2017

July
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2018

january
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Author's Note

A book like a gift created by the combined efforts of many minds.

《Morning Piano》 is a book like a gift, created by the will of the teacher in his final days, who had no other works except the translated 《Diary of Mourning》 and the co-authored 《Reading Modern French Philosophy for the First Time》, and the hearts of his students who eagerly awaited the publication of the book.
In fact, "The Morning Piano" could not have been published as a book.
While contributing to various newspapers and magazines, lecturing at philosophy academies, libraries, and universities, and receiving offers from various publishers to publish his work, the old scholar always maintained a somewhat stubborn and rigid approach to his own writings.
He always said later.
After being diagnosed with cancer in July 2017, he stopped teaching at the Philosophy Academy and went into seclusion, cutting off contact with the outside world. This life lasted for about six months.
The publication of this book, which seemed impossible, was possible thanks to ten meetings with students (who had taken the professor's class at the Academy of Philosophy) called "When Proust and Benjamin Met" that took place from March 29, 2018, to early July 2018.
The meetings, which consisted mainly of mini-lectures and casual conversations, always started at 1 p.m., but they continued on until 5 or 6 p.m., and sometimes even 9 p.m., without any end in sight. The words that were exchanged and scattered within the meetings helped the teacher solidify his determination to “write my own text, not someone else’s.”
Another unexpected encounter with an editor, and a few weeks later, everything happened as if it were a lie, until the moment when we finally signed the contract with the working title 'Morning Piano'.
But before we could even discuss the book in detail, the first thing we heard was the news of the teacher's passing.
Author Eun-yu, who was also the teacher's disciple, says this in his recommendation.
“Once I started taking notes in class, I couldn’t stop.
“It was like listening to beautiful music and not being able to press the pause button,” the teacher said, adding that the words were “sheet music in sentences.”
Those who remained gathered around the large sheet of music the teacher had left behind, each holding a musical note.
With all my heart, I finally completed the beautiful music called “Morning Piano.”

A shining aphorism caught while transparently disappearing

《Morning Piano》 is full of brilliant aphorisms that only the teacher could catch.
Speaking of Proust's later years, "His later years, spent in his bedroom, were not lonely and quiet.
It was a busier life than ever.
In his bedroom, Proust was not lying comfortably.
He must have been running around everywhere because every second was precious.
(…) the reader can see.
The part where he says, “His last book is full of the writing and sentences of a 100-meter dasher,” is a brilliant discovery that breaks the fixed gaze on the existence in the room.
In “Flowing means fleeting and disappearing, but only that which flows is alive,” you can feel the teacher’s deep gaze on life and death.
“The world is beautiful, life is deep, there have been good and bad things in life, so blow, wind…” The sentences written while talking about the column in the Hankyoreh about poet Cheon Sang-byeong are full of positivity about life.
And above all, I said, “Writing is not for me, it is for the typist.”
The same goes for records from while sick.
These records are not for me, but for those who will be left behind when I am gone.
When I try to protect only myself, I become weaker day by day.
The teacher's confident tone, "When I try to protect the typist, I become more certain day by day," allows us to gauge what kind of life it is and what kind of life it should be, one that never stops talking about love, beauty, and gratitude.
“Piano in the morning.
From the first sentence, “I look into the distance from the veranda and listen to the sound of the piano,” to the last sentence, “My heart is at ease,” I feel as if I have lived a life with the teacher.
And, at the end of that book, we finally discover ourselves as “humans of music, humans of thought, and humans of pride.”

Author's Note

I was diagnosed with cancer in July 2017.
All the daily life that had been going on until then was halted as if the shutters were closed.
Hospital life began and I began living the life of a patient.
Exactly 13 months passed like that.
This article is a record of the small events that have passed through my body, mind, and spirit in the meantime.
The contents of the record are memories and reflections on the patient's life, the independence and authority of that life, the love and gratitude that were discovered and met for the first time, thoughts that opened one's eyes to the world and others, or just meaningless moments that come and go, approach and leave without a trace before one's eyes and by one's heart.
Like some kind of book that Paul Valéry and Roland Barthes wanted to write, these records are personal writings written just for me.
This article does not qualify as a book because of this.
But doesn't the inner self of an individual, especially when that individuality is in crisis, inevitably overlap with the realm of objectivity?
It might be an excuse to want to bind the most private records into a public medium, a book.
But if this book can be a source of reflection and comfort for those who, similar to me or in another way, are facing an existential crisis, then it is not necessarily an excuse.