Gao Ying's blog

On an early fall afternoon, the warm sun rays enveloped the entire high school, caressing it tenderly and softly, akin to a young mother’s hand touching her newborn baby. The wind rustled through the trees, causing a few leaves to gracefully float and settle on the ground near the roots. In just thirty minutes, the first afternoon class would commence, and the school grounds were teeming with students. They chatted, shouted, laughed, chased one another, ran, and played.

A blue SUV parked in the lot between two white cars, and a man and a woman emerged from it. The man stood tall, around 185cm, while the woman was noticeably shorter, measuring less than 160cm. The man wore a white V-neck T-shirt under a light pink casual suit, paired with bell-bottom jeans and white high-top shoes. His hair was styled in bangs that gently framed his large, single-lidded eyes, which had a captivating deer-like quality when he focused his gaze on someone. The woman sported black-framed glasses, short hair, and fair skin. She was his stepmother and twelve years older than him.

Hand in hand, they strolled towards the teacher’s building, drawing the attention of many students who couldn’t help but glance their way. The girls, in particular, would steal glances at him and then exchange whispers and giggles. Whenever students greeted them, she would respond with a nod and a smile, while he would wave cheerfully in return.

He leaned towards her, gesturing with one hand, sharing something in a hushed tone. She tilted her head towards him, attentively listening. Balancing two books in her arms and a bag hanging from one shoulder, she walked alongside him, while he carried a brown and yellow bag, his wristwatch sparkling in the sunlight.

In the distance, the elderly headmaster, his hair partially grayed, approached them. “I’ll greet him in Korean,” she said. “What?” He paused, looking at her curiously. “Let me surprise our headmaster,” she replied mischievously, a playful smile forming at the corner of her mouth. “Don’t. You’ll startle him,” he cautioned in a hushed voice. “That’s precisely what I want to do. Scare him a bit,” she insisted.

They quickened their pace, hastening towards the headmaster. As they reached him, she bowed deeply, just as she had seen Koreans do on TV shows, and uttered, “A li ha sai yo.” The bewildered headmaster stared at the young couple for a moment and finally said, “What’s wrong with her? Is she okay?”

Straightening her posture, she burst into laughter, and he joined in, leaving the headmaster standing there, looking bewildered. They laughed heartily, bending over and clutching their stomachs. The headmaster chuckled and asked again, “What did you say just now?” “She greeted you,” the young man explained, trying to stifle his laughter, “In Korean.” “You know Korean?” the headmaster exclaimed. “Yes. She can speak four languages now: Korean, Japanese, English, and Chinese,” the man proudly stated. “You naughty girl!” The headmaster playfully patted her shoulder and laughed. “You were teasing me, weren’t you? Be more mature; you’re with your stepson, and you should set a good example for him.” “Sorry,” she managed to compose herself, suppressing her laughter. “I was just joking. I wanted to see you smile. You see, the students are afraid of you.” “I’m aware. Thank you! The class is about to start. Head to the office,” the headmaster instructed.

Watching the headmaster depart, he turned towards her and said, “You’re as mischievous as a little girl, even smaller than the students. Look at how they laugh when they see you.” He naturally patted her shoulder and held it gently.

“But that’s precisely why we like you,” he murmured. As he gazed at her proud and smiling face, a broad smile filled with admiration, praise, and tenderness spread across his sparkling eyes and cheeks.

In the center of town, on a bustling market fair day, people filled the streets, engaged in buying and selling. I navigated through the crowd, feeling shy and reluctant to greet acquaintances who would inquire about my job, love life, and family—questions I grew tired of answering. Subconsciously, my thoughts drifted to him, just as they did during our middle school days when I hoped and feared running into him at the market. Now, as a middle-aged woman, I didn’t expect such an encounter, considering he had gotten married while I seemingly remained single. My dreams hadn’t provided a clear answer.

