FLY HIGH!

BOOKS & MORE BOOKS: THE CUT, A BOOK I DIDN’T EXPECT TO REVIEW

2026-09-18T14:37:41.264+02:00

Richard Armitage - credit Kaitlyn Mikayla

I didn't really know whether I was going to write about this book. It was a gift from a very good friend living in England. It is autographed by the author. And the author is Richard Armitage.

Now, if you have been reading FLY HIGH! for a long time, you will understand why this is not quite an ordinary book for me.

I have been following Richard Armitage since he was John Thornton in BBC North and South back in 2004. I watched almost everything he did as an actor, read books he recommended, wrote countless posts about him and his work, and even flew to London to see him on stage.

And, let's be honest, a large part of FLY HIGH!'s success in the past was connected to him. I wrote about him regularly, people came to the blog because of him, and some of the friendships I made through FLY HIGH! began with that shared fascination.

So yes, when he became an author, I was obviously going to read his books.

But there is a little problem.

Crime novels, mysteries and thrillers are really not my cup of tea.

I read Geneva, his first novel, and now I have finished The Cut. And although neither book belongs to the kind of fiction I normally choose for myself, I have to say that I found The Cut especially well written.

So here I am, writing about it after all.

SO, WHAT IS THE CUT ABOUT?

The Cut is a psychological crime thriller told through two timelines, 1994 and the present day.

In 1994, in the quiet English village of Barton Mallet, teenagers Ben Knott, his girlfriend Annie Maddock and their friends are enjoying their final year at school. But everything changes at the Leaver's Dance, when Annie is murdered.

One of their friends, Dave Patel, is convicted of the crime and sent to prison.

Thirty years later, Ben has apparently built a completely different life. He is an architect and businessman, has a partner and two children, and should have left that terrible summer far behind him.

Except that the past has a nasty habit of coming back.

Dave is about to be released from prison. Ben is also dealing with financial problems. And then a Hollywood film crew arrives in Barton Mallet to make a horror film, with Ben's teenage son Nathan landing one of the main roles.

The disturbing part?

The film's story begins to mirror the events of Ben's past. And suddenly the past and present start colliding.

DARK, MOODY AND CINEMATIC

One thing I certainly cannot complain about is the atmosphere.

The Cut is dark and moody, with a strong sense of place and an increasingly uncomfortable feeling that something is not quite right. Armitage builds the atmosphere very effectively, and there is a definite cinematic quality to the way the story unfolds.

And perhaps that should not surprise us.

After all, he is an actor. He has spent years working with scripts, characters, pacing and stories designed to keep an audience watching. Some of that experience inevitably finds its way into his writing.

The story moves towards a dramatic, high-stakes finale, bringing together the secrets of the past and the paranoia of the present. And this time I could really see what he was trying to do.

FROM ACTOR TO AUTHOR

One of the things I found interesting while thinking about The Cut is how much Armitage's experience with television seems to have influenced the way he constructs his stories.

He has talked about what he learned from working with Harlan Coben, particularly about structural pacing. Coben's approach to storytelling made him think differently about how a thriller should keep moving and how each section should push the reader towards the next revelation.

That influence seems particularly noticeable in The Cut.

Rather than telling the story in a straightforward way, Armitage moves between different periods and gradually connects the pieces. The 1994 tragedy runs alongside the modern film production, creating a kind of story within the story.

There are revelations, changes of direction and cliffhangers designed to make you want to carry on reading.

And I can see why this works.In fact, I suspect it works even better for readers who actually love thrillers.

BUT… I HAVE TO BE HONEST

Because this is FLY HIGH!, and because I don't want to pretend that I suddenly became a devoted thriller reader just because Richard Armitage wrote a book, I also have to say what didn't work for me.

The biggest problem was that I guessed some of the mystery and the major twists rather early.

And once I had guessed where some of the story was going, part of the suspense disappeared.

There were also moments when I found the opening rather slow and I occasionally struggled with the plausibility of the modern film-crew storyline. But perhaps my biggest difficulty was the characters.I never became completely emotionally attached to them.

Both the teenagers and the adults are, in different ways, quite difficult people to relate to and I found myself more interested in discovering what had happened than desperately needing to know what would happen to them.

And that matters. At least to me. Because I'm the sort of reader who needs to care about people before I can become completely absorbed in their story.

SO, DID I ENJOY IT?

This is where it gets complicated. Would I have picked up The Cut in a bookshop if I didn't know who had written it? Probably not.

Would I recommend it to someone who, like me, doesn't particularly enjoy crime novels and thrillers? I'm not sure.

But does that mean I think it is a bad book? Absolutely not. Quite the opposite.

I think The Cut shows a writer who has become much more confident about structure, pacing and creating suspense. The atmosphere is effective, the story is carefully constructed, and there is a real sense of momentum once the different strands begin to come together.

It simply isn't my kind of story. And there is nothing wrong with that.

AND THEN THERE IS THE OTHER STORY…

The other reason I wanted to write about this book is, of course, the person who wrote it.

For years, Richard Armitage was one of the people I wrote about most on FLY HIGH!

That was another FLY HIGH!, really.

A blog full of North and South, John Thornton, films, television, theatre, interviews, photographs, discussions, excitement and all the wonderful friendships that came from sharing an obsession with someone else's work.

A lot has changed since then. I have changed. The blog has changed. My interests have changed. And my reading certainly has changed.

So perhaps there is something rather nice about finding myself here, all these years later, reading another book by the same actor who played such a huge part in the story of this blog.

Only now I don't feel that I have to love it just because I love the author. I can appreciate what he has done.

I can recognise the skill. I can even enjoy parts of the book and still say:

This is not really my cup of tea.

THE FINAL CUT

So, no, this isn't going to be one of those reviews where I tell you that The Cut changed my life and that everyone must immediately rush out and buy it. It didn't.

But I did find it a much more accomplished reading experience than I expected, especially considering how far the genre is from my usual choices.

And perhaps that is what I like most about having finally written this review. I didn't have to choose between being the old FLY HIGH! reader who followed Richard Armitage everywhere and the reader I am today. I could be both.

I could remember why I once found him so fascinating, appreciate how important he was to the history of this blog, read his latest book and then sit down and say honestly what I thought about it.

Which is, after all, what reading is supposed to be about. We don't have to love every book. Sometimes it is enough to finish one, close it, think about it for a while… …and realise that there was actually quite a lot to talk about after all.

SCREEN STORIES - THE EARLY SPRING: WHEN CHEMISTRY ALMOST MAKES YOU FORGET THE RED FLAGS

2026-09-13T21:40:34.700+02:00

There is no doubt that The Early Spring has made quite an entrance.

The Chinese workplace romance, starring Jing Boran as Luan Nian (Luke) and Sun Qian as Shang Zhitao (Flora), premiered on 26 August and immediately attracted a huge international audience. In its first week on Netflix, it reached No. 2 on the Global Non-English TV list, with 2.4 million views and 21.5 million hours watched and it entered the Top 10 in 22 markets.

The premise sounds simple enough. Flora arrives in Beijing and begins working for a prestigious advertising company, where she meets Luan Nian, a brilliant but demanding creative director. He is her boss. They clash, they are attracted to each other and eventually they begin a secret relationship which becomes much more complicated than either of them expected.

And this is where my problem begins. Because I have spent a good part of this drama thinking:

I HATE HIM. WHY? WHY?

And then, five minutes later:

Oh my God, look at him.

This is not exactly the reaction I expected to have.

THE SPELL

The series itself gives us the explanation very early. After glimpses of their first night together, Flora tells us that Luan Nian has put a spell on her, that he has unlocked the secret of her desire. She says that he made her long for more, drove her crazy and lived in her mind. And then comes the really important confession: she has spent six years in this hidden relationship, with its grievances, pain and joy, and yet she has never been able to take the first step to leave him.

Six years.

That changes the way I watched the whole story. Because this isn't simply a case of beautiful man behaves badly but woman somehow doesn't notice. Flora notices. She suffers. She knows when something is wrong. She tries to leave. She tells herself that their relationship is bad. And yet she keeps going back. And, rather uncomfortably, I understood why. Because the chemistry between these two is extraordinary.

Luan Nian is frighteningly sexy, elegant, magnetic and completely self-possessed. He can be charming, sweet and caring, and when he wants Flora back, he knows exactly what to do. That look. That voice. Those puppy eyes when he gets close to her and almost begs her not to leave him.

“You don't actually mean that, do you?” Electricity! Hormones are traitors!

And this is precisely why I don't think it is enough to say: Well, he's toxic, so why doesn't she just leave?

The drama is deliberately showing us the attraction too. It wants us to feel the pull. And I did.

Unfortunately.

CHEMISTRY IS NOT INTIMACY

There is one scene that sums up my entire experience of watching The Early Spring.

Flora has agreed to help her flatmate with a dating app and is supposed to attend a blind-date event. Luke finds out. Suddenly, he needs her to work overtime. Can she refuse? Nope, he is her boss. She gets into his car and the sexual tension is immediate. Then he starts asking questions about the mysterious blind date. Who is she meeting? Why is she going? He parks the car and asks again.

“Are you jealous?”

“You wish!”

And then, almost before I have time to recover from being irritated with him, he kisses her. The rain comes. The music rises. They end up making out in the car and spending the night together in his home.

I was sitting there thinking:

I HATE HIM. WHY DOES HE ALWAYS RUIN EVERY MOMENT THEY HAVE TOGETHER?

But the electricity I had felt in the previous moments was real. That is the problem. The chemistry is real. The attraction is real. The relationship is also deeply uncomfortable.

And I think this is where The Early Spring becomes much more interesting — and much more troubling — than a simple romance.

Because intensity is not intimacy.

A couple can have extraordinary chemistry and still have an absolutely terrible relationship.

