All around us, countless worlds move in their own ways. They pass swiftly and scatter easily, but within them dwell silent, delicate rhythms—
the sound of breath, the pace of footsteps, the twitch of a fingertip, the motion of a hand passing a tangerine.
These gestures may be small and fleeting, but in them, I see tenderness.
This tenderness begins at the table.
The smell of rice cooking, the clinking of dishes, seaweed and sweet rice drink, the hand shaping a rice ball.
In such familiar scenes, the exchange of care becomes a movement, becomes a relationship.
Even a clumsy, brief offering—if it manages to cross the net—becomes a kind of receive.
Like a ping-pong ball that keeps bouncing back after failed hits,
I learn, in the rhythm of those repetitions, how to draw closer to the world.
.. as if moving with a smile
