Justin Kim, Y7
A
fashion designer. My dream. Everything I’ve ever wanted. Ever since I was a mere 10 years old, I would giggle and ogle at the thought of standing on a runway, after a tremendously successful show. My mother and father, both thriving professors at the well-known Oxford University, would tell me to go study for my next math exam instead of nurturing my dreams like, well you know, normal parents. Nonetheless, the designer in me still flourished. I hid away, sketching unique designs I hoped people would one day be fans of. Years went by, my secret hobby still unknown to my parents. Middle school passed, then high school. It was soon college application time. My parents, being who they are, wanted me to go to an Ivy League. I got near-perfect scores on my SATs, took mostly AP classes and had TONS of community service hours. Me, being the person I was, secretly applied to my dream college, FIT. College applications came in. I got into Brown, Harvard, Colombia, Cornell, UCLA, etc. What was most surprising was that I got into FIT with a full-ride scholarship. Of course, I planned to tell my parents sooner or later. A week before college decisions were due, my mother found out about the scholarship. Surprisingly, my parents discussed which option was the best and they thought going to FIT was best.
A month into the best year of my life, both my parents were diagnosed with stage 3 heart cancer. I was forced to take up a part-time job as a tutor for MANY failing high school students. Two weeks later, my father died out of the blue and my mother interjected and made me drop out to take care of her. Although she had a secure retirement fund, I still had to work as a tutor for my own personal needs. Months turned into years that passed by in this hard life, and eventually, I started thinking, what would life be like if I wasn’t forced to drop out 10-20 years ago. Would now be what I’ve wanted for my whole life? Would I be as famous as Coco Chanel, Mario Prada or Thierry Hermes? Would I live in a great house with backyards and swimming pools and bedroom-sized walkin closets? Or would I be a failed designer, like the hundreds of designers out there? Hours went by that turned into days that turned into weeks fantasizing about how I would have turned out if I wasn’t pulled by my feet by my own mother. 3 weeks later, I’ve gone insane from the fact that my own mother, the one who raised me, crushed my dreams. I realize, then and there, my father’s gun is hidden in the family’s safe, with the bullets. (START PLAYING FLY ME TO THE MOON)
“Mother, it's time to get up,” I say while casually loading my father’s gun, the family heirloom.
“In other words,” “In other words,”
“Mother, you’ve got to get up. It’s nearly time for breakfast.” I say while wheeling my mother to the dining table, hiding my precious chance at freedom.
“In other words,”
One step. Another step. Last step.
“I love you” Placing my mother at one side of the table, I head back to the bedroom, pretending to look for something.
*BANG*
I walk back, and when I can just about see my mother, I slow down. One step at a time.
My body slumps on the floor, in front of my mother and her breakfast.
“You’re all I long for, all I worship and adore.” “In other words, please be true, In other words, I love you.” Step by step, I get closer to my mother. About 6 steps from her, I show her my chance. My freedom. My everything. My one chance. I don’t let her touch it though. Just let her gape at it. The metal embossings on the side, the silver lining, the wooden finishes. “Fill my heart with song, Let me sing for ever more.” “You’re all I long for, all I worship and adore.” “In other words, please be true.” Three steps away from her.
Bummo Koo, Y8 Sumatran Rhino
“W
ho am I?”
Rain drizzles outside of my room, just like a mini waterfall. It feels nice, relaxing. Wait. Where was I again? I don’t remember anything… not even my name. Who am I? Why am I here? I panicked and felt worried. “Who am I?” Why am I here in a room with a white bed, a white machine with a small desk. Interesting. It looks like a room from heaven. “Hello?” whispered a voice. The voice came from a beautiful young lady. She was a very pretty lady, and she was tall. She held some flowers in her hands and she had pictures of children as well. Her face looks broken, and her hands are shaking uncontrollably. “ Don’t cry young miss!...” “It’s me mom! Your daughter, Liz! Look at these pictures of me! Don’t you remember? The picture is of me on my birthday! I couldn’t remember. I had a daughter? I shook my head. I can’t remember. Rain drizzles outside of my room, just like a mini waterfall. It feels nice, relaxing. Wait. Where was I again? I don’t remember anything… not even my name. Who am I? Why am I here? Heyon Choi, Y8
I
can’t believe it began with her tripping.