LUAN NIAN'S RED FLAGS ARE NOT SMALL ONES

My problem with Luke is not that he is cold or emotionally complicated. Fiction is full of difficult men, and I am perfectly capable of enjoying them. It is what he actually does.

He is Flora's superior at work, which makes everything more uncomfortable from the beginning. There is already a power imbalance between them, and the drama sometimes turns that imbalance into part of the romantic tension rather than asking us to question it.

Even their first night together makes me uneasy. Flora is completely drunk, cannot even show him the way to her own home and he takes her to his. Later, he asks if she is single and suggests they give the relationship a try. I remember watching that scene and thinking:

No, no, no, no. Girl, WAIT.

This is not the sort of situation in which I want a woman to forget that she needs to protect herself. And then there are the things he says to her.

When Flora and her flatmates are mistreated by a shady rental agency, Luke helps them — and then proceeds to tear into her because she didn't tell him what had happened.

“Is my phone just for show or is your brain just for show?”

“You're stupid.”

Then, when she tries to answer:

“Did I say you can speak?”

And a few seconds later:

“Are you this obedient? SPEAK. Speak now.”

I am sorry, but this turned my stomach.

And yet, somehow, the drama can put this man in a beautiful room, give him a gorgeous suit, have him look at Flora in that particular way, and suddenly I am watching again.

This is what I mean by the spell.

AND WHAT HAPPENS TO FLORA?

This is probably what frustrated me most. Flora is capable. She is intelligent. She has her own career and her own ambitions. But around Luan Nian, she repeatedly becomes the woman waiting for a text, an explanation, a little affection, a little validation, a reason to believe that he really wants her. He never really treats her as his equal.

GIRL, WHY ARE YOU STILL THERE?!

And I think the answer is partly in the way she has learned to measure herself through his reactions to her.

At one point, after he has been particularly harsh with her, she cries to her flatmate because she cannot work out whether she is upset because he treated her strictly as her boss or because he did not give her any special treatment as her boyfriend. She knows she would not want favouritism at work, but what she really wanted was sympathy, encouragement and some sign that he was on her side. Instead, she decides that perhaps she needs to become stronger — like him — so that they can communicate on equal footing.

That scene stayed with me.

Because why is she the one who has to become stronger so that she can cope with the way he treats her?

And later, when she finally reaches her limit, leaves him and chooses herself, I thought:

YES. Finally.

She quits her job. She walks away. We finally see her putting herself first. This was the Flora I wanted to see. I wanted her to reach the point where she could say:

I don't need to be chosen by someone who made me beg to feel worthy.

TEARS ARE NOT ACCOUNTABILITY

And then comes Luke's regret. He cries. He suffers. He chases her. He becomes terrified of losing her. And I have no problem with a redemption arc. What I have a problem with is an unearned redemption arc. Tears are not accountability. Missing someone is not accountability. Grand gestures are not accountability. And regretting your behaviour because someone has finally walked away does not automatically erase years of emotional damage.

This is why I was disappointed when Flora went back to him. Actually, disappointed is probably the right word. I wanted more time. I wanted Luke's return to Flora's life to be slower. I wanted him to prove, through his behaviour, that something had genuinely changed. Instead, he pushes his way back into her life, stays outside her home in the cold, uses their dog as an excuse to get close to her, and eventually we get the grand proposal, the kneeling, the huge diamond.

And I kept thinking: I don't believe you will completely change.

I wanted to believe it. I just didn't. Flora's return therefore did not give me the satisfying ending I was expecting. I was left hoping that she had become stronger and would defend herself better this time.

YOU DON'T NEED TO BE PERFECT TO BE WORTHY OF LOVE

There is another thing I kept thinking about. At the beginning of every episode, the series gives us this motto: “You don't need to be perfect to be worthy of love.” I completely agree. Of course we don't need to be perfect to be loved. But what does the series mean by it?

Because being imperfect is not the same as being cruel. Having difficulties expressing your feelings is not the same as humiliating someone. Being jealous is not automatically love. Possessiveness is not intimacy. Emotional manipulation is not passion. And being cold and cruel is not mysterious. This is where I found myself resisting the drama. I don't want The Early Spring to tell me that Luan Nian is a wonderful man because he eventually cries when he realises he might lose the woman he has spent years hurting.

I want him to understand what he did. I want Flora to understand what happened to her. And above all, I want the drama to understand the difference between being loved and being made to feel that you have to earn someone's love.

AND YET...

Here comes the awkward part. I enjoyed it. A lot. I was fascinated by them. I wanted to know what would happen. I waited for their scenes together. I noticed every look. I enjoyed the tension, the production, the music, the performances. And I don't think there is anything wrong with that.

We can be fascinated by a fictional relationship without wanting that relationship for ourselves. In fact, perhaps that is exactly why The Early Spring has generated so much discussion. It knows how to make us feel the attraction, even when our brains are shouting RED FLAG! RED FLAG!

And perhaps that is why I don't want to dismiss the drama simply by calling Luan Nian toxic. That would be too easy. The more interesting question is: why are we so easily seduced by behaviour that we would recognise as unacceptable in real life when it is presented through a beautiful actor, beautiful cinematography and extraordinary chemistry?

My Bias, My Boss (2026)

I've seen another drama recently, a Korean one, My Bias, My Boss, where the CEO/young employee relationship managed to be romantic without making controlling behaviour the main source of the excitement. The male lead was a model of emotional intelligence every woman deserves to meet. That was lovely to watch. It reminded me that the problem is not necessarily the workplace romance itself. It is what the characters do with the power they have.

And that is why I keep coming back to Flora. She deserved better. Not because she needed a “better man”. Because she needed to become completely convinced that she was already enough. Perhaps that is the part of the motto I can believe in.

And perhaps that is also the part of The Early Spring that I found most frustrating: the drama came very close to giving Flora that lesson — and then made her go back to the man who had made her doubt it.

Still, I cannot deny it. The chemistry is extraordinary. Luan Nian is ridiculously attractive. Those looks should probably come with a health warning. And yes, I nearly surrendered to the romance more than once.

Hormones are traitors.

THE EARLY SPRING IS AVAILABLE ON NETFLIX

BOOKS & MORE BOOKS: THE SECOND CHANCE CONVENIENCE STORE

2026-08-25T21:13:18.022+02:00

There are books that I enjoy because of their story, books that fascinate me because of the way they are written, and books that somehow manage to do both.

The Second Chance Convenience Store by Kim Ho-yeon is one of those books for me.

I was hooked almost from the beginning. As I read, I kept visualising the scenes as if I were watching one of my beloved Korean dramas set in Seoul: the characters appearing one after another, each with their own story, their own worries, their own solitude. I could almost see the little convenience store, the people coming and going, the neighbourhood around it.

And then, in Chapter Two, I realised that the author was doing something I particularly love.

We don't simply follow Dok-go, the mysterious homeless man at the centre of the story. We meet him through the eyes of the different people who encounter him, while at the same time discovering their stories. Sometimes we see the same events from different perspectives. Little by little, the separate pieces begin to form an intriguing web.

I loved it.

It made me an active reader, constantly connecting things, reconsidering what I had understood and trying to see how all these apparently separate lives fitted together.

And, of course, I wanted to know more about Dok-go.

A man who changes people's lives

Dok-go isn't an ordinary character. From the beginning, I felt there was something more to him, although I didn't immediately understand what it was. I warmed to him gradually, as did the people around him.

What makes him so special isn't that he is a superhero. He has no magical powers and he doesn't arrive in the neighbourhood with a ready-made solution to everybody's problems.

He listens.

He notices.

He understands.

He is empathetic and sensitive and somehow his presence makes people look at their own lives differently.

I found myself wondering whether, in our competitive, cynical and often selfish world, empathy might actually be a kind of superpower.

But Dok-go's story becomes much more interesting when we finally discover who he was before he became the man we have come to know.

The long final chapter, in which his past is revealed, was one of the things I appreciated most about the novel. By then I had come to care about him, so understanding his mistakes, his suffering and everything he had learnt from them made his transformation much more meaningful.

And the final pages brought all the different threads together in a way I found deeply moving and satisfying.

Seoul and the need for one another

There is another reason why this novel felt familiar to me.

While reading it, I kept thinking about Korean dramas I have watched, because The Second Chance Convenience Store explores something I have often found fascinating in stories set in Seoul: the coexistence of extreme individualism and a deep need for community.

Seoul is a huge, competitive city where people have little time for one another. The characters who gravitate towards the convenience store are often lonely in one way or another. Some are struggling financially, some with family problems, some with work, some simply with life.

And yet the little shop gradually becomes a place where people meet.

They talk.

They listen.

They help one another.

The person who makes this possible is not only Dok-go. Mrs Yeom, the owner of the store, is crucial. She is the first person to look beyond Dok-go's appearance and circumstances and simply treat him as a human being who deserves kindness.

That first act of trust sets something in motion.

Perhaps this is what the novel means by a second chance. It isn't necessarily about forgetting the past or becoming a completely different person.

Sometimes a second chance begins when someone else gives us the opportunity to become better than the person we have been.

Why I keep coming back to these stories

I finished the novel a few days ago, but I found myself talking about it with a friend today.

I was trying to explain why I am so fond of these kinds of stories, whether I find them in Korean novels, Korean dramas or Chinese dramas.

Perhaps it is because they make me think.

They offer a different recipe for life.

Not a complicated philosophical system, and not grand answers. The language can be remarkably simple, the situations apparently ordinary, the conversations very natural. And yet, somehow, the words reach exactly the right spot in my heart.

They make me care.

They make me think about the way people relate to one another.

And they often make me cry.

The Second Chance Convenience Store reminded me once again that a story doesn't need extraordinary heroes or spectacular events to be powerful. Sometimes all it needs is a group of ordinary people, a place where their lives happen to meet, and someone willing to look at another human being and see a person rather than a problem.

Perhaps that is what I loved most about this novel.

And perhaps that is why, once again, I found myself wishing that the book could become a Korean drama.

