Sowing the Seeds of Hope

Dear Jung-hee,

Do you remember that day?

We slipped away from the village fair, baskets forgotten, and wandered deep into the woods, laughing like two kids playing truant. We found a clearing, remember? A patch of earth where the light poured down like a secret.

We sowed it there—our little act of rebellion. A peace sign, made not with chalk or banners, but with seeds. Quiet, stubborn seeds. You said it would never grow. I said hope has a long memory.

Today, it answered us.

One of the younger workers at the greenhouse has a toy drone—cheap, noisy, miraculous. I convinced him to fly it over the old woods. I told him I was looking for rabbit trails. (A small lie. Maybe a good one.)

This photo is what he found.

It's rough around the edges. Some trees lean, some gaps have blurred with time. But the shape is there. Alive. Breathing. A green peace sign, hidden among the wildness, stubborn as we were back then.

I wanted you to see it, Jung-hee. I wanted you to know that even the smallest seeds we planted still remember us.

I think I’ll go visit the clearing again soon. Bring some wildflower seeds this time. Maybe even sing a little, if no one's listening.

Hope travels slowly, but it travels.

Always yours,
Nam-gil