(Letter from the Parsonage: The People Who Remained in the City, Seventh Story)

© Yoon WanHee, 1989

Among our characteristics, there is a tendency to start things in a hurry and to finish them hastily. There are some amusing stories that illustrate this well.

In France, there is said to be a very famous restaurant where you cannot get in without a reservation. However, Koreans are always welcome. The reason? Koreans finish their meals quickly and leave even before dessert is served. Foreigners, on the other hand, usually spend two to three hours dining. Since we focus more on relieving hunger than on enjoying food, even eating becomes something rushed.

In Southeast Asia, after Korean tourists began to arrive, the first Korean word the locals learned was reportedly “ppalli-ppalli” (quickly, quickly). If hotel staff moved slowly or orders were delayed, Koreans would thunder angrily, so now hotels themselves mutter “ppalli-ppalli” in advance whenever Koreans show up.

Unlike Westerners who regard dining as the highlight of the day—dressing up and putting on makeup before heading out—we often rush into restaurants saying, “Just give me anything that comes out quickly!” and pressure the waitstaff as soon as we sit down. This impatience is not simply a matter of cultural difference.

Our tendency to focus on results rather than process also shows in immigrant life. One Korean couple worked day and night at two jobs all week long, because their wish was to save money quickly to start their own business. They even postponed having children in order to save capital. They finally succeeded, but once they had their own business, they kept working day and night just as before—because they now had to pay back borrowed money quickly.

Years later, after repaying all their debts and buying a house, one might have expected them to live happily. But the result was tragedy: the couple divorced. Though they achieved financial goals, they had neglected affection and love in their marriage. The wife, broken in health from overwork and stress, now spends what should have been her peaceful later years in physical suffering.

No matter how urgent, we cannot ignore a stop sign on the road. Even if rushing through once or twice leads to no accident, eventually there will be a crash, or we will be stopped by the police.

Why are there rests in music? Because they create rhythm and beauty. A singer who does not keep rests will run out of breath before finishing the song.

If you lose your way in the forest, you can retrace your steps and start again. But in life, we cannot go back. By rushing “quickly-quickly” through the past, did we not perhaps lose treasures of life we should have cherished in those moments? For each person, life’s treasures may differ: for a scholar, books and ideas; for a businessperson, their enterprise; for an artist, the heights of art. Yet none of these surpass the value of a human being. True life is only lived where human worth is honored, where love is received and given.

No matter how much we want to achieve quickly, if people are harmed, the purpose is lost. Heaven may be wonderful, but who wants to get there quickly? If anyone does, it is likely because they are caught in a heretical obsession.

There is a story of a soldier who, after winning a war, rode a long distance and became desperately thirsty. He gulped down water too fast and choked to death. But wise people, no matter how thirsty, first float a few leaves on the bowl and blow gently before drinking, to slow themselves. How often do we suffer because of things we rushed through without care?

Even if we are not like the evergreen pine tree, the brief life of a small flower still has equal value. In the dark night, not only the full moon but even a small firefly shines with its own light. Even if I am not a wave crossing the Atlantic, as a single grain of sand I still hold meaning. Wherever, whatever, however—we must remember no moment of life is without value.

Yet for some reason, we seem afraid to rest. People think that having their own business will bring peace of mind. But even on a quiet Saturday in Manhattan, one feels uneasy unless sweeping the ground with a broom. Is it work addiction, or the impatience of urgent desires? Work, business, duties, house, degree, meals, travel, children’s education—all will be accomplished in time. Life’s pages will be filled, not by hurrying alone, but by walking together with others.

For years I lived frantically, trying to accomplish everything “quickly-quickly.” My children, when I met them briefly in the evenings, would ask for things they needed and quietly long for my attention and love. But my 24-hour schedules only left me stressed, irritable, and even thinking foolish thoughts like: “How easy life must be for those without children! Why did I have three, instead of just one?” When my in-laws called, I would respond impatiently, “Yes, yes,” unable to spare a moment.

Looking back, I was like a flower withering in a dry pot. Warmth, kindness, love between parent and child—all vanished. Selfishness and self-protection towered higher and higher. Joys I should have sought were buried under piles of forgetfulness.

Yet, children do not need expensive toys. Even a paper airplane made from a newspaper, flown together with their parents, gives them wings of joy. We do not need Chanel No. 5; the fragrance of a human soul carries a strange and noble power.

What weighs more—rest in a small apartment, or rest in a million-dollar house? Neither can truly be measured, for rest cannot be valued by wealth.

So let us not forget: however urgent life may feel, instead of demanding “Just give me anything quickly!” we must sometimes ask, “What is today’s special?”—and savor the moment.

No matter how busy, if my own heart is missing, then “quickly-quickly” will surely leave me empty-handed.