Because I would quite happily spend sixteen episodes—or forty—inside that little convenience store, watching those lives unfold.

BOOKS & MORE BOOKS - THE BURNOUT SOCIETY BY BYUNG-CHUL HAN

2026-08-12T08:00:00.000+02:00

I wanted to kick off this blog post by sharing a little personal journey I embarked on during my summer holidays. You see, recently I've had a deep fascination with philosophy, especially the profound insights that Asian philosophy offers. So, this summer, instead of hitting the typical beach reads, I chose a few thought-provoking books and even enrolled in an intriguing online course.

And let me tell you, it was nothing short of mind-blowing! These philosophical adventures turned out to be not only thought-provoking but also immensely motivational and, dare I say it, life-changing. One particular book, "The Burnout Society" by Byung-Chul Han, left such an impact that I just had to share my reflections with you. So, buckle up, because we're about to delve into a world of ideas that might just transform the way you see the world too. Here's my review, I hope you'll find it interesting and enjoy reading it.

Unmasking the Strains of Modern Life

In an era characterized by ceaseless connectivity, rapid technological advancements, and the relentless pursuit of productivity, Byung-Chul Han's groundbreaking essay, "The Burnout Society," emerges as a poignant exploration of the contemporary individual's struggle to cope with the demands of late-modern society. Han's work delves deep into the core of our hyperactive, performance-driven culture, shedding light on the distressing consequences of living in a world that celebrates positivity and convenience at the cost of genuine human experience.

The Contemporary Struggle

Byung-Chul Han's analysis of the modern individual's plight resonates profoundly in today's world. Our lives have become increasingly digitized, with multitasking and the relentless pursuit of efficiency becoming the norm. But, as Han argues, this constant striving for productivity has given rise to a host of psychological and emotional disorders.

Consider the prevalence of depression, attention deficit disorders, and borderline personality disorders in contemporary society. These are not merely individual issues; they are symptomatic of a broader societal problem. Our incessant drive for positivity and convenience has made it difficult for us to navigate negative experiences. We've grown accustomed to instant gratification and have little tolerance for discomfort or adversity.

The Erosion of Negativity

One of Han's central ideas is the erosion of negativity in our lives. In our pursuit of happiness and success, we've become averse to negative emotions and experiences. The constant exposure to curated, idealized lives on social media reinforces this obsession with positivity. We are expected to be happy, successful, and content at all times.

Think about how social media platforms encourage us to share our highlights, but rarely our struggles. The pressure to maintain a façade of perpetual positivity can be mentally exhausting. We've lost the capacity to embrace negativity as an essential part of the human experience.

Byung-Chul Han is a South Korean-born philosopher and cultural theorist living in Germany. He was a professor at the Berlin
University of the Arts and still occasionally gives courses there

Hyperactivity and Multitasking

Han also scrutinizes our obsession with hyperactivity and multitasking. In today's world, we are constantly juggling multiple tasks, responding to notifications, and striving to be "efficient." This frenzied lifestyle not only affects our mental health but also erodes our ability to engage in deep, meaningful reflection.

Consider the smartphone, a ubiquitous presence in our lives. While it offers convenience and connectivity, it also fosters a culture of distraction. We're rarely fully present in the moment, always on edge, waiting for the next notification. This perpetual state of hyperactivity has consequences for our well-being, contributing to stress, anxiety, and burnout.

The Loss of Sacred Time

Han's exploration of the concept of time is particularly thought-provoking. He contrasts the profane time of hyperproduction with the sacred time of celebration and play. In our modern, hyperactive society, moments of celebration and genuine playfulness are rare. We're so consumed by our relentless pursuit of productivity that we often forget the importance of taking time to savor life's simple joys.

Incorporating Han's insights into our present-day lives, we can reflect on the urgency of reevaluating our priorities. Are we sacrificing our well-being for the sake of productivity and efficiency? Are we overlooking the value of negativity and the lessons it can teach us? How can we reintroduce sacred moments of celebration and play into our lives to counterbalance the constant demands of hyperproduction?

A path towards a more balanced, fulfilling existence

Byung-Chul Han's "The Burnout Society" provides a profound examination of the strains of modern life in a world driven by performance, positivity, and hyperactivity. It serves as a wake-up call, urging us to reconsider our values and priorities. In an age where constant connectivity threatens to consume us, Han's insights offer a path towards a more balanced, fulfilling existence where we can embrace negativity, celebrate life's simple joys, and rediscover the sacred in our everyday experiences.

Byung-Chul Han: books, biography, latest update

BOOKS & MORE BOOKS: WHEN A READER BECOMES A WRITER

2026-08-06T15:42:50.387+02:00

A Story Sixteen Years in the Making

A few weeks ago, I was absent-mindedly scrolling through Instagram when a familiar name suddenly made me stop.

June Hur.

For a moment I wondered, Could it really be the same June?

It was.

Sixteen years ago, she was one of the young bloggers I interviewed on FLY HIGH!. We used to exchange emails about Jane Austen, period dramas, British actors and, above all, books. She often told me about her greatest dream: one day becoming a published writer.

Life moved on. We gradually lost touch.

Then, thanks to one of those rare moments when social media gets something wonderfully right, June unexpectedly found her way back into my life.

Only this time she wasn't an aspiring writer anymore.

She was a New York Times bestselling author celebrating the publication of her fourth novel.

Some stories begin with a book.

This one began with a reader.

Why I Couldn't Resist This Novel

If you've been following FLY HIGH! over the past few years, you'll know that I have developed a real passion for Korean literature, Korean history and Korean dramas.

So imagine my reaction when I discovered that June's newest novel was inspired by Pride and Prejudice and set in eighteenth-century Joseon Korea.

Jane Austen.

Joseon Korea.

Forbidden books.

Anonymous letters.

How could I not read it?

I ordered the novel as soon as it became available and couldn't wait for it to arrive.

Set in 1792, during a real government ban on fiction, Behind Five Willows introduces us to Shin Haewon, who secretly copies forbidden novels under the pen name "Magpie", and Yu Seojun, a young nobleman who secretly writes fiction under the name "Black Lotus". Before they truly meet, they already know each other through the anonymous letters they exchange.

Yes, readers familiar with Pride and Prejudice will enjoy recognising affectionate echoes of Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Darcy. But this is far more than a Korean retelling of Austen's masterpiece.

It is, first and foremost, a book about books.

And I think that's the reason it won me over from the very first pages.

What I Loved Most

I loved the historical setting, which felt wonderfully alive without ever slowing down the story. The ban on fiction isn't simply part of the background: it shapes the lives of every character, creating a world where reading itself becomes an act of courage.

I loved the conversations about books, the secret exchange of letters, the hidden network of readers and writers determined to keep stories alive despite every prohibition.

I loved Haewon.

Not because she reminded me of Elizabeth Bennet, but because she reminded me of another girl entirely.

My younger self.

As a child—and later as a teenager—I was an insatiable reader. There were never enough books. Libraries felt magical. Bookshops were places where I could happily lose all sense of time. Every shelf seemed to promise another adventure, another life, another world waiting patiently to be discovered.

When Haewon first steps into Five Willows and describes shelves filled with "ten thousand lifetimes pressed between covers", I smiled. I knew exactly what she meant.

Even today, whenever I walk into a library or a bookshop, I still feel that same quiet excitement.

Perhaps that is why Behind Five Willows felt so welcoming.

It reminded me why I fell in love with reading in the first place.

And perhaps that is the greatest compliment I can pay June Hur's novel.

It made me feel, once again, like the girl who believed there could never be too many books.

Read my interview with June Hur at My Jane Austen Book Club

SCREEN STORIES: THE COURAGE TO SLOW DOWN

2026-08-03T16:06:19.307+02:00

Some stories entertain us. Others stay with us because, almost without noticing, they ask questions we have been carrying inside for a long time.

Meet Yourself is one of those stories.

When I started watching this forty-episode Chinese drama, I expected a comforting slice-of-life series. What I didn't expect was to find myself wondering, episode after episode, what it really means to build a meaningful life.

The opening is heartbreaking. Xu Hongdou is a successful hotel manager in Beijing whose closest friend dies of cancer. Before she dies, the two women dream of travelling together, and after her friend's death Hongdou decides to make that journey alone. She fills a board with photographs, notes and little keepsakes beneath two simple words: Our Dream. It is her way of continuing a conversation that death has interrupted but not ended.

Perhaps that is why her grief feels so genuine. The series never suggests that we should "move on" from the people we love. Instead, it quietly proposes something far more comforting: every time we speak about them, remember them or fulfil a dream we once shared, they are still part of our lives.

That idea stayed with me long after the final episode.

Hongdou's destination is Yun Miao, a small village in Yunnan. I still remember the moment I fell in love with the series.It wasn't a dramatic scene. It was simply seeing the village for the first time.

The old stone and wood houses. The narrow lanes filled with flowers. The elderly women wearing traditional clothes. A white horse wandering freely through the streets. The sea. The courtyard where guests and villagers gather to drink tea, share meals, exchange ideas and slowly become part of one another's lives.

I found myself smiling and thinking, almost involuntarily: "I'd love to visit there."

From that moment on, I was completely immersed in the story.

Not because I was eager to discover what would happen next, but because I wanted to spend more time with these people.

One of the greatest strengths of Meet Yourself is that almost nothing extraordinary happens.

People cook.

Work.

Read.

Walk by the sea.

Help their neighbours.

Sit together in the courtyard.

Talk.

And yet, by the end of each episode, something has changed.

Not because of dramatic events, but because of conversations.

Looking back, I realise that those conversations are what I loved most.

They are never artificial or overly philosophical. They are remarkably simple, grounded in everyday life, yet they often touch questions that concern us all.

How do we keep the people we have lost alive in our hearts? What makes a successful life? Can tradition and modernity coexist without one destroying the other? How much do we really need to be happy? One scene, in particular, has stayed with me.

