The Feed

We question faith when life feels difficult, yet offer it easily to others. This blog explores why doubt comes naturally, why belief feels risky, and how faith only works when paired with responsibility. It’s a reflection on the balance between hope, accountability, and the way our internal contradictions eventually settle into clarity.

Sometimes a book doesn’t just entertain you — it meets you. Dance Dance Dance did exactly that. It touched the quiet places of numbness, curiosity, and emotion I didn’t realize I’d been avoiding. Murakami’s wandering flow felt like listening to a friend unravel their life, and each subtle twist pulled me deeper. This is a story that wakes you up softly — the kind that makes you feel again, without ever asking you to.

Bullying in South Korea has never been just a “school problem.” Forty-five students were recently denied admission to top universities due to documented school violence, turning hallways into national headlines. For some, it’s overdue accountability; for others, it’s punishment arriving long after the harm was done. In a country where hierarchy and silence shape childhood and work life alike, the question grows louder: What kind of future is built on unhealed pasts?

RM’s journey didn’t begin in museums, but in poems scribbled on a classroom forum. Today, his love for Korean art and literature sits in policy rooms, museum halls, and global conversations. From collecting Yun Hyong-keun’s paintings to urging APEC leaders to fund culture, he proves that art isn’t a hobby—it’s heritage, diplomacy, and a way of thinking.

Paris greeted me not with the Eiffel Tower, but with crowded metros and chaotic streets. I felt out of place in my oversized tee among the effortless elegance around me. Yet, in between the rush, you softened me with croissants, whispered grandeur at Petit Palais, and overwhelmed me with Galerie Dior’s magic. Lost, tired, laughing near the Eiffel Tower, I realized Paris was never simple — messy yet magnificent, demanding yet unforgettable.

Milan didn’t welcome me with ease — it poured rain on my arrival, froze me in summer clothes, and left me dragging suitcases through unfamiliar streets. The first week was chaos: missed buses, no lunch, endless lectures, and a city that felt out of reach. Yet in the bitterness, I found sweetness: sunsets on our balcony, laughter with flatmates, and skies I’ll never forget. Milan was my black coffee — harsh at first, but made better by the company I shared it with.

Gen Z grew up sharing — tips, tools, hacks, even job boards. But older generations often treated knowledge like currency, holding it close. This post explores the quiet cultural shift from gatekeeping to openness — and why sharing might be Gen Z’s most powerful legacy.

There’s a kind of love that doesn’t grip or hover. It just stays — softly, quietly — like a pinky-hold in a crowded street. Not loud like a hug, not dramatic, but steady. This piece reflects on the beauty of gentle presence — love that doesn’t cling, but still lingers. It exists in siblings, parents, partners, friends — in the small ways they say “I’m here” without words. A soft kind of holding on, in a world that often forgets how.

What if books had age limits? Not the kind that guard doors and say, “You’re not old enough to read this.” But the kind that leave the door slightly open and whisper,“ Come back when you’ve lived a little more. I’ll still be here.”

MET 2025 Looks that spoke the most of culture, for me.

Milan moves slower than I’m used to — people walk like time is theirs. I’m still adjusting: learning public transport, surviving on vending machine espresso, and watching the sun set way past 8:30 p.m. The sky is clearer, the coffee is better, and strangers are kind without speaking a word I understand. I haven’t explored everything yet, but I’m here — and I’m hoping the city treats me good.

Some books come into your life like people — quietly, unexpectedly, and with the power to leave behind a little warmth or a lasting ache....

“There are days when I want to disappear. But still, I continue to live.” – Anonymous Japanese saying. We live in a world where being...

Moving to a new country isn’t just about homesickness or thrill — it’s about the quiet, unspoken feeling of not quite fitting in. Of walking streets that don’t know your name, of smiling through confusion, of waiting for your soul to catch up. This city doesn’t know me yet. And some days, I don’t fully know myself either. But maybe that’s okay. Maybe becoming is supposed to feel like this — unfamiliar, slow, a little bittersweet.

Just an internal monologue i had on ice...

Luxury has always been a reflection of its time. Today? It’s fleeting, emotional, and, above all, experiential.

These days, with studies and moving to a new city, thoughts keep floating in my mind regarding why Gen Z always seems tired . Not merely...

Bora Chung's Your Utopia  is an intriguing exploration of the human experience, revealing the darker sides of life in a way that feels...

Sometimes, adapting to others and hiding parts of ourselves comes at a steep personal cost, leading to a life of confusion and self-doubt.

Why do I not know "me" without my name?