Dear Ji-yeon,
You wouldn’t believe the shine in the air today. Not just from the flowers—though there were enough carnations to start a revolution of petals—but from the faces. My colleagues, my friends. They say 25 years is a long time, but it didn’t feel like that until they handed me the bouquet.
Twenty-five years at Factory 17.
15728 disco balls.
I counted. Of course I did.
Some danced in clubs I’ll never see.
Some disappeared into hotel lobbies.
One, I hear, even made it onto a yacht on the Taedong.
It doesn’t matter where they went. What matters is that they turned. They reflected something. Someone.
Each morning, I polish with the same thought: if a single light beam can split into a hundred sparks, then maybe I can too. Maybe we all can.
They gave me a pin today.
They said: “You made us proud.”
But honestly, I was already proud.
Proud to make things that shimmer,
even if I live in the shadows behind them.
Proud to know that somewhere, someone is dancing.
Love always,
Ok-rim
Ok-rim
Ji-yeon