All her suffering began from the point where she fell over. Later on, I was reminded that my grandma’s joints were very weak, and she was brittle and fragile, so the minor injuries I take for granted are like a death sentence to her. Nevertheless, I still cannot believe it began like that. One simple trip. One simple trip had sent my beloved mother’s mother, to the place where she rested for two years. Then faded into oblivion. If I can recall properly, my mother announced this fateful news to me, “We are going to the hospital.” I replied in utmost bewilderment, “Why?” and she answered, “Your grandmother fell over. Now she is receiving treatment.” I knew she did not want to go into details, but I inquired further and she said, “She fell over.” When we rode there, I was bored, and sick and tired of this little operation. I had not realised yet, however, the full gravity of this situation. Adding to that fact, I had just been back from acupuncture, which I have every Sunday, and was sore in my head. Despite all these excuses, I now know that I should not complain, for what I was doing was for the greater good. Anyways, my parents also had other ways for me to go with them... At first, they bribed me. My mother smiled warmly, and explained to me if I could stay beside, and flex my grandmother's hand, and I was tempted for the promise of such
a prize for a simple deed was both unusual and a chance that could not be missed. Feeling slightly better, money was won from my parents hand and I kept doing this for weeks and weeks. Each time I would go down to the Starbucks for a drink, I felt as if I had won the lottery, and of course, I had to get greedy. I began to think that simply a dollar wasn't enough, and obviously there were consequences in the near future, and I would dearly regret my profound mistake. Days flew by, and I became increasingly frustrated at the time I thought was wasted in the hospital, visiting my grandmother each week, when I believed there were so many other useful things I could be doing. Eventually, the annoyance started to have a tinge of worry, as my ancient grandmother had now been kept in the confines of the medication for six months, and her condition wasn’t getting any better. I began to read that a common symptom of old age is that the brain begins to shrink, gradually lowering the intelligence, damaging the mind beyond comprehension, until it is as if the old person in the body never existed. Soon after, my mother explained the same thing, and as we had feared, my beloved grandmother began to lose her past life. It did not come quickly, yet gradually, visit by visit, she began to forget things. In an utter state of irritation, the nurse who assisted my grandmother showed her frustration at all the additional work she now had to provide. Adding to that fact, an additional frailness was coming over my poor grandmother. Growing weaker and weaker, she eventually came to the point
broke out, and soon enough I felt guilty and ashamed of all the mistakes I had made. From then on, I swore to take this situation under serious control. But it was too late. News came to me that my beloved grandmother, one who we had looked after and cared for so long was now in a state of critical harm and had been removed to another hospital. Anxiously, me and my parents wove through hallways filled with noxious smells, rooms full of surgical equipment and confines of where injured, delirious and even the dead lay. Soon after, we arrived at the door which held my injured relative.
Jenna Kamphuis, Y8 Pronghorn
There she lay, vaguely translucent tubes of pumping air running into her nostrils. Her personal nurse sat next to her, and welcomed us when she noticed our sudden arrival. I sat down next to my poor grandmother, who undoubtedly was going through lapses of pain. Her hand twitched frequently, and this I took as her noticing of us. When she finally opened her eyes, and saw us, no recognition sparked in those aged eyes. This had been expected, but just seeing her in this state, all memory fractured beyond measure, was truly unbearable. I left the room soon after. This was just too much.
where she needed a straw in order to drink the tiniest sip of water. Due to my greed, I asked for more money for my visits until I came to a point where my parents could no longer stand the way I was behaving any longer. A well pointed out argument
Frequent visits were made over and over again, yet no improvement was seen inside her and no chance of healing. She had gone past that point by far now, and all we could hope was that she lived a happy life. There were certainly some
differences, however. Firstly, I no longer complained about these visits. I could almost hear my mom saying, “It’s for the greater good” in my head whenever I felt irritation. Secondly, I no longer comforted my grandmother for money. That would be just wrong, profiting off the discomfort of others. What would a few dollars matter to the fate of an innocent victim?
descendants and family, forevermore, and I would let that go on for eternity, casting memories of my grandmother, strewn about in our minds. Rest in peace, Grandma. You certainly deserve it.