Mr Ma, who has retreated from city life in search of inner peace, is gently challenged by an elderly village woman. She has spent her entire life working hard and caring for others, yet her understanding of responsibility, freedom and human relationships proves deeper than all the philosophical books Mr Ma has read.

Watching that exchange, I found myself sharing his surprise.

The series reminds us that wisdom does not always come from education.

Sometimes it grows quietly through experience, work, love and everyday life.

The same quiet wisdom can be found in Granny Xie, my favourite secondary character.

Strong, generous and wonderfully stubborn, she immediately reminded me of my own grandmother. Hongdou says she smells of freshly baked bread because she reminds her of home. I smiled when I heard those words. I knew exactly what she meant.

One of the reasons I admire Meet Yourself so much is that it refuses easy solutions.

Hongdou does not impulsively abandon one life for another. She gives herself time. She returns to her friend's parents. She goes back to her own family. She reflects.She asks practical questions. Only then does she decide to return to Yun Miao, investing not only her money but also her professional experience in the village's future.

I found that deeply reassuring. Life-changing decisions rarely need to be rushed.

Perhaps what moved me most was discovering that the series is not really about escaping the city. Nor is it simply a love story. It is about recognising a place where our values, our work and our relationships finally begin to make sense together.

The romance between Hongdou and Xie Zhiyao grows naturally from that discovery. One of their conversations by the sea contains one of the most generous declarations of love I have encountered on screen—not because it asks for anything in return, but because it leaves the other person completely free to choose her own path.

That, to me, is what love should look like.

When the final episode ended, I realised I wasn't saying goodbye to a television series.

I was leaving a place that had come to feel strangely familiar. A place where conversations matter. Where people still make time for one another.

Where traditions are not preserved out of nostalgia but because they continue to give meaning to everyday life. Where success is measured not only by achievement but also by the quality of our relationships.

Perhaps that is why Meet Yourself affected me so deeply. Not because it offered answers.

But because it quietly asked questions I often find myself asking.

What am I doing here?

What kind of life am I trying to build?

And perhaps the greatest gift this series offers is not a lesson, but a gentle reminder that we do not have to answer those questions in a hurry.

Sometimes, like Hongdou, we simply need to slow down long enough to recognise the place—and the people—that help us become ourselves.

Meet Yourself is available on Youtube, Netflix and Viki

THINKING ALOUD: CAN ART BE DIVIDED BY GEOGRAPHY?

2026-07-30T21:51:15.662+02:00

During the Covid pandemic, a friend suggested I watch my first Korean drama. I accepted almost out of curiosity, with no idea that one recommendation would open the door to an entirely new cultural world. One series led to another, then to Korean cinema, Korean literature and, eventually, to BTS.

Around the same time, I discovered that Michela Murgia—whose work and public voice I deeply admired—shared the same passion for Korea, K-dramas and BTS. Listening to her speak about K-pop changed something in me. She argued that a genuine passion is never superficial: if it drives us to learn, to understand and to explore, it becomes an act of knowledge. Those words stayed with me. They gave me permission to stop apologising for my curiosity.

Yesterday's news brought them back to mind.

BTS, the South Korean group that has become one of the most influential musical phenomena of the twenty-first century, announced that they will not submit their music for consideration at the 2027 Grammy Awards. Their decision follows the Recording Academy's introduction of a new category, Best Asian Pop Music Performance, a move that has sparked an intense international debate. Many artists and fans see the category not as a celebration of Asian music, but as a form of cultural segregation: a separate space that risks excluding Asian artists from competing on equal terms in the mainstream categories. Shortly afterwards, fans noticed that several of BTS's historic Grammy performance videos had disappeared from the Recording Academy's website, further fuelling the controversy.

Whether these events are connected is something history will clarify.

What interests me, however, is a much broader question.

Can art really be divided by geography?

The more I thought about it, the more I realised that this question extends far beyond music.

When we walk into a bookshop, we may find shelves labelled Japanese Literature or Latin American Fiction. These categories help readers discover authors they might otherwise overlook. But literary prizes do not ask writers to compete only within the boundaries of their continent. When Han Kang received the Nobel Prize in Literature, she was recognised not as an Asian writer competing against other Asian writers, but simply as one of the world's greatest living authors.

Shouldn't music aspire to the same principle?

For some years now, I have found myself increasingly drawn towards South Korean culture. It began with BTS, continued with K-dramas, expanded through cinema and eventually led me to the extraordinary novels of Han Kang.

Only afterwards did I come across the expression that helped me understand what I had been experiencing: soft power.

South Korea has become one of the world's most influential cultural voices not through military or political dominance, but through stories, films, television, literature and music. It has invited millions of people to discover a culture that, until recently, many of us knew very little about.

That, to me, is one of the most remarkable cultural achievements of our time.

And yet, despite this extraordinary global influence, Korean popular culture is still often underestimated.

Why?

I suspect at least two old prejudices are still at work.

The first is cultural.

For centuries, Western institutions have tended—often unconsciously—to regard themselves as the natural centre of artistic recognition. Works from elsewhere are welcomed, admired and sometimes celebrated, but they are still too often perceived as belonging to a separate category rather than to the shared landscape of world culture.

The second prejudice is equally persistent.

Anything loved overwhelmingly by women has frequently been considered less serious, less worthy of critical attention and somehow less prestigious than cultural phenomena with predominantly male audiences.

History offers countless examples of this tendency.

Perhaps BTS stand precisely at the intersection of these two prejudices.

They are Asian. And they are loved by millions of women across generations.

Yet reducing BTS to a successful boy band means overlooking what has made them such a remarkable cultural force.

Over the years they have consistently spoken about mental health, self-acceptance, education and social responsibility. They have addressed the United Nations, encouraged young people to believe in themselves and inspired millions of fans to engage in charitable initiatives around the world. Whether one enjoys their music is, ultimately, a matter of personal taste. What is far more difficult to deny is their extraordinary cultural significance.

This is why their decision to refuse submission to the Grammy Awards struck me as more than a gesture of protest.

It was a statement of principle.

In their words, they hope that music can be heard and appreciated "for what it is, rather than being divided by region or language."

I find that difficult to disagree with.

Perhaps the real question is not whether BTS deserve a Grammy.

Millions of listeners around the world have already answered that question for themselves.

Perhaps the real question is whether our cultural institutions are ready to recognise that artistic excellence no longer has a single geographical centre.

As I reflected on these events, I found myself thinking again about Michela Murgia.

She did not teach me to admire BTS.

She taught me something much more important.

She taught me never to apologise for genuine curiosity.

Because curiosity leads us to read books written in distant languages.

To watch films made in cultures different from our own.

To listen to unfamiliar music.

And, sometimes, to question the categories through which we have always looked at the world.

Whether the Recording Academy changes its position or not, one fact remains.

Awards can celebrate greatness. They cannot create it.

If art truly has the power to bring people together across languages, cultures and continents, perhaps our task is not to divide it into ever smaller categories, but to learn to recognise excellence wherever it comes from.

That, after all, is one of the most beautiful things culture can teach us.

BOOKS & MORE BOOKS - THE VEGETARIAN BY HAN KANG: THE IMPOSSIBLE ESCAPE

2026-07-22T11:23:40.345+02:00

Some novels leave us with a clear opinion.

Others leave us disturbed, fascinated and uncertain about what, exactly, we have just experienced.

The Vegetarian belongs to the second category.

I closed Han Kang's novel with the uncomfortable feeling that I still did not know how to judge it. It is not an easy or comforting read. Its images are often disturbing, its violence difficult to endure, and its central character seems to move further and further away from any possibility of returning to ordinary life.

And yet, I found myself deeply moved by it.

There are books that remind us why we read: books in which words create a world so vivid and psychologically intense that, for the duration of the reading, it seems almost real.

The Vegetarian is one of those books.

A woman seen from the outside

Yeong-hye decides to stop eating meat after a series of disturbing dreams.

The decision appears simple. The consequences are not.

Her husband, a mediocre and emotionally detached man, is bewildered by the change. He values his wife precisely because she is ordinary, submissive and undemanding. When she stops conforming to his expectations, the fragile structure of their marriage begins to collapse.

Her family responds with even greater violence. Later, her brother-in-law becomes obsessed with her body and turns her into the object of an artistic and erotic fantasy. In the final part of the novel, her sister In-hye becomes the closest observer of Yeong-hye's gradual withdrawal from the human world.

The novel is divided into three parts, and Yeong-hye is always seen through the eyes of someone else.

We are never truly inside her mind.

The only access we have to her interior world comes through her dreams. This is one of Han Kang's most unsettling choices. Everyone around Yeong-hye interprets her: her husband tries to explain her, her father attempts to control her, her brother-in-law projects his desires onto her, and doctors diagnose her.

But Yeong-hye herself remains largely inaccessible.

She is constantly being looked at, described and acted upon, yet she is never fully possessed by the narrative. Perhaps this is one of the novel's most powerful paradoxes: a woman whose body becomes the centre of everyone else's attention is also the character we are least able to reach.

When resistance becomes disappearance

At the beginning, Yeong-hye's refusal to eat meat can be understood as an act of resistance. She rejects violence and, perhaps, the entire system of expectations that has shaped her life. Her body becomes the first place where she can say no.

But the novel does not present this resistance as a simple path towards liberation.

In literature, madness can sometimes become a form of freedom. By stepping outside social conventions and abandoning imposed roles, characters may escape the masks they have been forced to wear.

Yeong-hye's journey is different.

She does not become free by escaping the human world.

She gradually disappears from it.

Her desire to become a plant can be understood. Human beings, in her vision, are violent creatures. Nature, by contrast, seems innocent. A tree does not attack or impose its will upon another being. It simply exists.

Yeong-hye wants to become something that cannot participate in human violence.

But the price of this escape is the destruction of her own body.

