How do we bear the endless debates that divide us, the violence that too often silences compassion, the human lives treated as disposable? How do we carry the weight of wars, displacement, and fractured communities without losing something of ourselves?

Sometimes I dream of another planet, somewhere beyond the troubles we have made. Yet I wonder how much of ourselves we would carry there. We search for purpose, for a sense of belonging, for the feeling of being seen and understood. And still, it can be difficult to feel connected to one another in a world that gives so much of our attention to consumption and distraction.

As a child, I escaped into hidden gardens, distant islands, and mythical places where broken things could be made whole again. Those stories offered the possibility of another world, one where people might find their way back to one another. I no longer long for a place entirely apart from this one. I find myself drawn instead to stories that help me see this world differently.

I found that in South Korean dramas, films, and stories. My first crossing was Mr. Sunshine, set in the final years of the Joseon era, when a nation was facing the loss of its independence. What stayed with me was how love and grief could exist alongside resistance, without one diminishing the other. The characters lived in a world shaped by forces larger than themselves, yet their choices still mattered. I found myself caring about what they stood to lose, even though their history was not my own. I wanted to understand the world they inhabited, and somehow, in doing so, I began to look at my own a little differently.

Korean storytelling became a refuge, not because it takes me away from reality, but because it returns me to it with a different kind of attention. Trauma is not brushed aside. Resilience does not mean that suffering disappears. People carry their wounds and still find ways to care for one another. I recognise something deeply human in that, even when the lives on screen are far removed from mine.

These stories have also made me think about how the past stays with us, shaping lives long after the events themselves have passed. Yet life continues in ordinary ways, in a shared meal, a song, a conversation, a story. I turn to art and music, too. Sometimes they help me make sense of things I cannot quite put into words.

South Korean stories have become a doorway back into the world for me. They have not made it less complicated, but they have kept me curious about the people who inhabit it, including those whose lives are very different from my own.

What doorways do you carry?

What stories help you hold the weight of the world and still find light?

Image: Personal Archive, 2026 | Moncton New Brunswick
Originally published on November 18, 2025