I had missed the last visit to my grandmother's hospital. I had not expected such a tragedy to befall while I missed it, though. I came home, and perceived grim faces from my mother and father. A thousand worries began to race through my mind as soon as I saw this. I didn’t do anything wrong in the recent weeks. However, when I heard what my mother had to say, I would have preferred me being punished for smashing a rock over a teacher’s head. “Grandma passed away today” murmured my mother, in a straightforward manner. I was shocked beyond measure. How? How could she just leave this world when all seemed to be in a stable manner? My mother sobbed no tears, well composed for the large blow that had been inflicted on her, and us all, not physically, but in a much more brutal way. We all felt the loss, even I, the most ungrateful towards my family. Her cremated ashes were lowered into the small pit that had been freshly dug, and we all stood in sorrow around it. The air was cool, and fall leaves fluttered towards the ground. My relatives cried, but I had no tears to shed. I did not want to. What use would that be? As long as we remember her spirit, her gentle kind laugh, her fight for life, she lives on through us, her
Shivanii Sivabalan, Y8 Black-footed ferret
I
see it. I see it again.
It is all blue and fuzzy. Everyone is like a ghost. My vision is glitchy. It’s out of my control. I see it again. I can see every stranger’s name on their forehead. Every opaque object turns transparent. Everything is in fractals. Spirals are everywhere. I am caught in a new dimension, like Spiderman trapped in his cartoon. “Excuse me, Sir.” I can hear the voice again. It’s coming from my eye. I will ignore it. The word once again repeats. Whenever the voice speaks the fractals sharpen. The shapes look like icicles in a blue Icelandic cave. Words cannot describe how it feels. “Excuse me, Sir.” I am possibly hearing someone’s voice next to me? Although I am sure it is from my eye. Now I am blinded by the fine fractals. I am standing in the middle of the busiest street. It is pouring cats and dogs. I am soaking wet. The rain looks like crystals falling from the sky. Furthermore, they disappear when they touch the gravel ground. I am soaking wet. But I do not care. Each umbrella has lost its colour. The umbrellas that used to dance, are now still as ice. They walk quietly hiding their talents. “Excuse me, S-” Stop! I hate this life. Why am I the one with this view? Each hologram is lasting longer than the last time. Is this normal or
not? I don’t suppose the voice is telling me anything new. I see it. I see it again. Why am I the one to have this life? Resentment has grown a hundred vines across my heart. “Excuse me, Sir, you have a-” I know I have peculiar eyesight! Everything I see is formed in miniscule patterns. I feel as if I am colourblind. As I said, all I see is blue and white. “Excuse me…” What do you know? You don’t know how“Sir! You are the chosen one. You are the one who can save our planet.” Then I realized. I should be thankful. I whisper to him, “Thank you, Sir.” And then I see it. I see it again. Only I can see it.
T
he stage is pitch black, with a dim light in the middle. A man inside a transparent bubble kneels in the dark. Only between bursts of light is his presence even perceivable. The lightning is invisible for some time, and then follows a loud roar of thunder through the dark. The man appears to be moving. Crack. Then light again. The man is clearly moving. Another dim ray of light reveals a boy and a girl on the right side of the stage. Reed: (full of curiosity) Hey, you see that guy over there? What’s he doing? Brenda: I don’t know, he looks like he’s in some sort of bubble. The two look on, watching excitedly for the man’s movements between cracks of lightning. They shudder and use their hands to cup their ears with each anticipated boom of thunder, which is now beginning to crack in the humid night.
Brenda and Reed walk toward the man in the bubble. The man notices them approaching, but is captivated by something in his hands. Tears visibly make their way down his cheeks. Reed and Brenda look on in confusion. They continue to whisper. Reed: What’s that bubble? Brenda: Yeah, what’s he doing in there? Reed: (nervously) Is he some kind of weirdo? Maybe we shouldn’t talk to him. Brenda: (calmly) I think we should. He looks like he’s in danger. The rain stops and the humidity is replaced by an arid calm. Reed and Brenda walk toward the center of the stage, toward the bubble. Reed: Hello? Man: … Reed: We came here to check if you were okay. Man: … Brenda: (anxiously) Can we help you?
Thunder. Reed: I think he needs help. Brenda: We don’t know exactly where he is. Lightning. Brenda: (points to the middle of the stage) There. He’s over there. Reed: Let’s go check it out.