One of the grocery shops in the middle of the street belonged to my uncle. Before stepping inside, I cast a final glance at the people behind me and spotted him amidst the crowd! To my surprise, he wore glasses—unnecessary for his good eyesight, as it was me who needed glasses. We stood out among the crowd. My heart raced as I entered the shop and engaged in conversation with my uncle, who appeared much older than I remembered. Unexpectedly, he entered the shop and sat across from me. Some old classmates had mentioned that he had betrayed his wife and was involved with a female colleague. I found it hard to believe since he had looked down on me in middle school when I shared my admiration for a handsome singer. He gave me the impression of someone uninterested in romantic affairs, always serious, speaking little, and seldom smiling. How could such a man engage in flirtation?

Nevertheless, he started talking to me as if we had seen each other every day, even though we hadn’t crossed paths in over twenty years! I couldn’t recall the exact details of our conversation, but the atmosphere felt harmonious and exhilarating. He smiled, and I mirrored his expression. Suddenly, a woman appeared, seemingly searching for something, but her gaze fixated on me. It was his wife, as he had shared her photo with me on WeChat. I pretended not to recognize her, fearing that she would suspect our contact. She didn’t appear as friendly as she did in the photo. He remained oblivious to her presence. I shifted the topic of our conversation to praise how beautiful and understanding his wife was, hoping it would please her.

Nervousness overwhelmed me, and I failed to hear what he said next. Suddenly, someone tapped my head, and when I turned, I saw his wife. I stood up and shook her hand, introducing myself and assuring her that I had no intention of stealing her husband, as I respected her. I mentioned that I was friends with her elder sister, which was true, as we had all been in the same middle school classroom. However, she seemed skeptical and spoke to me disdainfully. Worried that my uncle and aunt would notice something amiss, I hastily excused myself and left. My heart brimmed with sadness. He appeared so pitiable in front of his wife, and I felt sorry for him.

I arrived at the crossroad where my three uncles were waiting. On my mother’s side, I have a total of six uncles, with the second one having passed away last year. It was peculiar that my second uncle resembled the first, the third resembled the second, and so on, with each successive uncle resembling the previous one. With my uncles by my side, I felt safe and no longer concerned about his wife physically assaulting or insulting me. He followed me on a motorcycle and offered to give me a ride home. I was pleased by his boldness but declined the offer. Suddenly, his wife reappeared, as if she had discovered some evidence regarding me and her husband. However, under the protection of my uncles, she stared at me in anger but refrained from scolding or attacking me. He approached me closely, speaking tenderly, smiling at me, and looking at me passionately. His wife was beyond furious and seemed irrational.

I escaped with my fourth uncle and went to enjoy a bowl of cool rice noodles that his wife—my aunt—had handmade. I left the crossroad, leaving him and his wife behind. I didn’t feel happy or satisfied that the boy I had a crush on twenty years ago was finally showing affection towards me. Instead, I felt sadness, a sense of loss, and pity for him.

Then I woke up in my bed, realizing that my interactions with him were limited to just two conversations on WeChat. I had learned about his love affair with another woman last year, and I hadn’t seen him in nearly twenty years.

The elementary and middle school where I had worked for eight years appeared in my dream, featuring the same new buildings as in many of my other dreams. However, unlike reality, the background color in my dream was grayer, reminiscent of a black-and-white film.

As is often the case in my dreams about being a teacher, I felt a sense of regret for quitting teaching. My former colleagues appeared happy, and there were many new faces among the teaching staff. This time in my dream, after studying hard, I had been recruited by a government office. Interestingly, one of my colleagues, Lee, who had actually relocated to another city, received the same offer.

Lee and I made our way to the school, engaging in conversation along the road. We discussed a retired teacher who had a long-term girlfriend. According to Lee, the old teacher had sold all his houses and become poor because of his tendency to support underprivileged students. We assumed that most of his money was taken by his cunning girlfriend, whose lazy and greedy daughters and son disliked their father’s partner. The teacher’s son, who happened to be gay, had severed ties with his father, and the feeling was mutual. The conversation then shifted to a tragic incident involving two high school students, a boyfriend and girlfriend, who drowned in a large lake. The girl was beautiful and academically gifted. When their bodies were recovered, they were placed on either side of the private high school gate, which was half a mile away from my school, for one week as a means to extract compensation from the headmaster. Strangely, despite being a forgetful person, especially when it comes to names since having my son, the names of those two high school students remained clear in my memory. Even though I had never met or seen them, I had heard about them from others, and the incident had occurred thirteen years ago.

