[One Thousand Characters a Day] Nocheonmyeong, Seolya Sanchaek

Editor's NoteAsia Economy provides daily 1,000-character transcription content for readers of the ‘One Day, One Thousand Characters’ newsletter. The transcription content is carefully selected according to daily and monthly themes from Eastern and Western classics, Korean literature, notable columns, and famous speeches. Today's content is from Noh Cheon-myeong's . Although it is lengthy with 1,168 characters, take some time on Friday and the weekend to become a poet.

After dinner, snowflakes suddenly begin to flutter. I am suddenly drawn by the temptation to go outside. I pull my scarf tightly over my head and inevitably step out.

I do not want to visit anyone’s house tonight. Nor do I wish to meet any friend. I feel that simply walking endlessly while facing this snow is the only rest I need. I want to keep walking endlessly in this snow.

A snowy night is a night when I receive communion. The snow now covers the earth in white, and my shoes briefly slip on the ground. Countless people pass me by, and I pass them as well, yet why do I feel as if I am walking alone across the snowy plains of Siberia?

Every time the streetlights brilliantly reflect the swirling snow, I pull my scarf tighter.

Though I feel I should return home now, my feet do not move toward home.

The sound of train wheels is unusually loud. Where might the train be heading at this hour? A gloomy train compartment comes to mind. The colorful lives seated inside it?the ones carrying joy and the ones carrying sorrow?traveling through the night, breaking through the darkness. I recall the unexpected telegram I received one evening last January, which led me to leave and ultimately engraved a sad memory in my heart. The sound of the night train now chills me to the bone.

Occasionally, a snowflake strikes my cheek. No one would know that inside my quietly walking heart, an indelible sorrow and terrifying loneliness struggle so fiercely that I can hardly endure it.

Thus, perhaps humans are eternally lonely beings. From a brightly lit window of some house, the sound of pounding cloth seeps out.

I see that the beautiful affection of a woman flows here as well. There is a woman smoothing clothes to show gentle care, and someone beating the quilt while patrolling as a police officer tonight. As long as these exist, I too must return home with a beautiful heart.

With snow whitened on my head like a weary traveler, I quietly knock on my door. Everything is clean and quiet for this sacred snowy night. Entering a room without a single flower, my presence like a shadow is as sorrowful as a mourning band.

Outside the window, snow continues to fall softly. Thinking that the footprints I left on the silent streets will be covered and erased by the white snow, I lie down quietly. Setting a ceiling of gray and pink, I carve the wood of the mouse I hold tonight, and I carve my own heart.

This content was produced with the assistance of AI translation services.