This is why I could not see her madness as liberation. I could understand the desire to escape, and why becoming a plant might appear to her as the only possible form of purity. But I could not call what happens to her freedom.

I could only see a human being disappearing, piece by piece, until resistance itself becomes another form of self-destruction.

Two sisters, one desire to disappear

For me, In-hye is the emotional centre of the final part of the novel.

She is the sister who continues to live in the human world. She works, looks after her child and carries the responsibilities expected of her. And yet, when she looks at Yeong-hye, she begins to recognise something that frightens her.

At one point, she tells her sister:

I have dreams too, you know? Dreams in which I could dissolve, let them take over me... But we cannot live only in dreams, can we? We have to wake up at some point, don't we? Why... why then...?

The unfinished question is devastating.

Because In-hye is not simply speaking to Yeong-hye.

She is also speaking to herself.

The difference between the sisters may not be that one wants to escape and the other does not. Perhaps In-hye is simply the one who has learned to continue living while carrying the same desire within herself.

Yeong-hye surrenders to the dream.

In-hye continues to resist it.

Neither sister is truly free.

This is one of the reasons I found the novel so infuriating. The helplessness of both women is almost unbearable. They live in a patriarchal society still rooted in rigid convictions, a society that leaves them little space in which to exist on their own terms. When a woman refuses the role assigned to her, the response is not curiosity or understanding.

It is control.

The tree as refuge and defeat

Yeong-hye's transformation into a plant is one of the novel's most powerful images.

Nature becomes a refuge from human violence. The tree represents silence, stillness and a form of existence untouched by the cruelty Yeong-hye associates with humanity.

But Han Kang does not allow this image to become reassuring.

The tree is both refuge and defeat.

It represents the possibility of escaping the human world, but also the disappearance of the human self. Yeong-hye wants to become a tree because trees do not harm anyone. But to become one, she must destroy the body that has carried her through the world.

The dream of absolute purity becomes inseparable from annihilation.

What happens when the world becomes so violent that the only imaginable escape is to stop being human?

Han Kang's world of trauma and nature

Having also read The Greek Lessons and I Do Not Say Goodbye, I cannot help noticing a deeper connection between the three Han Kang novels I have encountered.

Their stories are very different, but beneath them I sense a common impulse: when the human world becomes unbearable, her characters search for some alternative space in which the wounded self might survive.

In The Greek Lessons, a language becomes a fragile refuge.

In I Do Not Say Goodbye, nature becomes a witness to history and a keeper of memory.

In The Vegetarian, Yeong-hye seeks refuge in nature by attempting to become part of it.

But none of these refuges offers a simple escape.

Perhaps that is what makes Han Kang's novels so powerful. She does not offer the comforting idea that nature can heal everything, or that rejecting society automatically leads to freedom.

Final thoughts

I still find it difficult to say exactly what I think of The Vegetarian.

It is not a book I would describe as enjoyable, nor one I would recommend to someone looking for a reassuring reading experience.

But it is a book I cannot dismiss.

Its images remain with me. Its questions remain unanswered. And its central tragedy continues to trouble me.

I understand why Yeong-hye wants to escape. I understand why the world around her makes that desire comprehensible.

But I cannot call her transformation liberation.

I see instead a human being trying to escape violence by abandoning the very body and identity through which she has experienced the world.

And beside her stands In-hye, the sister who continues to live, but who knows that the desire to disappear is not entirely foreign to her either.

Perhaps this is what affected me most deeply.

Not the idea that madness can free us from conventions, but the possibility that, for some people, the world can become so oppressive that freedom itself begins to resemble disappearance.

When I closed the book, I was left with no clear judgement.

Only a disturbing question:

What do we do when the world we are expected to live in is the very world that is destroying us?

I don't know whether The Vegetarian offers an answer.

Perhaps it is not meant to.

What I do know is that Han Kang has created a novel of extraordinary visual and psychological intensity, one that continues to live in the mind long after the last page.

And once again, I found myself in awe of the quiet miracle of literature: the strange magic of words capable of creating worlds that, for a while, feel real.

BOOK & MORE BOOKS: INTERMEZZO BY SALLY ROONEY, THE QUIET MIRACLE OF LITERATURE

2026-07-16T17:05:51.838+02:00

There are writers we admire from the very first novel we read. And then there are those rare moments when, after following their work for years, we realise they have reached a new stage in their artistic journey.

That was my experience with Intermezzo.

I have read all of Sally Rooney's novels. Normal People introduced me to a voice that felt fresh, intelligent and emotionally honest. I enjoyed Conversations with Friends and Beautiful World, Where Are You, but neither quite recreated that exhilarating sense of discovery.

Intermezzo did.

Not because Rooney abandons what has always distinguished her writing, but because she deepens it. This is the novel in which everything seems to find its place: her extraordinary ear for dialogue, her psychological insight, her understated humour and, above all, her profound understanding of human relationships. For me, it is her finest novel to date.

More than a novel about grief

On the surface, Intermezzo follows two brothers, Peter and Ivan, as they try to rebuild their lives after the death of their father.

Peter is a successful Dublin lawyer whose apparently confident existence conceals emotional turmoil. Ivan, twelve years younger, is an accomplished chess player, quieter and socially awkward, who finds himself unexpectedly falling in love with Margaret, a woman considerably older than him. Around them orbit Sylvia and Naomi, two women whose presence quietly shapes the brothers' journeys.

Yet describing the plot tells us very little about the novel itself.

Intermezzo is not driven by dramatic twists or spectacular revelations. Rooney is interested in something far more subtle: the invisible emotional shifts that gradually transform her characters. The novel explores grief, certainly, but also love, memory, forgiveness and the quiet courage required to continue living after loss.

Inside and outside the mind

What has always fascinated me about Rooney's writing is not simply what she tells, but how she tells it.

Her characters come alive through a remarkable balance between dialogue and interior monologue. We move effortlessly between what Peter, Ivan and Margaret say and what they are unable to say, following the quiet movement of their thoughts as they struggle to understand themselves and one another. Their consciousness unfolds naturally, without explanation or judgement, allowing us to inhabit their emotional lives with extraordinary intimacy.

Naomi is the only exception.

Rooney never allows us inside her mind. We know her only through her words, her actions and the perceptions of those around her. It is a subtle but brilliant narrative choice, preserving an element of mystery around a character who might otherwise have been too easily explained.

Dialogue remains central to Rooney's art. Reading Intermezzo, I was reminded more than once of Jane Austen. Not because the two writers resemble one another stylistically, but because both understand that conversation is one of fiction's most powerful tools. Their characters reveal themselves not through lengthy descriptions but through hesitation, misunderstanding, irony and the occasional moment of unexpected honesty.

It is almost as though conversation itself becomes the action.

Scene after scene, Rooney draws her characters with the delicacy of a pastel painter. One careful stroke follows another until, almost without noticing, we find ourselves deeply invested in their lives.

The meaning of the intermezzo

While reading the novel, I often found myself wondering about its title.

An intermezzo is usually understood as an interlude, something that happens between two more significant moments.

By the final page, I realised Rooney means something rather different.

Peter and Ivan are living in a suspended time. Outwardly, life continues. They work, fall in love, make mistakes and attempt to move forward. Yet emotionally they remain caught between the people they were before their father's death and the people they have not yet become.

Each brother develops his own way of escaping grief. Peter seeks refuge in restless activity and emotional control. Ivan retreats into the ordered world of chess, where every move follows a logic that real life stubbornly refuses to obey.

Only when their separate paths collide in one painful confrontation are they finally forced to acknowledge what they have both been avoiding. The clash between them becomes the moment from which genuine healing can begin.

The women who accompany them—Margaret, Sylvia and Naomi—are essential to this journey. They do not rescue the brothers or solve their problems. Instead, each offers a different form of understanding, compassion and acceptance, creating the space in which Peter and Ivan can finally rediscover themselves and, perhaps more importantly, each other.

The intermezzo, then, is not an interruption of life.

It is life itself.

The uncertain space through which we slowly learn to become someone new.

The quiet miracle of literature

When I finished Intermezzo, I realised that what had moved me most was not simply the story Rooney tells.

It was the way she tells it.

There is an almost magical quality to her writing. Not because it calls attention to itself, but because it appears so effortless. Ordinary conversations become deeply revealing. Fleeting gestures carry unexpected emotional weight. Small moments accumulate until they quietly become unforgettable.

I found myself completely absorbed by the final hundred pages. The narrative gathers an extraordinary momentum, yet what kept me turning the pages was not suspense. It was the emotional truth of the characters and my growing hope that they might finally find their way through the pain they had been carrying for so long.

Reading a novel like Intermezzo does not leave me feeling that I understand myself better.

It leaves me with something different.

A renewed sense of wonder at what literature can achieve when it is entrusted to a writer at the height of her powers.

That, to me, is one of literature's quiet miracles.

Final thoughts

Some time ago I came across a sentence describing Intermezzo: "Come for the romance, stay for the meaning of life."

After closing the novel, I could not think of a more fitting description.

Its ending is neither spectacular nor sentimental.

Life remains complicated.

People remain imperfect.

Healing does not erase loss.

Instead, Rooney reminds us that what ultimately matters is finding the courage to embrace life as it is, cherishing the people we love and not wasting the opportunities for joy and fulfilment that life still offers us.

The novel closes with these simple words:

"See what happens. Go on in any case living."

I cannot imagine a more fitting ending—not only for this beautiful novel, but also for the quiet, enduring hope it leaves with its readers.

TEACHING IN THE AI ERA: 10 TIPS FOR TEACHERS WHO WANT STUDENTS TO REALLY LEARN

2026-07-09T08:39:57.229+02:00

When ChatGPT and other AI tools became widely available, many teachers wondered whether homework had suddenly become pointless.

If a chatbot can write an essay, answer comprehension questions, solve grammar exercises and even analyse a poem in seconds, what is left for students to do?