Upon entering the school, we noticed a newly added straw roof building adjacent to our old dormitory, its windows polished and gleaming. As we ascended to the upper levels, we passed by some new classrooms. Inside, we observed teachers conducting exams. Among them were two former colleagues who had taught the same grade as me—while I taught English, they taught Chinese and Mathematics. They were engrossed in their work and didn’t notice my presence. In another classroom, there were unfamiliar faces of new teachers, yet their appearances were vivid and distinct. When I woke up, I couldn’t fathom why I dreamt of these strangers with such clarity. I was certain that I hadn’t seen their faces in any television shows, movies, or pictures. One new teacher even laughed at himself, saying, “I don’t want to answer these trivial questions, but I’m already thirty-six. If I don’t work hard, I might lose this job, and I doubt I’ll find another one.” His words made me feel fortunate, knowing that I had already received an offer. I shared this with Lee, and she laughed as well. Then it dawned on us that we might be running late to sign our names for the new job. We hurriedly left the school.

Outside the school gate, we encountered a woman who used to run a small store selling toys and food for students. In my dream, she had moved to a small guardhouse where she was cooking a hotpot—a reflection of her exceptional culinary skills in real life. She sat beside the stove, knitting sweaters, hats, and shoes, displaying her talent in knitting. Lee asked if she felt hot in the small room with its cemented roof, to which she pointed at the electronic switch and informed us that the room was actually quite cool, so she had turned off the air-conditioner. In reality, the school had never been in stalled air-conditioners.

We left the lady, and at the entrance of the road leading to the gate, I noticed a man placing a doll on the smooth ground. It was the same doll I had seen yesterday afternoon when I took my son to the playground on the right corner of my house. A mother was holding it for her daughter.

Unfortunately, my dream did not reveal whether we were late for our new job or not because I woke up.

In olden days in China, when people were poor and couldn’t afford meat, they would substitute tofu instead. Tofu was a cost-free alternative since they didn’t need to spend money on growing beans and processing them into tofu. Scientists have since proven that tofu is rich in nutrients and even healthier than meat.

When I was young, my mom would always prepare a large dish of tofu on festival days or when we had guests visiting. It was a skill known by all the women in the village. Making tofu was considered an important event during significant ceremonies such as weddings, housewarmings, birthdays of the elderly, and funerals. Prior to the ceremonies, at the village meeting, the village leader would assign the task of making tofu to at least four women and two men, who, in the absence of tap water, would need to fill the water tanks.

The first step in making tofu is soaking the beans. Then, two or three people would grind the beans using a stone grinder made by the village craftsmen. The grinder consists of two round stones, one stationary and the other rotating around a wooden core. Each family owns two pairs of grinders, one for grinding dry powder and the other for liquid substances. During the grinding process, one person stands beside the grinder and pours water-mixed bean particles into the hole of the upper grinder, while two (or one) people hold and pull the wooden handle to rotate the upper grinder. The soybean milk is squeezed out of the grinders, flows along a wooden channel, and drips into a pan. Once the grinding is complete, the raw milk is poured into a large iron pan placed on a stove fueled by charcoal, dry tree branches, corn cobs, and bean tree wood.

When the milk reaches boiling point, the chefs strain it through gauze to remove the bean dregs, then return the pure milk to the pan and bring it to another boil. At this stage, the tofu-making expert adds melted brine to the milk until it solidifies. From what I’ve observed and heard from my mom and other women in the village—I myself have never made tofu—they usually add the brine to the milk three times. During the solidification process, the heat is kept low. If people prefer firm tofu, they can boil it for a longer time once the entire pot of tofu has solidified.

