A Life in Soles: Crafting Journeys Through Handmade Shoes

An elderly man with white hair is wearing an apron in a traditional workshop, focused on polishing a brown leather shoe. The workspace is cluttered with various tools and materials. A warm, glowing table lamp illuminates the area, highlighting the intricate details of the wooden shelves filled with shoes and supplies. The atmosphere is vintage and artisanal, suggesting a deep dedication to craftsmanship.

Dear Hoi-Su,

I have spent my life bent over leather and thread, shaping soles that have carried men and women through the streets of Pyongyang and beyond. Thousands of shoes, thousands of steps taken. And yet, each pair I have made has been crafted with the same care, the same devotion, whether they were meant for a farmer or a minister.

Some shoes have walked across the grand halls of the Party, polished to perfection, gliding over marble floors. Others have trudged through muddy fields, carrying the weight of labor and the scent of the earth. Some have danced at weddings, light and joyful, while others have borne the sorrow of silent farewells.

I have laced the boots of young soldiers, their eyes filled with ambition. I have repaired the shoes of grandmothers, their leather worn thin from a lifetime of steps. And through all these years, my hands have worked with the same respect, the same patience, because in the end, we all stand on the same ground. It is not the shoes that define the person, but the journey they take.

Now, after decades of work, I feel the weight of time in my hands. My fingers, once nimble and steady, are slower now. My eyes, once sharp enough to stitch in candlelight, tire more quickly. The rows of shoes I once mended in a single night now take me twice as long. But the love remains. The craft remains. The pride in what I have built, in the soles I have shaped, remains.

As I stitch another sole today, I wonder whose path it will follow. Will these shoes carry a child to his first day of school? A farmer to the fields before sunrise? A mother to the market, searching for the best rice? I do not know. But I do know that no matter where they go, they were made with love.

Perhaps this will be my last pair. Or perhaps I will make a few more, just to feel the leather in my hands a little longer. Because when you have spent a lifetime building something, it is hard to let go.

With hands that have never stopped working, but soon must rest,
Choi Seong-min