Rather than asking how we can prevent students from using AI, perhaps we should ask a different question:

How can we design learning that students cannot outsource?

After experimenting in my own classroom, I have come to believe that AI has not made teaching impossible. It has simply forced us to rethink some of our habits.

Here are a few ideas that may help.

1. Make the classroom the place where thinking happens

Students need opportunities to think, struggle, discuss, write and solve problems in our presence.

Homework can still be useful, but the most meaningful learning should happen during lessons, where teachers can guide, question and give immediate feedback.

2. Value the process more than the final product

A perfectly written essay tells us very little if we do not know how it was produced.

Instead of focusing only on the finished piece, pay attention to drafts, revisions, notes, discussions and the decisions students make while working.

Learning is a process, not just a product.

3. Write together

Writing is one of the skills most affected by AI.

Instead of assigning every composition for homework, dedicate classroom time to writing.

Students benefit enormously from writing while the teacher is available to answer questions, suggest improvements and encourage reflection.

The result may not be perfect—but it is authentic.

4. Read together

Literature is not about finding the "right answer."

Reading texts together allows students to ask questions, notice details and build interpretations through discussion.

When ideas emerge from conversation rather than from a chatbot, students become active readers instead of passive consumers.

5. Let students talk

Language grows through interaction.

Pair work, debates, role plays and small-group discussions develop communication skills that no AI can practise for students.

Speaking also reveals what learners genuinely understand.

6. Teach students to question AI

AI is impressive, but it is not infallible.

Show students examples of inaccurate explanations, invented quotations or superficial analyses.

Teach them to verify information, compare sources and think critically instead of accepting every answer at face value.

One of the most important skills today is not using AI—it is evaluating it.

7. Design tasks that require personal thinking

Ask students to make connections, explain choices, reflect on mistakes or relate ideas to classroom discussions.

AI can imitate knowledge, but it cannot replace genuine personal experience or independent reasoning.

8. Use homework differently

Homework should become preparation rather than proof.

Students can read a text, gather ideas, watch a video, revise vocabulary or prepare questions.

The real demonstration of learning can then take place in class.

9. Accept that AI is here to stay

Trying to ignore AI is probably as unrealistic as trying to ignore the internet twenty years ago.

Instead of treating it only as an enemy, we should help students understand both its strengths and its limitations.

Digital literacy now includes AI literacy.

10. Remember what education is really about

Our goal has never been to produce perfect homework.

Our goal is to help young people think independently, communicate effectively, ask meaningful questions and develop intellectual curiosity.

AI may change the tools we use, but it does not change the purpose of education.

Perhaps this new era offers an unexpected opportunity.

If AI can produce routine answers, then teachers are freer than ever to focus on what matters most: conversation, creativity, critical thinking, collaboration and the joy of discovering ideas together.

These are things that no chatbot can learn on behalf of our students.

Has AI changed your teaching? What strategies have worked in your classroom?

WHY SCROLLING ISN'T ENOUGH: WHAT READING BOOKS DOES FOR THE BRAIN

2026-07-07T09:00:00.000+02:00

Reading vs scrolling

A few weeks ago, I conducted a simple survey among my teenage students about their reading habits. The results surprised me—and, to be honest, worried me.

Among fifteen students, only one student reported reading books regularly. Just one.

Most of the others told me that they "read online": social media posts, websites, chats, news snippets, or content recommended by algorithms. While this certainly involves reading in a broad sense, it is very different from the sustained, focused reading that books require.

Their responses prompted me to dedicate a couple of lessons to a topic that has been receiving increasing attention from educators, researchers, and parents alike: the reading crisis among children and young people. Together, we explored videos, podcasts, articles, and studies examining the decline in book reading and its possible consequences for learning, thinking and personal development.

The more we discussed the issue, the more I realised that this is not simply a question of whether young people enjoy reading. It raises deeper questions about attention, language, empathy, critical thinking, creativity and even how our brains develop.

The reflections that follow emerged from those classroom discussions and from the research we examined together. They are not intended as an attack on technology or digital media. Rather, they are an invitation to consider what books offer that scrolling alone cannot.

1. Reading builds a richer vocabulary

Books expose us to a much wider range of words than everyday conversations, television, or social media. Through reading, students encounter new expressions, varied sentence structures, and more sophisticated language.

The more we read, the more tools we have to communicate our thoughts effectively. Students who rarely read often find it harder to express themselves clearly, both in speaking and writing.

2. Reading strengthens critical thinking

Unlike much of the content we consume online, books require us to slow down and think. Readers must follow arguments, interpret events, understand characters' motivations, and make connections between ideas.

Whether reading a novel or a non-fiction text, the brain is constantly analysing information. These are the same skills students need to solve problems, evaluate evidence, and make informed decisions.

3. Reading improves focus and attention

Reading a book requires sustained concentration. There are no instant notifications, autoplay videos, or endless feeds pulling our attention elsewhere.

In contrast, digital media often encourages us to jump quickly from one piece of information to another. Over time, this can make it more difficult to focus on longer and more demanding tasks.

Like a muscle, attention grows stronger when it is exercised. Reading provides exactly that kind of training.

4. Reading helps us understand other people

One of the most remarkable benefits of reading, especially fiction, is its ability to develop empathy.

When we read about characters facing challenges, making mistakes, or experiencing different emotions, we practise seeing the world through someone else's eyes. This helps us better understand perspectives that may be very different from our own.

In a time when social and emotional skills are increasingly important, books offer a powerful way to nurture them.

5. Reading fuels imagination and creativity

When watching a film or a video, the images are provided for us. When reading, our minds create those images.

Books invite readers to imagine places, characters, and events using their own creativity. Every page becomes an opportunity to build entire worlds in the mind.

This active engagement stimulates imagination in ways that passive forms of entertainment often cannot.

6. Reading supports memory

Readers constantly need to remember information: characters, events, settings, facts, arguments, and connections between ideas.

This mental workout strengthens memory and helps the brain retain information more effectively.

By comparison, much online content is designed for quick consumption and is often forgotten just as quickly.

7. Reading helps us understand complex ideas

Many important topics cannot be explained in a 30-second video or a short social media post.

Books allow authors to explore ideas in depth and give readers the time needed to reflect on them. Through reading, students learn to grapple with complexity, consider different viewpoints, and develop intellectual curiosity.

These abilities are essential not only for academic success but also for informed citizenship and lifelong learning.

8. Reading improves writing

Good writers are almost always good readers.

Through reading, students absorb vocabulary, grammar, sentence structure, and style. They learn how effective communication works because they encounter it repeatedly in authentic contexts.

Books provide models of strong writing that social media posts rarely offer.

9. Reading benefits the brain throughout life

The advantages of reading do not end when school does.

Research suggests that people who engage in intellectually stimulating activities such as reading may be better equipped to maintain cognitive health as they age. In other words, reading helps keep the brain active and resilient throughout life.

10. Reading is a powerful tool for personal growth

Perhaps the greatest benefit of reading is that it allows us to learn from experiences beyond our own.

Books challenge our assumptions, introduce us to new perspectives, and encourage self-reflection. They help us grow intellectually, emotionally, and personally.

A good book can inform us, inspire us, comfort us, or even change the way we see the world.

A final thought

The fact that only one student among 15 reads books regularly does not mean that today's teenagers are lazy, uninterested, or incapable of learning. They are growing up in an environment designed to capture and fragment attention in ways previous generations never experienced.

However, this makes reading books more important, not less.

Reading is often compared to exercise for the brain, and for good reason. Just as physical activity strengthens our bodies, reading strengthens our ability to think, focus, imagine, communicate, and understand others.

Videos, social media, and digital content certainly have their place. The goal is not to reject technology, but to recognise that books offer something different—something deeper.

In an age of constant distraction, choosing to read may be one of the most valuable habits we can encourage in our students and cultivate in ourselves.

BEYOND THE PAGES: 5 JULY K-DRAMAS WITH STORIES THAT MATTER

2026-07-04T09:00:00.000+02:00

Hello, FLY HIGH readers! 🪁

If you’ve been following my recent journeys here, you know how much comfort I find in the pages of healing fiction like Days at the Morisaki Bookshop, or in the profound psychological wisdom of Korean literature. Last month, I shared how JTBC's We Are All Trying Here -which I saw on Netflix - looked directly into my soul. It reminded me once again that TV drama, at its best, can be just as deeply human and moving as a great novel.

With July officially underway, a brand-new roster of Korean storytelling is arriving on our screens. While I don't post about TV lineups often, a few upcoming releases caught my eye and I want to share them with you all.

Whether you love high-stakes tension, historical dramas, or quiet, summery human connections, here are 5 upcoming dramas that promise stories worth investing your time in.

Before discovering my list of 5, you can watch the compiled video preview below to see incredible casts in action and 10 upcoming K-drama series (including my chosen 5).