Once all the dishes are ready, tofu is always served last and placed in the center of the table, appearing white, vaporous, and delicately trembling. A special spicy sauce is prepared specifically for tofu. It involves heating rapeseed oil until it boils, then pouring it into a bowl of chili powder and adding soybean sauce, salt, chopped green onions, chopped coriander, and cordate houttuynia. When a piece of tofu is dipped into this spicy sauce and placed in the mouth, a tender, trembling, hot, and spicy combination of flavors instantly awakens the senses.

Apart from the plain tofu dish, there are variations such as stinky tofu, tofu with mildew, and tofu with blood. Additionally, Chinese cabbage leaves can be added to the unsolidified soybean milk to create “leaf tofu,” which offers a different taste and is lower in fat content.

Tofu is available in Asian and American supermarkets here, but it tastes different from the tofu in my hometown. Even within the same village, different people make tofu with distinct flavors. I am most familiar with my mom’s tofu, which has left a deep imprint on my taste memory. I believe that is what is often referred to as “mom’s taste,” and all the tofu I have consumed should embody the essence of “hometown taste.”

While tofu used to be an affordable and easily accessible food, for me, it feels distant and expensive to obtain now.

At 5 am, I woke up from my late sleep last night. My body felt heavy and my mind was spinning. Even if I got out of bed, I couldn’t concentrate on reading or writing, and I knew I would spend the entire day in a dazed and low mood. I closed my eyes, trying to continue the unfinished imaginings from before I fell asleep. It was a romantic story, and I was the protagonist. However, the yellow light from the street lamps and the cars passing by in front of my house disrupted my reverie. Nothing felt romantic or beautiful; instead, a sense of fear slowly enveloped me.

Where was I? What was I doing? What would I do? Where would I go? I had no answers. The bed, the house, the sounds—everything seemed unfamiliar to me. I forced myself to think about the romance in order to overcome the fear, but the fear and romance collided in my mind. In a daze, I drifted into a light sleep.

I found myself walking on the road next to my aunt’s house, which connected the primary school and middle school where I once studied. I spotted a few old teachers, but I felt too shy to greet them, so I turned away and pretended not to see them. An artist famous in my hometown was playing the flute nearby. I picked up the sticks on the table in front of him and tapped on a stainless plate, but I couldn’t catch the rhythm of the flute. Then, out of nowhere, the handsome man from my imaginary story walked beside me. He was dressed in a pristine white suit and jeans, and his bangs were cut and combed up, making him look more mature. On his shoulders sat a girl who was our daughter. We were on our way to visit my aunt. A boy I had a crush on during my teenage years stood at the edge of the road near the school gate, watching me, my handsome husband, and our daughter. I lifted my head and felt an overwhelming sense of satisfaction.

As more cars passed by, the noise grew louder. I had a sense that I was in a dream, but I couldn’t discern where I was lying, as the road where the cars were running resembled the one that connected the primary and middle schools. So, I must be in my hometown, in the remote town in China. But no, the crossroad to the left of our neighborhood flashed in my mind. I realized I wasn’t in China; I was in the US. I wasn’t in my youth; I was middle-aged.

Though my mind yearned for clarity, I didn’t want to let go of my dream and that sweet feeling. I struggled to return to the dream, to the past. However, my son called out to me, wanting to play games. I opened my eyes, and the dream and the feelings faded like a fleeting film, leaving me empty and lost. Just like every awakening dawn and sleepless midnight, as soon as the bright light filled the room and touched me, the fear receded, along with the sweetness.

On their way up the stairs, Kyung-soo suddenly grabbed Tae-sub’s hand and pulled him towards the corner of the staircase. Tae-sub’s left hand held onto the edge of the wall, his long, white, and clean fingers lightly touching the cement surface. They clicked, moved, and then lifted. The shot blurred and transitioned to three roses blooming in vibrant red and yellow hues.

