, and writing about my personal life felt uncomfortable. But a blog demands consistency. To keep it alive, you must write something—anything—every day. It becomes a kind of discipline. Yet it is nearly impossible to produce new “information” daily. The blogs that last are usually the ones that document ordinary life, because our days are always changing. Daily life is endlessly renewable material.
Before I realized it, my blog shifted from being a repository of information to a journal of my life as an artist. And once that shift happened, my blog became my best friend.
This year, as I prepare for the difficult farewell with my mother, my blog has quietly supported me. It has held my sorrow, helped me sort through emotions that cannot be captured by simply saying “I am sad,” and given me a place to breathe. By writing a little every day, I found another form of comfort.
Today, I learned once again that writing itself can be a form of healing. Creating stories is, in many ways, a lifelong practice of creating a best friend—one that listens without judgment, stays beside you, and allows you to speak in your truest voice.