Finding Peace in the Land of the Morning Calm
Seoul, Republic of Korea
2025, Junior, Creative Writing
The night of my last day of second grade, I floated into my dreams expecting a nice, easy day to follow. But before I knew it, I was shaken awake, the bright bedroom lights piercing my still-sleepy eyes. I heard my dad’s voice unexpectedly as he walked out of the room,
“Get up, we’re going on a hike today.”
As we hiked up Mt. Seorak, I felt like each step on the steep trail was a battle against the bright light of the sun that tried to push me back down. I looked up and saw the trail winding endlessly ahead. It felt like the hike would never end, like I would be desperately chasing after my dad, trying to keep up with him forever. As if my dad could hear my thoughts, he suddenly said,
“You know, I haven’t always loved hiking either.”
I waited for him to continue, a moment of silence passing between us as our feet crunched the dead leaves and twigs of the path.
“My dad used to drag me up this same mountain before sunrise when I was your age.”
My dad paused for a moment so I could catch up to him, then slowed down so that we walked side by side.
“Sometimes my fingers would go numb in the cold, and I’d complain to your grandfather the whole way up. But my father was strict, and my complaining didn’t mean much to him.”
As we walked side by side, my dad told me that slowly, he began to feel an unfamiliar sensation as he made his way towards the peak. The mountain opened up, and he felt as if time had stopped. The chaos of his life – the pressure, stress, and nagging- melted away. He had never felt that way before and realized the unfamiliar feeling was peace. He said,
“No matter what you’re going through, the mountains will always be here for you.”
As we kept moving toward the summit, my dad told me my grandfather’s story. He had grown up during the hardest time in Korea’s history – the Japanese occupation. After the war, he visited the mountain and saw that the land he knew and loved was stripped and scarred. He felt a sense of loss that he couldn’t quite put into words. Trees that had stood for hundreds of years and animals that had once made their homes were gone. But then he realized that despite all of the destruction, the mountains still stood.
For my grandfather, this mountain wasn’t just a place to hike. It was part of his identity. Every day, he woke up at six in the morning to do the traditional Seonsan ritual (선산) to honor our ancestors’ burial site. Even as the years passed, after cities grew and traditions faded, he would return to the mountain every year to rake the leaves off the graves and clear the bushes. Taking care of the mountain was his way of showing his respect to both our family and the natural world.
However, in recent years, forest fires have swept through Korean mountains with frightening speed. Summers are hotter. Rainfall is less predictable. Sometimes I wonder about the trails I walked as a child, my dad’s peaceful memories, and my grandfather’s important traditions. I realized that the harsh reality of the climate crisis could really make all the memories that so many families have built vanish into ashes. It scares me, but it also pushes me to care. As much as I used to hate hiking, I realize now that I want my children to climb up those same trails, to feel the cold air in their lungs, and the quiet in their minds as they reach the peak. I want them to know the stories of my dad, my grandfather, of the land that kept us together through the hardest times in our history.
That first hike was difficult, and I didn’t understand why my dad had brought me with him that day, but I understand now. That mountain taught me resilience. It taught me how to endure, how to be patient, and how to reflect. Mountains hold more than trees and trails. They hold our history, memories, and love. If we don’t protect the land that has protected us, our memories will vanish with the land we destroy. I know that no matter what we do, the mountains will always stand. But I want to fight for a future where we stand beside them and protect what they have given us, for my ancestors, myself, and my future children.
Reflection
Reflection
As I reflected on my generational relationship with nature, I thought of the mountains. I came up with the idea for my essay by looking inward — into my own memories, my family’s traditions, and the time we all spent together in the mountains of Korea. However, I was mainly inspired by my father. The conversations I had with him, the old family stories, and his development as a person truly inspired me to share our story with the world. The theme, “Connections to Nature: Looking Inside, Going Outside,” felt very personal to me. It made me realize how nature is a symbol of history: it connects with our memories, and if we want to protect our memories and history, we need to protect nature as well. Ultimately, being creative in this way further helped me convey who I am, allowing the readers to truly connect to my family and the natural world. My message to the readers is simple: The places that shape who we are deserve to be protected, not just for us, but for future generations to come.