The man remains transfixed by the object in his hands. Then he begins to speak in a hushed and hurried tone of voice. Man: When I first created the Heavens and the Earth, it was meant to make my sons and daughters joyful. I wanted my beloved children to inherit everything of my creation. (full of tears) Where did the emerald mountains, seas filled with charming marine life, infinite fields, and valleys filled with love
Reed: Want to come over to our camp? It’ll be fun. You can tell us all about this bubble. (excitement) Shoot. I even wanna try it out if you’re okay with that? Brenda: We’ve got food, beer, games, and all kinds of fun. Smoke machine emits a thick layer of smoke. Brenda: (sniffing the air) Hey, do you smell that? Reed: (terrified) Smell, what— Look. What remained of the dead forest behind them is ablaze.The fire grows rapidly. The cracks in the background grow as quickly as the deafening thunder that has just passed. They know that they have to make a quick run for it, that any hesitation would spell their end.
Jaewan Lee, Y8 Snow Leopard go? They were there to support and protect my people. However, all that is left of these riches is this single olive branch. The man holds up his hand holding an olive branch. Brenda: (with frustration) I see his lips moving. But I can’t hear a thing. Reed: Hey, dude. Hey? Brenda: Well, he doesn’t look like a bum or anything. Maybe we should invite him to the camp.
Brenda: Hey! (Brenda yelling at the man) Can you help us get out of here? Reed: No time to talk. We have to escape. You crazy old man! Why are you just chilling over there. We might die, you idiot! Brenda: Run! Brenda and Reed run. Reed: Oh, God! Brenda and Reed exit. The fire makes its way toward the man. The man doesn’t look up. The sober look on his face, though, remains. The only thing he cares about is the olive branch in his hands.
Man: Now they call me and ask for help. My sons and daughters have forgotten the world around them. I gave them unconditional love. I gave them nature. (looks at the olive branch than the audience) The devil has spoiled them. They have lost gratitude. They have forsaken love and care. The Earth made for them is not to blame. It gave more than life. (with a dim smile) It gave everything it could. It was there for my people when I could not be there. Yet they have nearly succeeded in destroying the beautiful planet. What more do they want—beyond money, power, and pleasure?
The smoke machine turns off. Drops of water come out of the water machine that is attached on the ceiling of the stage. The drops turn into pouring rain. The smoke dissipates.
The man walks toward the lake on the left corner of the stage. A blue fluorescence shimmer off the lake creating a film of mother of pearl. As he walks, sounds of children screaming are heard in the background. He continues on. His feet submerge into the water as he dredges further into the lake. As the man walks into the lake, he descends on a stage escalator that makes his body sink into the stage: descending from waist to neck—until he disappears.
The stage floods with light.
Speaker: In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. And the spirit said... The man (off stage): Let there be light...
Man: Now is your chance. Not later. Now. (looking at the olive branch) I will save you... I will save you…(out of breath) I will save you. The man’s bubble is gone as his head goes underwater. Staring at the branch, he sinks. Small water bubbles make their way to the surface underneath the spot where his last string of hair went under. Everything is dark again. Rain.
Sooyeon Tung, Y8 Polar bear
H
er smooth, wooden hands, the paralyzed feet and the breakable hair all once told a story. A story that should not be forgotten, or lost. Not ever in the world.
Not ever. ————————————————————————————
Every step she takes, Is a promise to await her fate, A husband she must find, To show how much she doesn’t mind, And to prove how she is valid girl, Her heart has created this short little ballad, But little does she know... The ballad that is created will be squashed under a man’s foot.
Girls are poor things that should be looked down upon, things that should never speak, because that is not their right. They are supposed to wash our feet, feed us fruit, clean the living quarters and not complain about a thing. They are supposed to. I myself am a merciful man, a Lord they ought to respect. If the little girly is complaining, what a disgraceful little girly she will be! Disgraceful girlies will be discarded and placed upon my shelf, while I re-install another of the species in her place. I try very hard to be a lenient man, but how merciful can I be when all popsies are meant to serve?
Under MY foot. ———————————————————————————— Little Natalie walks along the pavement. And I can see that my little popsy looks just right for our household. Swinging her arms, teeth in place, ooh what a delight she will be! If only I could savor her: the slim legs, the dimple in her cheek, the slender waist, and that tall of a female too. Suppose I could have her pose for me? I wonder if Abigor will feel like he’s got only the gruesome dolls once he sees mine. Pitty though, girly doesn’t seem bendable... Malleable.
After all, I’ve been married a few times now and know exactly how to get the respect that I deserve. Would you like to meet one of my dolls? Natalie the little girl, The wind likes playing with her curls,
Such a shame. Perhaps I, Lord Erik of Sweden, can teach the little wench to put her mind into a proper valid framework for her gender. They don’t train them well these days. I blame the mothers… even a little training could just spice up these dolls. Just a few days for my body to await. Yes, Erik, Yes. Now tell yourself, where does she belong?
