At some point, I developed a peculiar habit: walking among crowds or gazing at people from behind as they sit, weighing the burdens of their lives—their anguish and pain, their joy and sorrow, sometimes even the heaviness of existence itself. I do not know exactly when this began, but I discovered that a person’s back view is in fact a portrait of how they live today.

One day, my husband returned from the barber’s in unusually high spirits. “Did something good happen?” I asked. Looking cleaner than ever, he smiled shyly. “Well, while cutting my hair, the barber suddenly stopped, looked at me in the mirror, and just stared…”

“And then?” I pressed, excited by the flush rising in his face. “He was an older man. He looked at me intently and said, ‘Sir, you seem like someone who does good work… am I right?’ So I told him my profession.”

“And what did he say?” “He explained that after decades of cutting hair, he had become an expert at viewing people’s heads from behind. He claimed he could tell when someone was doing good for society just by touching their head. And he said he could also recognize those who lived dishonorably or did harmful things—their heads revealed it as he cut their hair.”

I agreed with the barber’s words, and naturally my mood lifted. It reminded me of a similar story told by someone who had long worked at a family counseling center.

This counselor had spent many years in New York helping immigrant families. He once said that when abusive husbands came to the center—men who beat their wives or threatened the staff to hand their wives over—their departing backs always looked pitiful and miserable.

“And the amazing thing,” he added, “is that all those husbands walked away in exactly the same manner!” I could not help but burst out laughing.

For human beings, the back view is truly another face that cannot be hidden. The front face can be disguised with makeup or manners. Even when one does not wish to smile, one can force a smile to suit the occasion. Polished words and cultivated behavior can conceal the inner self. But the fleeting glimpse of a person’s back view often speaks the most honest language of life.

Now, as winter deepens, the streets are filled with Christmas trees and carols. People buy gifts, neighbors light their decorations one by one. Amid this bustle, I pray for the leisure to look upon the backs of those I love.

What burdens of pain, longing, or sorrow rest like dust upon their shoulders in this season of joy and gratitude? Are they weary from vanity or conflict?

And I ask myself: upon my own back, do fatigue, haste, or fragments of despair cling, making my back view shabby? Again and again, I turn to reflect upon my own image.