Finally, Kyung-soo’s mother had accepted her son and his boyfriend Tae-sub. They were all gathered at Kyung-soo’s apartment, enjoying a meal together. When Mom got up to prepare soup, Kyung-soo playfully brushed his bare feet against Tae-sub’s, giving him a teasing smile. Tae-sub responded, “Don’t.” Mom turned around and asked, “What? What did you say?” Tae-sub stuttered, “K-Kyung-soo… Kyung-soo said something.” Mom turned to Kyung-soo and inquired, “What is it that you want?” Kyung-soo calmly replied, “Nothing. Let’s have some wine.” Tae-sub quickly interjected, “No, I don’t drink.” Kyung-soo fetched two glasses, walked back to the table, and winked at Tae-sub with one eye. Feeling shy and nervous, Tae-sub glanced at Mom’s back and then turned to Kyung-soo, giving him a playful “Don’t be naughty” expression.

 https://www.bilibili.com/video/av5499533?from=search&seid=8649104216555026641

These two scenes are the most memorable among all the images of the two lovers together. I can’t recall how many times I’ve watched them! Every time I see those scenes, my heart races; they are incredibly beautiful and romantic! https://www.bilibili.com/video/av1045833/?spm_id_from=333.788.videocard.5

I finished watching the show two days ago, and now I’m watching it for the second time. I’ve seen all the cut videos, interviews, bloopers, behind-the-scenes footage, and music videos about them. I adore these boys, and it’s hard to put into words the feeling I have right now. I’ve tried to distract myself by watching other romantic shows and the shows featuring these two actors, but none of them can evoke the same intense affection in me. https://www.bilibili.com/video/av1045768/?spm_id_from=333.788.videocard.9

Unlike traditional boy-girl romantic films and shows, I can immerse myself in the stories and imagine my own romance. The emotions I feel cannot be replaced by ordinary love stories. I am deeply moved by Kyung-soo and Tae-sub, especially Tae-sub, who possesses a rare combination of tenderness, sensitivity, shyness, sentimentality, and bravery! https://www.bilibili.com/video/av2471565/?spm_id_from=333.788.videocard.13

When I watch their music videos or listen to the background music, I feel like I’m immersed in a world surrounded by roses, filled with pure love, genuine people, sunshine, and a clear blue sky. It’s like walking alone on a beach during sunset, sitting under a maple tree on a warm autumn day, standing atop a mountain admiring the breathtaking views, or snuggling in a warm bed on a snowy winter morning. https://www.bilibili.com/video/av12725167/?spm_id_from=333.788.videocard.12

Because of this romantic story, I have started learning the Korean language and have made an effort to understand musicals, as Song Chang-eui, the actor who plays Tae-sub, is known for his work in musical dramas. I have also been researching topics related to homosexuality, bisexuality, heterosexuality, gay culture, lesbian culture, BL (Boys’ Love), GL (Girls’ Love), and girls who enjoy BL content.

The more I delve into the background of this story, the more captivated I become by the show. However, this fascination also leaves me feeling lonely, as there is no one with whom I can share my feelings, and it becomes challenging to accurately express my emotions and mood to others.

Doctor Tae-sub is portrayed as sensitive, shy, quiet, and delicate, while photographer and college teacher Kyung-soo is depicted as simple, outgoing, considerate, and passionate.

Kyung-soo is tall and muscular, while Tae-sub is shorter and slimmer. They fall in love at first sight on an airplane and have to secretly date to conceal their gay identity. The show doesn’t include kissing or love-making scenes; the closest physical contact shown is hugging. As it is a Korean show and marks the first time such a storyline is presented on television to a traditional Korean audience, it has already caused a significant impact.

The couple rides bikes together on countryside roads, occasionally quarreling but quickly reconciling. They wear matching rings, take wedding photos, chase each other on the beach, and even pretend to be drunk to openly express their affection for one another. Moments like Tae-sub hugging Kyung-soo from behind, Kyung-soo grabbing Tae-sub’s hand and pulling him into a corner of the stairs, with Tae-sub’s hand gently touching the wall, and Kyung-soo playfully referring to Tae-sub as his wife and princess while teasing him about a deep, passionate kiss, have a powerful impact on the audience, rivaling that of any conventional romantic and passionate show.

