There was a time when I felt difficult and miserable when the drawings I drew for fun became my job and my livelihood.
The insecurity of being a non-regular worker, the deterioration of my health, and the unreasonable behavior of clients were all mentally exhausting.
Still, there was no place to ask for help.
Sometimes I wondered if I was creating something or if I was just a machine doing simple labor, and the vague feeling that I might stop working at any moment filled me with anxiety.

--- p.36

People often think of freelancing as a wonderful job that allows them to do what they want, use their time freely, and work comfortably without being restricted by location.
Is it half right and half wrong?
No, in my case, I would say it's about 20 percent true.
Portfolio management, client negotiations, scheduling and health management, closings, closings, closings, etc.
You have to handle and take responsibility for everything yourself from A to Z, and if you avoid responsibility, you will lose your job.
A freelancer without work is virtually no different from an unemployed person.
My income is not fixed, I don't have the four major insurances, and I mostly work alone, so I can't ignore the struggle against loneliness.

--- p.45

Looking back now, I was patient.
An unstable income and future, the workload I blindly took on to shake it off, the pressure of having to take care of my family, a career that left me with nothing even after working like crazy for 8-9 years, an obsession with money and fame, and a pure desire for art that withered away because of it.
All of this festered and exploded without me even knowing it.
Was it burnout, or maybe panic disorder?
I couldn't stand it any longer.
When I first started working, I had to break all the contracts I had worked so hard to secure and hide from the world.

--- p.59

A few years ago, during Chuseok, as always, we listened to my mother's recipe, my brother made tteokguk, I made my father's favorite raw beef, and my father prepared side dishes he bought at the market, and we ate together.
Then my mother said with a smile.
“My vision was very blurry, so I was rated as a level 2 disability, but I got it checked and it was rated level 1.
“There will be a little more benefits,” he said happily.
My brother, father, and I ate the food that was served without saying much.
I wanted to say, “Is that something you would like to do?” but I didn’t.

--- p.134

Now there are four or five people left.
Naturally, we head to a nearby pub.
We fill our stomachs by eating and tasting various side dishes again.
Of course I don't drink alcohol.
And then we move on to the final highlight, the kicking game.
The rules are simple.
The person with the most drinks will be taken home, and the 2nd to 5th place players will compete again, and the winner will be taken home. This will be a 'safe return home service game' that will hurt your pride and drive your competitive spirit to the limit.
Since most of them live in the same neighborhood, this is a possible game. Therefore, to prevent anyone from running away in the middle of the game, you must take a group photo when you arrive at the winner's house and post it in the chat room.
It's a very dense and brutal game.

--- p.143