The July Lineup Preview

1. For the Lovers of Character-Driven Suspense: The Husband

The story: A brilliant neurosurgeon-turned-hospital-director is pushed to his absolute limits when his wife is kidnapped right on the brink of their divorce. He is forced into a high-stakes psychological battle against a ruthless criminal to save her.
Why it fits our bookshelf: It stars Namkoong Min, an actor unparalleled at portraying profound internal conflict. Do you remember him in My Dearest? Well, now... If you appreciate taut, literary thrillers where the true mystery lies within human desperation, this is one to watch.
Where to watch: Disney+ / KBS2 (Premieres July 4)

2. For the dark fantasy & folklore enthusiasts: The East Palace

The story: Set against a stunning historical backdrop, this dark fantasy sageuk pairs a fierce ghost slayer with a mysterious royal court lady who possesses the unique ability to hear spirits. Together, they must unravel a terrifying curse that threatens to consume the palace.
Why it fits our bookshelf: It stars Nam Joo-hyuk and Roh Yoon-seo. It reads very much like an epic mythological novel, blending beautiful, atmospheric cinematography with deep themes of unseen burdens and ancient lore.
Where to watch: Netflix (Premieres July 17)

3. For those seeking wit and social commentary: The Apartment Job

The story: A retired gang leader attempts to quietly infiltrate an apartment complex to steal hidden maintenance funds. Instead, his chaotic antics accidentally expose local community corruption, turning him into an accidental neighborhood hero.
Why it fits our bookshelf: Led by the brilliant Ji Sung, this series promises sharp social irony. It takes a lighthearted, comedic approach to explore community dynamics, responsibility, and the unexpected ways we find a sense of belonging.
Where to watch: JTBC, Netflix (Premieres July 11)

4. For the relatable-yet-extraordinary heroine: A Bona Fide Killer

The story: An ordinary, hardworking mother tries to navigate the chaotic daily struggles of family life. The twist? She secretly doubles as a legendary, elite sniper. Her quiet life is upended when her husband, an investigative journalist, is assigned to track down her alter ego.
Why it fits our bookshelf: Gong Hyo-jin stars in this action-comedy webtoon adaptation. It masterfully balances the exhaustion of everyday modern adulthood with a wildly imaginative hidden life, making it both hilarious and deeply sympathetic.
Where to watch: MBC (Premieres July 31, no international streaming service has been announced yet, but I'm sure we'll know closer to the release date)

5. For the nostalgic & heartwarming romance readers: Dream to You

The story: A successful film director and a dedicated reporter cross paths once again, exactly 15 years after their childhood first love abruptly ended.
Why it fits our bookshelf: Starring Hwang In-youp and Lee Hye-ri, this is the ultimate "cozy summer read" in visual form. It captures the gentle, melancholic, and healing essence of time passing, growing up, and rediscovering old connections.
Where to watch: ENA, Viki (Premieres July 13)

Let's Chat!

As Italo Calvino beautifully reminded us, we must look for what is not inferno and give it space. For me, stories that make us feel less alone, understood or healed, do exactly that.

Which of these premises calls to your inner reader?
Are you drawn to the historical mystery of The East Palace or the nostalgic warmth of Dream to You?

Let me know in the comments below!

DIGITAL ADDICTION: WHY TEACHING AWARENESS MATTERS MORE THAN PROHIBITION

2026-07-01T08:30:00.000+02:00

This past school year, I worked with my students on two texts dealing with social media, digital addiction, algorithms and the growing concern about the effects of excessive screen time on young people.

The topic immediately generated lively discussion. Almost every student recognised some of the behaviours described in the texts: checking notifications repeatedly, opening social media apps without a specific reason, losing track of time while scrolling, or feeling the need to stay constantly connected.

As teachers and parents, we often hear alarming messages about social media. We are told that young people spend too much time online, that platforms are addictive and that digital technologies are damaging attention spans and mental health. Some governments have started discussing or even passed age restrictions and bans.

Yet I have become increasingly convinced that prohibition alone is not the answer.

What young people need most is awareness.

One of the texts we analysed explained how social media platforms are designed to capture and maintain users' attention. Features such as notifications, personalised content, infinite scrolling and recommendation algorithms are not accidental. They are carefully engineered to keep people engaged for as long as possible.

Many students were surprised to learn about the role of dopamine, the neurotransmitter associated with reward and motivation. They were intrigued by the idea that unpredictable rewards—likes, comments, messages, or interesting new content—encourage repeated behaviour in ways that resemble certain gambling mechanisms.

For many of them, this was the first time they had reflected on why it can be so difficult to put their phones down.

The discussion then moved beyond technology itself.

We talked about algorithms and how they shape what we see online. We explored the concept of confirmation bias and considered whether social media platforms simply reflect our interests or actively influence our opinions. We discussed the responsibility of technology companies and debated whether governments should intervene more strongly to protect young users.

What impressed me most was the quality of the students' reflections once they understood the underlying mechanisms.

Instead of reacting emotionally, they began asking thoughtful questions.

Why do I automatically reach for my phone when I am bored?

How much of what I see online has been selected for me by an algorithm?

Am I using technology consciously, or am I simply reacting to it?

These questions matter because digital literacy today goes far beyond knowing how to use a device or navigate a website. It involves understanding how digital environments influence behaviour, attention, emotions and decision-making.

Technology itself is not the enemy.

Social media can help people communicate, learn, create, organise campaigns, find communities and maintain relationships. Many young people use these platforms in positive and meaningful ways.

The challenge is not whether we should use technology, but how.

This is why I believe education has a crucial role to play. Schools cannot eliminate digital risks, nor should they attempt to isolate students from the online world. What schools can do is provide knowledge, critical thinking skills and opportunities for reflection.

When students understand how algorithms work, why certain design features are addictive and how online habits develop, they become better equipped to make informed choices.

Awareness does not guarantee perfect behaviour. None of us is immune to distraction. But awareness is the first step towards responsibility.

In a world where our attention has become a valuable commodity, helping young people understand the forces competing for that attention may be one of the most important forms of education we can offer.

For this reason, I believe that teaching digital awareness is ultimately more effective than relying on prohibition alone. Knowledge may not eliminate temptation, but it gives students something far more valuable: the ability to recognise it.

BOOKS & MORE BOOKS - DAYS AT THE MORISAKI BOOKSHOP: FINDING HOME AMONG BOOKS

2026-06-30T09:00:00.000+02:00

Some books arrive not with a bang but with the gentle rustle of turning pages. Days at the Morisaki Bookshop by Satoshi Yagisawa is one of them.

Set in Jimbocho, Tokyo's famous book district, this charming little novel tells the story of Takako, a young woman whose life is thrown off course when her boyfriend unexpectedly leaves her for another woman. Adrift and uncertain about her future, she reluctantly accepts an invitation from her eccentric uncle Satoru to move into the small room above the family's second-hand bookshop.

What follows is not a dramatic tale of transformation. There are no shocking revelations, no extraordinary adventures, and no life-changing epiphanies. Instead, Yagisawa offers something quieter and, in many ways, more believable: the story of a young woman slowly learning how to live again.

One of my favourite passages comes when Takako confesses that she feels she is wasting her life. Her uncle gently disagrees. Sometimes, he tells her, we need to stop. It is merely a pause during a long journey, like a ship dropping anchor in a small bay before setting sail again.

I found this image deeply moving. In a world that constantly demands movement, achievement and productivity, the novel reminds us that periods of stillness are not necessarily failures. Sometimes they are necessary.

Another passage that stayed with me concerns the experience of reading itself. As Takako browses old books, she discovers underlined sentences, forgotten flowers pressed between pages, traces left by previous readers. She imagines who they were, what they felt, and why certain words touched them. Through these small discoveries, she experiences fleeting connections that transcend time.

As someone who has loved bookshops and second-hand bookstores for as long as I can remember, I immediately felt at home in these pages. The novel perfectly captures the magic of used books: the sense that every volume has lived several lives before finding its way into our hands.

I also appreciated the way the novel explores the difference between solitude and loneliness. Takako heals not because her circumstances suddenly improve but because she gradually learns to live differently. Reading does not save her. Rather, books create the space in which she can save herself.

This may explain why the novel belongs to the growing Japanese genre known as iyashikei, often translated as "healing fiction." Unlike many contemporary novels that rely on dramatic twists and high emotional stakes, healing fiction finds meaning in ordinary lives. Its characters are not heroes. They are lonely, confused, disappointed and sometimes a little lost. Their victories are small but meaningful.

The relationships in the novel are equally touching. One of its strongest themes is that family is not always about obligation. Sometimes it is about unexpected kindness and mutual care. The evolving relationships between Takako, her uncle Satoru and her aunt Momoko beautifully illustrate this idea.

I was also fascinated by the setting. Many readers outside Japan may not realize that Jimbocho is a real place, renowned for its second-hand bookshops and literary culture. In this sense, the novel is not only a story about healing but also a love letter to one of Tokyo's most beloved neighbourhoods.

Perhaps this is why I enjoyed the book so much. I do not read books merely as stories. I read them as conversations—with a culture, with an author and often with my own life. Days at the Morisaki Bookshop offered all three.

It does not reveal profound truths about existence. It does something gentler. Like the old bookshop at its centre, it offers shelter, companionship and the reassuring reminder that sometimes what we need most is simply a place to pause before continuing our journey.

GROWING UP IN AN AGE THAT FEARS ADULTHOOD

2026-06-29T08:30:00.000+02:00

As a teacher, the end of the school year always brings the buzz of the Esame di Maturità. While I wasn’t directly involved in the exam commissions this year, I couldn't resist checking the exam papers assigned on the first day for the Italian essay. Among the several different options available to the students, the B3 task immediately caught my eye.

Ironically, I found myself thinking that the prompt—centered on the boundaries of maturity—was actually far more suitable for an adult to reflect on than a teenager! Yet, if I had been sitting at one of those desks taking the exam myself, that is absolutely the task I would have chosen. The prompt was based on Frank Furedi's book I confini contano (Boundaries Matter), which references Julie Beck's article in The Atlantic, "When Are You Really an Adult?", to show how contemporary culture portrays adulthood as a nuisance where independence becomes loneliness and responsibility turns into stress.

According to Furedi, contemporary culture tends to idealize youth while looking at maturity with suspicion. Childhood is associated with freedom, spontaneity and possibility; adulthood, on the contrary, often appears linked to routine, stress, and responsibility. In this sense, the figure of the "adultescent"—someone who wishes to prolong adolescence indefinitely—has become a symbol of our age.

There is undoubtedly some truth in this observation. Popular culture celebrates youth to an unprecedented degree. Fashion, entertainment and social media encourage people to remain forever young, while the traditional markers of adulthood seem increasingly postponed. Many young people leave home later, achieve financial independence later and delay long-term commitments.

However, I do not believe that the problem is simply a refusal to grow up. The reality is more complex. In previous generations the transition to adulthood was marked by relatively clear milestones: completing education, finding stable work, forming a family. Today these paths are less predictable. Economic uncertainty and rapid social change have made the journey more complicated.