Actors Song Chang-eui (Tae-sub) and Lee Sang-woo (Kyung-soo) have done an exceptional job portraying their characters. Their performances have elevated the romance to a level that is not only beautiful, but also pure, warm, and, in my opinion, surpasses any BL films I have seen before. This is love—true love!

I disrupted my sleeping schedule and stayed up until 3:00 am just to witness the ending. I scoured through all the MV cuts, immersed myself in the related songs, and delved into the actors’ interviews as well as their other shows and movies. I couldn’t detach myself from the story; it had me completely captivated.

I hope there are others who also adore this show and are willing to share their sentiments and viewpoints with me!

As I mentioned in my previous blog post, my admiration for Lee Soon Yoon has not diminished since I started watching his other show, “Life Is Beautiful,” which has received a high rating of 9.1 on the popular website Douban.

“Life Is Beautiful” consists of sixty-three episodes, with each episode lasting 60 minutes. Some Douban users commented that the high score is mainly due to the “gay topic.” Before I began watching it, I didn’t expect the show to be peaceful, slow-paced, and visually stunning. Most of the “gay” films and TV shows I’ve seen tend to depict love in an abnormal way. However, “Life Is Beautiful” presented a completely different perspective on love between two men. It is just as beautiful, passionate, and romantic as love between a man and a woman. This is true love itself, which is not influenced by wealth, appearance, nationality, gender, or any other factors.

Curious to learn more about the show, I researched and discovered that the screenwriter behind it is Kim Soon-hyun, whom I greatly admire and respect! After evaluating my watching list, I concluded that the three best TV shows are “Empresses in the Palace” from China, “Friends” from the USA, and “Men of the Bath House” from South Korea. The latter, which is written by Kim Soon-hyun, has made a lasting impression on me!

“Men of the Bath House” is a 1996 show that was dubbed in Chinese and spans 87 episodes. I have lost count of how many times I have watched it—whether I was feeling sad, doing housework, relaxing, or feeling lonely. Sometimes, I even let the show play in the background like soothing music. Kim Soon-hyun possesses exceptional skills in crafting compelling plots, depicting complex characters, and exploring social and familial contradictions. Her talent for employing vivid metaphors shines through the show. For example, Grandpa’s snoring was likened to wind rustling through the forests, marrying a man of few words was likened to driving through a dark tunnel, and the second girl wearing white on a blind date was likened to a stewardess. Each character in the show has their flaws yet remains lovable, and every subplot unfolds in a logical and natural manner.

Kim Soon-hyun, despite her petite stature, is a force to be reckoned with. She took legal action against the top television company in South Korea for stealing her ideas, and she emerged victorious! As a playwright, she not only writes the story but also selects the directors and establishes her own group of actors. Perhaps that’s why her shows are so impeccable—the writer herself is the soul of a show!

In “Men of the Bath House,” the writer dared to criticize government leaders and advocated for the reunification of North and South Korea. At the age of 67 (Kim Soon-hyun was born on January 27, 1943), she fearlessly presented a homosexual romantic story in a traditional Asian country like South Korea. She is both brave and open-minded! It is a fortunate thing to have her support for every pursuit of true love, and her work commands the respect of everyone!

I wish I could understand Korean and read her works in their original language. I sincerely hope that this exceptional writer continues to create remarkable works of art!

My hobby of creating stories began in fourth grade of elementary school when I was nine years old. It all started when the first television set appeared in our remote and small village. They would broadcast “The Legend of The White Snake” on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, airing two episodes each day. As I watched, I would imagine myself as a mighty martial artist who defeated the Monk Fahai and set the White Snake free from Leifeng Pagoda. Whether it was before falling asleep at night, walking along the roads during the day, or while doing housework, I would immerse myself in the novels I had just read or the TV shows and films I had watched. Sometimes, even a single picture could ignite my imagination, and most of my fantasies revolved around romantic stories.

