When I read books, I am often impressed by how writers skillfully reinterpret and express the "obvious" aspects of everyday life. In the process, I too found myself reexamining this single-character Korean word, composed of many components.

삶 (pronounced 'salm', meaning 'living')

ㅅ - I see a mountain. The thrill of reaching the summit may envelop you, but soon enough, a downhill path emerges. Even in the swamps of a deep valley, when despair takes hold, the road to an even higher peak unfolds before your eyes once more. Moments of joy fade, just as even the deepest swamps eventually pass. Like easy money vanishing overnight, swept away like grains of sand in the wind. Perhaps the key to living more easily lies in learning to embrace the journey of ascents and descents.

ㅏ - I see 人 (saram-in, the Chinese character for 'person'). What is the meaning of my success if I am the only one thriving, with no one to sincerely share in my joys or sorrows? I live this life to bloom my own flower. As Steve Jobs famously said, I want to live my life like the story of a movie where I am the main character not someone else's life, but how great can that movie truly be if there is no harmony between me and the supporting characters?

ㄹ - Life is winding and crooked. A straight line simply doesn’t exist in real life as it does in mathematics. No matter how desperately I want something, it might feel as though my dream keeps drifting further and further away. Or my life might feel frustrating, like I’m endlessly going in circles. But perhaps that’s just the nature of life.

ㅁ - It can be a mouth. One of the most frequently mentioned message in the Bible revolves around the importance of what comes out of it. There’s also a Korean saying, “Words become seeds.” Words can breathe fire or sprinkle rain on someone’s soul. They can create hatred or make someone dance. They can shred a heart to pieces or secretly drag a virtuous person into the depths of greed and arrogance. Perhaps God gave us this mechanism to make us prone to mistakes, so we might suffer and learn something meaningful from it.

The emotions and imagery I felt while reading Tolstoy’s The Death of Ivan Ilyich come to mind. Step by step, he climbs the mountain of success, building a seemingly prosperous life, only to suddenly crumble on the steep downhill, transforming into a miserable man and causing harm to those around him. Yet, just before the end of his journey, he comes to understand the true meaning of life, shaped by its ups and downs.

The word 삶, originally derived from the verb 살다 (to live), now appears to me in this moment as 사람 (person). A word that embodies the way "a person" lives. "Man, how philosophical is this?" I smiled.