With you, only you, the only one. Now go catch her. ————————————————————————————
She cries when he comes, He steams, She screams,
The door step of a house, Reveals a little mouse,
She screams.
The cat flashes his best smile, She does the best to swallow bile, She steps forward with her bare feet, The rich cat smiles with his disgusting teeth, What a trap she has flown into, Is there anyway back? There is no way back. ———————————————————————————— Already refusing to sleep in my room, the foul creature. No grapes, the cleaning of toes, won’t even sit on my lap. She agreed to come to my home. She wanted to be the wife of a rich man. The wife of Erik the Great. Lord of Sweden. Well, Erik must do something. Erik will give the child a warning, yes, a warning. The little miss ought to know her place in my household. She’s such a disgraceful popsy, but my mouth drools every time I look at her. I will be lenient with the little miss. But I want her, and will do nothing to stop. I will NOT stop.
Erik does not like this. Erik cannot train the little flicka*. He will need to use a stronger approach. ———————————————————————————— Every little girly is made of clay. Some can be more valuable than others. When you want to form a doll, you must beat the clay, you must pound it till it no more has it’s own will. The clay must form into what you want it to be, without much a fight. After all, I am stronger than clay. But if the clay isn’t bendable, isn’t malleable, then you have to pound it and grind it, harder and harder. But if the clay has already dried, hard and wrong... You have to break it. ———————————————————————————— I am frightened, frozen through my skin, As if I was rooted, with a life-size bobby bin, The world starts shrinking, Or at least I am growing, My hair does not swish, My body does not move as I wish, My hands are hard, They are wooden,
They are not me. Grinning with those charcoal teeth, He twirls me, Then laughs at me, Then he places me on the shelf, With all his little other elves. I hear their words, so faint, yet so sharp:
Stupid they whisper, Just like the last, We are all bound here. Too bad, now you’re just another voiceless doll for him to play with. Too bad. Translations: *flicka (Swedish) - means a girl
Jeannie Lee, Y8 Sea turtle
F
irst it was Chris Martin. At least that's who I saw on facebook. Then it was Gary Barlow, Elton John, Taylor Swift, Kevin Bacon, Lady Gaga and so on. These names though huge, they might not mean much to you. You have your current idols. Shawn Mendes, BTS and such like. But, one by one they appeared on social media singing to us their well known songs from their living rooms, or gardens. They grabbed my attention. It was new, it was not something seen before. It was refreshing. I loved it. But you know what really got my attention? It wasn't their greatness, it wasn't even their singing. In fact, I thought their singing without special sound effects and mixing studios, sounded very ordinary. So did their looks. Then it struck me why I liked this so much. They really were ordinary and normal just like the rest of us, stuck at home and unable to use their PR, managers and carefully crafted words, clothes, stages and enormous auditoriums to create for us the illusion of God like figures to impress us and make us look at them in awe or maybe even make us become obsessed with them. None of that. They looked very normal. Just like us. And that is a very important thought to hold on to because the effect this can have on us as we meandre through adolescence is one of inadequacy, poor self image and a general feeling that we are just not good enough and there is nothing special about us because we are not like them. Maybe one of the good things coming out of this pandemic is that we are all normal, good enough, special enough just as we are. Stuck at home in our unflattering clothes, but comfortable, safe and
most importantly loved. Remember that the next time you wish you were like someone other than yourself. For me the cherry on the cake was Andrea Bocelli singing Amazing Grace in front of an imposing cathedral in Milan with no audience to applaud him for his incredible talent. Just him and God. To me that was amazing!
Floortje Kamphuis, Y8 Monarch butterfly
D
espite considerable challenges, Nanumi has been providing hot meals to the Seoul Station homeless/jobless population since 2015. That means that Director Kim and her pastor husband have been feeding 400+ people for five years now at a soup kitchen seven days a week, two meals a day and not even a deadly virus can stop them. They never close. It is incredible. COVID-19 can close countries but it cannot close their hearts of compassion. For the past three years, 20+students and five teachers/parents (lead by Kim Stuart) help serve dinner which Nanumi has prepared with ingredients partially donated/ and covered by their budget. The student signup list fills fast; the same students usually return every time, having experienced first-hand the clear needs of those with whom they normally have no contact, and the satisfaction of having done a bit to help. The work is physically demanding and the children take it seriously. One does not mess with the Director’s protocol— timing, hygiene, and customer satisfaction are paramount. Students help serve, and clean up from 3:30-6:15pm working like clockwork mostly. When the last man or woman has been served and everyone can remove their gloves and vests, the Director always yells a big “gamsahabnida THANK YOU!!” to the group for their incredible help. She is one of the few local heads of organisation that has tapped into the unrealised potential of the under 18 crowd for its energy and work ethic, and she is grateful every week for SFS’ students’ commitment and passion.