Last September, I finally made the decision to become a writer and editor. I crafted a plan and dedicated myself to studying diligently every day after work. However, perhaps due to the changing weather and the melting snow, or maybe because I was pushing myself too hard, my body resisted my desire to focus on books. So, I decided to take a break and searched for shows and films to help me relax. That’s when I stumbled upon Lee Sang Yoon’s performance in “On the Way to the Airport,” after trying out several new shows from different countries. Initially, it was the visuals, the music, and the story that captured my attention. But the more I watched, the more I found myself completely falling in love with Lee Sang Yoon, the male lead.

Lee Sang Yoon may not fit the conventional standards of a handsome man. He doesn’t have double eyelids or fair skin, and he isn’t the type of guy who immediately captivates audiences with his looks. However, when he smiles and his dimples deepen on his cheeks, when he gazes at someone with his passionate eyes, when his long-fingered hand, marked with crescent-shaped nails, holds cups or books, when he speaks softly and gently, or when he walks briskly and confidently, he becomes incredibly handsome and charming. He exudes warmth, kindness, modesty, and friendliness.

After the conclusion of the show “On the Way to the Airport,” I found myself unable to move on from Lee Sang Yoon. So, I decided to watch two more of his shows, namely “Whisper” and “My Daughter Seo-young.” Being an avid TV show and film enthusiast, I can confidently say that Lee Sang Yoon is an exceptional actor. His performances distinguish him in various roles, transcending his physical appearance. Whether portraying a tender father, a stern judge, or a passionate husband, his acting skills truly shine.

I have read about Lee Sang Yoon and watched his interviews, and I couldn’t find any scandals associated with him. He was born in Seoul, South Korea, in 1981, just one year older than me. It’s remarkable that despite pursuing an acting career, he managed to complete his bachelor’s degree in Physics from Seoul National University over a span of 13 years. It’s fascinating that he was a physics major and an actor at the same time.

Thanks to Lee Sang Yoon and his shows, I was able to take a much-needed rest and relax. Now, I believe it’s time for me to refocus on my studies and writing. Although I may not be able to meet my deadlines and might have to delay them by two weeks or more, I feel rejuvenated and ready to concentrate on my studies again. This is crucial. Just like Lee Sang Yoon, there’s no need to rush or stress; it’s important to be patient and take things slowly, both in our careers and in life.

New idols will eventually replace Lee Sang Yoon, but he has certainly had an impact on me during these days. If given the chance, I would express my heartfelt gratitude to him in person.

My first exposure to English was in Grade Seven when I was thirteen years old. I tried to memorize each word by associating its sound with similar Chinese pronunciations. I came across an article mentioning that some English learners studying Chinese used the phrase “shall buy two” to remember the Chinese characters for “小白兔” (the little white rabbit). Unfortunately, my school didn’t have enough resources to provide recorders, and the pronunciation we learned from our teacher was influenced by a strong southwestern Chinese dialect accent. I was the only one who accurately spelled out all the terms in the first lesson, which earned me praise from both my teacher and classmates. From that moment on, I fell in love with this foreign language and consistently achieved the highest scores in my class. After completing middle school, I enrolled in a Normal School for Special Education, where English was not a compulsory subject. The curriculum mainly focused on courses related to educating children with hearing loss, visual impairment, or intellectual disabilities. Upon graduating from the Normal School, I became a teacher who taught math, art, physical education, and music classes at an elementary school.

It wasn’t until seven years later that I had the opportunity to revisit English. I enrolled in college and chose English as my major. In our first class, my fifty-three classmates and I were surprised by three revelations:

1. Our teacher’s self-introduction in English was eloquent, but we couldn’t understand what he was saying until he translated it into Chinese.
2. Our teacher was reading an English book imported from the USA, which was thick yet lightweight and had a dollar price tag on the back cover.
3. Our English proficiency was lacking in listening and speaking skills, despite our ability to read and write.

