New 35mm film drop

30

On the last day of my 20s, I picked up my camera and took some self-portraits.

I picked up my camera again a year after. July 14, 2025.
On the day I turned 31.

31

I know what you're thinking - and yes, I look older. 🫢🤪
Life's been tough. My health's taken a hit, but I know I'll bounce back soon. (and I am older!)

Last summer, I was so full of energy. Of life, excitement, expectations, drive, dreams. Big dreams, splashy ambitions, a myriad of hobbies.

Looking at this girl from last year, so much stirs up in me.
I feel so much compassion for what she'll go through, very soon.
At the same time, I miss her so much.

Shoes

While clearing out the apartment, I threw away most of his things, including this pair of boots. Before tossing them into the bin, I took pictures to keep them in my memory forever.

Dad loved this painting by Van Gogh. 'Loved' is probably not the right word. He used to say — with a bit of alcohol in his system — that his life was this painting. 저 그림이 내 인생이라고.

I'm left guessing, what did he mean by that? How did he see himself in these worn-out boots?

I see his humbleness, modesty, unpretentiousness. How he spent his entire life caring and providing for others, never putting himself first. Or rather, never having had the chance to do so.

He wasn't particularly stylish or á la mode — it didn't matter to him. There was a time I wished he'd dressed better, maybe styled his hair. I wish I could tell him how sorry I am for feeling that way when I was younger, that now I couldn't care less. That I admire his simplicity and authenticity above all else. I've matured enough to look beyond the superficial, to see the beauty that Van Gogh saw in those worn-out boots.

I wish I had asked him what he saw in those boots.

Home

Home was a place I'd go back to every year.
An apartment in Seoul, then Incheon.
Home was the temporary apartment Dad was renting, until -

Home was supposed to be the villa, to be built by around this time this year,
in the small, secluded patch of land Dad bought a few years back.
Backed by the mountains, embraced by farmland.
With dreams he'd held for so long, dreams that were so dear to me too.

Home was supposed to be that place I'd return to perhaps once a year,
where a dog and a cat and maybe a donkey would greet me,
with silken tofu stew bubbling on the stove — his way of saying: welcome home.

Home was where Dad was.

Home is where my heart is.
Home was where Dad was because that's where my heart was.
The place I knew I could always return to. Retreat into. For what I thought would be .. always.

Home is where my heart is, because it's where I come back to after a long day. It's where I find the deepest hurts and pain, but also the deepest comfort and solace. My deepest love and passion, as well as longing and yearning. It's where Dad is.

I spent a long time looking for and missing home. And I found it right here, in me.

I will cherish it. Fix what's broken, clean the dusty corners, let go of what no longer belongs. Give it the love and care it deserves. I will become my dream, and will live it.