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Life under a steel rainbow

Published: 04 Mar. 2025, 00:01

Hwang JuLie

The author is a painter.

One day, we must all leave this world without regret. It may not happen when we expect it, but no one is exempt. Whenever I reflect on this inevitability, I think of a doctor I once knew — a compassionate humanist who devoted himself to alleviating the suffering of the vulnerable. He was an unpretentious and candid man, his voice reverberating through the air whenever he sang traditional Korean ballads.

Many years ago, nearly two decades now, I traveled with him, his wife, and a young priest to trek the Annapurna range. For six hours each day, we climbed the mountains, and as the sun set, we found shelter in remote lodgings. The local food did not suit our taste, so we often requested a simple dish — boiled chicken with garlic. It became our staple meal. The doctor and the priest enjoyed drinking, and though just a single glass would flush my face red, I, too, joined them. Over rounds of drinks, the doctor would often say with a smile, “If you ever fall gravely ill, or if your mother is in pain, I will make sure neither of you suffer.” His words, strangely comforting, stayed with me. The priest, however, found them unsettling and remained silent, sipping his drink.

[HWANG JULIE]

Not long after, I heard the doctor had set off on the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage. And then, not long after that, I received news of his passing. It has been nearly 10 years now. Time has vanished like a fleeting illusion, and those of us left behind have aged. When I heard of his death, I felt as if I had lost a steadfast ally in life.

Lately, I have been watching films about euthanasia, and my thoughts return to that doctor. My mother, who has endured chronic pain for more than thirty years since undergoing cervical disc surgery, receives pain patches from the hospital once a month. At ninety-five, another surgery is out of the question. For a time, strict regulations limited the patches she could receive, leaving her in agony. In those difficult moments, what brought her relief were patches from a friend — leftover medication from her father, who had passed away after battling cancer. Miraculously, the patches retained their efficacy even after years in storage. Now, with restrictions eased, my mother manages her pain with remarkable resilience. Seeing her clarity of mind despite the suffering, I can only hope I have inherited that same fortitude.

But pain is not just physical. We all endure our own afflictions. The world itself is a mass of suffering. I think of the young North Korean soldiers dying in Ukraine. The words of poet Yi Yuk-sa (1904-1944) come to mind — a man who, at twenty-one, joined the independence movement and, just a year before liberation, perished at age forty in a Beijing prison. In the depths of life’s agony, in “The Vertex,” he wrote: “Winter must be a rainbow made of steel.” Is there any expression of despair and hope more profound?

On television, I watch young North Korean prisoners of war, subjected to grueling training for years, now longing for the mothers who do not even know they have been sent to battle. Even in the depths of suffering, spring arrives. But just because spring comes does not mean winter has left.

I often walk the streets, lost in thought, listening to music through my earphones. Recently, I switched to bone-conduction headphones — said to be safer in the long-term for hearing. Ordered at 11 p.m., they arrived at my doorstep by the next morning. If this isn’t paradise, then what is?

Whenever I see loved ones — young friends with incurable illnesses, elderly relatives — suffer through their final moments in hospitals, I wonder: Perhaps heaven is simply a place where one can die without pain. Maybe that future is not far off. We are all mere travelers passing through this brief life, wandering the world while our phones ring like intrusive gunfire in this chaotic era. And yet, compared to the agony of a poet 80 years ago, the turbulence of our time may simply be another storm that will pass.

Today, once again, we divide ourselves into factions, loving some and hating others. The philosopher Schopenhauer once said, “We hate others to protect ourselves.” Perhaps all that hatred is nothing more than an illusion. As spring approaches, the poet’s steel rainbow lingers in my mind, refusing to fade away.

Translated using generative AI and edited by Korea JoongAng Daily staff.