‘You are not like most others’ she says. As Ms Stuart, Ms Olivier, Mr Freeman realised SFBS’ commitment to bimonthly meals could not be fulfilled during the epidemic, they asked what we could do as a school. Owing to the onset of Coronavirus, most soup kitchens in Seoul have closed, due to the inability to gather volunteers to do the cooking and prep. Director Kim never considered shutting an option; she instead went to lunch boxes.
‘At 3500won each, it is more expensive so we can only feed 400 or so, and there are no refills therefore, but it will do for now.’ said Director Kim. In order to serve the poor in a safe manner, individual principals, teachers, and senior administrators have personally funded the lunch boxes and as the word spread throughout the SFS teaching community, funds have flowed forth. Each feeding session costs 1.4 million won and nearly 10 million has been raised so far along with money for sanitiser and cleaning supplies. In the darkness of the pandemic headlines, SFS’ educators and parents have had the honour of shedding some light on organisations like Nanumi that serve hope for the body and soul. Mr Flanagan explained why we have rallied to support Nanumi:
a Christ centered community and our dedication to the service of others. In short, Nanumi helps us practice who we are and how we want to behave. We want to be part of our local community. It would be very easy to reap the benefits of living and working in a wonderful country like Korea without engaging with the realities of the city in which we live. Nanumi is one way in which we can practice what we preach. With the COVID-19 crisis, there were immediate challenges to maintaining our regular support. The regular helpers in SFS engaged members of our community to financially support the project over this period. This is a testament to how important Nanumi is to us and to the Mission of the School. We are truly blessed to be part of Nanumi.”
“Seoul Foreign School is truly honored to be able to support the Nanumi project. Firstly, our support grew out of a practical desire of our staff, faculty and students to help those who need help in our community. It comes from the heart of our Mission as
The staff at Seoul Foreign School are not alone with their support of Nanumi. When Director Kim requested just a handful of volunteers to serve the lunch boxes and hot soup, a few parents gladly continued volunteering in lieu of their children from all corners of the SFS community. “Voices of Key Stage Three” is privileged to have some comments from our parents who still attend Nanumi: Sunhye: What I can offer at Nanumi is my smile. I discovered that you can only give someone a smile when you make eye contact with them. Even through our masks...
Kaoru: Nanumi service... Serving food to them with great respect and a big smile is greatly joyful. How precious they are! I see Jesus in them. KyungEn: Director Kim, her husband pastor and staff are a force. They have not had a vacation in five years ‘because people need to eat, every day.’ It has been humbling and amazing to witness their zeal every time to meet the needs of those most of us don’t see or hear. I have also been amazed by SFS’ commitment to Nanumi as a community that cares with its heart and wallet. Our educators—teachers, principals, Heads of school/admin—have personally rallied and kept lunch box meals flowing to Nanumi during COVID-19 with their own funds. It makes me so proud and humbled to be part of our school, a light on a hill that shines through the darkness. Siobahn: I volunteered at Nanumi for the first time during the COVID-19 crisis and consider that it has helped me far more than I have helped it. At a time of forced unproductivity in my own life, it gave me a sense of doing something useful even for just a few hours a month. It helps to give a sense of perspective and to make me feel grateful for what I have. I am humbled by the dedication of the ‘permanent’ staff, headed by a pastor and his wife and it makes me want to do more. What else can I say? Helping out at Nanumi is good for the soul! Asked how she hasn’t collapsed all these years, especially in Covid, Director Kim says ‘I cannot, because God will not let me.
He sends me people like you from SFS to keep me going. This is how he loves us.’ How wonderful it is to be a part of that love.
If you wish to assist Nanumi during this crisis please contact Mrs Olivier or Mrs Stuart or go to the Nanumi website: http://nanumikorea.or.kr/