In 2014, I relocated to the USA. Similar to my experience in the first college class, I realized that my English was a mixture of “Chinglish,” where I struggled to understand slang, idioms, and comprehend government documents, product descriptions, and slogans. I lost confidence and became afraid to speak or write in English for some time. Following my husband’s suggestion, I joined a writing club. The club members were kind and friendly, and they encouraged me to share one of my English short stories. They pointed out numerous mistakes in my writing, but they also told me it was a good story and encouraged me to continue writing. That same year, I participated in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) and completed my first manuscript for an English novel. It felt like winning the lottery. To this day, I have completed four drafts of English novels and am currently contemplating two more.

Writing English novels is a different experience compared to writing Chinese ones. I have published my first two Chinese novels on Chinese websites, although they only attracted a few readers. Once I signed the contracts, I had to increase the word count to meet the website’s requirements (the longer, the better) and update with at least 3000 characters daily. The focus was on speed and quantity rather than quality, and it was often referred to as “fast food literature.” I struggled to keep up with the website’s demands while trying not to lose my passion for writing. Eventually, I stopped submitting my novels to literature websites and instead posted them on my own Chinese blogs at http://blog.sina.com.cn/u/5280998549. I do have a few dedicated readers there! In comparison, writers here polish their manuscripts multiple times before publishing them. I truly appreciate and admire this kind of attitude.

Based on all of these experiences, I have concluded four factors about writing in English as a non-native speaker:

1. Persistence: I learned that many people set goals and start writing, but only a small percentage actually finish their drafts. To combat this, I always made outlines before starting to write and set a specific timeframe to complete the manuscript. Instead of going back to read or correct what I had written, I kept pushing forward until it was done. Becoming part of the 10% who finish their drafts is challenging, but I encouraged myself to aim for even more, like expanding from 10% to 11% or beyond. This approach sounds easier and more motivating.
2. Avoid comparing yourself to other writers and instead listen to your heart and follow your own routine. Comparisons often lead to frustration. When I was writing and sharing my first Chinese novel, I would research famous online writers. The more I learned about them, the more I would underestimate myself and fear continuing with my own writing. Whether we are beginners or experienced writers, it’s important to stick to our own goals and approach writing with confidence, just like a one-day-old puppy not fearing tigers.
3. Ignore external factors and let internal passion drive you forward. Initially, when I published my novels, I cared a lot about attracting readers, getting “likes,” earning money, and becoming famous. I even daydreamed about being interviewed on popular TV programs. However, as reality set in and my imagined outcomes seemed distant, I began to doubt if writing was the right path for me. I took a break from writing. But eventually, I realized that my love for storytelling couldn’t be suppressed. I picked up my pen again and blocked out all external voices. Successful people understand that “fishing is more important than fish.” They don’t focus on external conditions, but rather on their internal passion. In the end, the rewards come to those who remain dedicated to their craft.
4. Anytime and anywhere I have ideas, I make sure to write them down. Small ideas have the potential to grow into significant ones and become part of my written works. I also allow myself to watch TV shows or films to draw inspiration from them. However, it’s important to set reasonable time limits and practice self-control for these hobbies, as they can easily influence our careers and distract us from our writing.
5. Reading and studying are crucial for improving our writing skills and maintaining a passion for storytelling. As a non-native English writer, I have found inspiration from authors such as Khaled Hosseini, the author of “The Kite Runner,” and Min Jin Lee, the author of “Pachinko.” I have also learned a great deal from reading books like “Gone with the Wind,” “The Best American Essays,” and “The Cambridge Grammar of the English Language.” If writing is like building a house, then reading and studying help us choose better materials and design better floor plans.

Writing is a challenging career, especially when writing in a second language. Fortunately, I have found myself on the right path, and I thoroughly enjoy walking this road. Every day, as I make progress, I feel happy and fulfilled. Meeting like-minded friends would be an added bonus to my life.

Let’s continue to live, keep moving forward, and keep writing!