This reality is precisely what I am preparing to explore with my incoming English Literature students as they get ready for their own Esame di Maturità. For 18-year-olds facing this symbolic threshold, the question is not an academic exercise—it is their lived reality. As I build our first course module, titled The Difficult Task of Growing Up, I keep coming back to what our institutional spaces actually incentivize.

Education should certainly contribute to the formation of mature human beings. Yet the most important dimensions of maturity—integrity, responsibility, resilience, generosity, self-knowledge—are precisely those that resist easy measurement. The challenge for schools is not whether they should cultivate these qualities, but whether they should pretend to quantify them.

This raises a deeper question: what does it actually mean to be an adult ? Age alone cannot be the answer. Every one of us has met teenagers who display remarkable maturity and adults who behave irresponsibly. Nor can adulthood be reduced to financial independence or family status. Many people who do not fit traditional models nevertheless demonstrate wisdom, reliability and commitment.

Perhaps maturity begins when individuals recognise that freedom and responsibility are inseparable. Children are mainly concerned with what others owe them. Mature adults gradually learn to ask what they owe to others. They understand that choices have consequences and that personal fulfilment cannot be separated from commitment, empathy and responsibility.

Seen from this perspective, adulthood is not a burden to be avoided but an achievement. It does involve sacrifice, uncertainty and effort. Yet it also offers something childhood cannot provide: the possibility of shaping one's own life and contributing to the lives of others. The boundary between generations may indeed be less clear than it once was. Nevertheless, the challenge of growing up remains essential.

Every generation must discover its own answer to the question: not simply when are you really an adult, but what kind of adult do you want to become?

SCREEN STORIES: WE ARE ALL TRYING HERE

2026-06-27T08:30:00.000+02:00

Some dramas entertain you. Some make you cry. And then, once in a blue moon, a drama comes along that seems to look directly into your soul.

We Are All Trying Here is one of those rare experiences.

Heart-wrenching, healing, hilarious, and profoundly human, JTBC's latest drama explores a simple but painful truth: everyone is fighting battles we cannot see. Its Korean title translates roughly to "Everyone Is Fighting Their Own Worthlessness," and that theme runs through every moment of the series.

At its centre is Dong-man (Koo Kyo-hwan), a struggling film director who has spent twenty years chasing his debut. Consumed by jealousy, insecurity, and the feeling that everyone else has moved on without him, he finds an unexpected source of comfort in Eun-a (Go Youn-jung), a film producer whose quiet empathy slowly helps him see himself differently.

The plot itself is relatively simple. What makes We Are All Trying Here extraordinary is the writing.

I've long considered Park Hae-young's My Mister and My Liberation Notes among the finest television dramas ever made, and with this series she once again proves her remarkable understanding of human nature. Every character feels painfully real, carrying a mix of kindness, selfishness, fear, loneliness and hope. Nothing is ever black and white and every relationship is explored with warmth, honesty and compassion.

What stayed with me most was the dialogue. There were scenes I wanted to rewind and watch again immediately, simply to hear the words a second time. The writing is never flashy; its power lies in its simplicity. Somehow, Park Hae-young finds a way to articulate emotions many of us struggle to put into words ourselves.

One character describes people as "masses of emotions walking around," and that idea perfectly captures the drama's spirit. We Are All Trying Here understands that beneath our appearances, achievements and failures, we're all carrying fears, wounds, and contradictions that make us human.

Most importantly, the series rejects grand, triumphant resolutions. This isn't a story about a failed director becoming an overnight success. Instead, it offers something much more meaningful: reassurance. A gentle reminder that everyone's life is messier than it appears and that simply continuing forward is sometimes enough.

Watching this drama felt like therapy for a wounded soul, a stressed body and an exhausted spirit. It moved me not through melodrama, but through its emotional honesty and deep compassion.

A masterpiece of empathy and human observation, We Are All Trying Here is one of the best dramas I've watched in years and another extraordinary achievement from Park Hae-young.

Rating: 10/10

Watch it on Netflix

BOOKS & MORE BOOKS: IF YOU LIVE TO 100, YOU MIGHT AS WELL BE HAPPY

2026-06-26T09:20:37.581+02:00

"Life is a story that deserves to be read until the very last page. No one knows what the universe has in store for us. Happiness can be found in the most unexpected corners of everyday life."

Some books arrive in our lives exactly when we need them. I believe this was one of them.

I did not read If You Live to 100, You Might As Well Be Happy by Rhee Kun Hoo quickly. It was a book to be sipped slowly, one chapter at a time, allowing its reflections to settle in my mind.

I am at a stage of life that often leaves me restless. Time seems to have accelerated beyond measure. Retirement, once a distant concept, is slowly approaching. I find myself confronting the uncomfortable realization that I am no longer young and wondering what lies ahead. When a friend handed me this book after reading it herself, she must have sensed that I needed its wisdom.

Rhee Kun Hoo, one of South Korea's most respected psychiatrists, writes about aging, self-acceptance, gratitude, relationships, and the possibility of finding peace in later life. Drawing on both his professional experience and his own remarkably eventful life, he offers neither miracle solutions nor inspirational slogans. Instead, he shares something far more valuable: perspective.

One of the concepts that resonated most deeply with me is jung-gyeon, which he describes as the ability to see things as they truly are and to see ourselves as we truly are. Aging, he argues, requires precisely this kind of honesty. We must learn to acknowledge our limitations without bitterness and our emotions without shame. "Old age is not a punishment," he reminds us.

Again and again, the author returns to the importance of self-knowledge. "For a balanced existence, we must first know who we are," he writes. Meaningful work, fulfillment, even the ability to step aside gracefully when the time comes, all begin with understanding ourselves.

Among the many passages I underlined, one in particular stayed with me:

"The only truth is that your life has truly been your own choice. If you learn to accept it, you will be able to navigate toward tomorrow. Try to be proud of it."

Simple words, perhaps. Yet they carry remarkable power.

Another aspect I particularly enjoyed was the glimpse the book offers into Korean culture and modern Korean history. I have long been fascinated by Korea's transformation over the past century, and Rhee's personal memories provide a valuable perspective on a society that has changed dramatically while retaining strong ties to its traditions and values.

Does this book reveal some extraordinary secret that will transform aging into a joyful art? Not really. What it offers instead are small doses of wisdom, gentle observations and lessons drawn from a lifetime spent both living and listening to others.

And perhaps that is exactly why it works.

At a time when I find myself looking back as much as forward, this book offered neither false comfort nor easy answers. What it offered was something rarer: a compassionate reminder that every stage of life brings its own gifts and challenges and that happiness may still be waiting for us in places we have not yet thought to look.

WHEN SUMMER ENDS ... AND A NEW DREAM BEGINS

2026-06-24T20:26:52.611+02:00

There are some posts that almost write themselves.

This is one of them.

Those of you who have been following Fly High for a while know that I write about many things that make life richer: books, travel, languages, beautiful places, inspiring people... and music.

Music has always been part of my life. Long before I became a teacher, a blogger, a wife and a mother, I studied opera singing and sang in a choir. I still remember the excitement of rehearsals, the challenge of learning a new piece and the incredible feeling when individual voices became one.

Life changes. Priorities change. But the love of music never really leaves us.

That's why I was especially happy to hear that my niece, Lisa (Liisaa), who has loved singing since she was a tiny little girl, has released her first single: Then The Summer Ended.

Watching young people pursue their dreams is one of life's greatest pleasures.

What I particularly admire is that her musical journey isn't happening in some glamorous recording studio. Like many people who are trying to build a creative career, she balances passion with everyday responsibilities.

In the early hours of the morning, while many of us are still asleep, she is working in the family bakery, later she studies singing, teaches it to others and continues developing her own artistic path.

There's something wonderfully real about that.

Dreams are often built in ordinary moments: before sunrise, after work, between commitments and long days. They grow through perseverance more than inspiration.

Her debut song, Then The Summer Ended, perfectly captures that bittersweet feeling we all know: the last warm evenings, memories already turning into nostalgia, the sense that something beautiful is ending while something new is quietly beginning.

Perhaps that's why the title resonated with me immediately.

There's another reason I like this song, and it's probably a sign of my age! The producer, Mauro De Paulis (Depaktor), has given it a lovely retro vibe that reminds me of the summer hits of the 80s and 90s. After listening to it a couple of times, I caught myself sighing and thinking, Goodness, I was young then! It brought back memories of carefree holidays, radios playing all day long and songs that stayed in your head for weeks. I suspect I'm not the only one who will feel that little wave of nostalgia.

Every first step deserves to be celebrated.

Not because success is guaranteed, but because creating something and sharing it with the world requires courage. Every writer publishes a first article, every painter hangs a first exhibition, every traveller takes a first solo journey, every singer releases a first song.

And every one of those moments deserves someone cheering from the sidelines.

So today I'm wearing my proud-aunt hat, but also my music-lover hat. I'm simply happy to support a young woman who has worked hard, stayed true to her passion and found her own voice.

If you have a few minutes, I invite you to listen to Then The Summer Ended. Perhaps it will remind you of a summer long gone. Or perhaps it will simply encourage you to think about a dream of your own that is still waiting patiently for its moment.

After all, summer may end...

...but new adventures are always beginning.

P.S. One of the unexpected joys of getting older is seeing the next generation discover their own path. Whether it's music, art, writing, sport or science, I believe encouragement is one of the best gifts we can offer. So here's my little applause from Fly High to Liisaa a young singer at the beginning of her journey. ❤️

Liisaa on Spotify

Liisaa on Youtube

BOOKS & MORE BOOKS: GREEK LESSONS BY HAN KANG

2024-03-04T18:53:00.001+01:00

In the wake of her acclaimed work, The Vegetarian, Han Kang delivers another powerful novel, Greek Lessons, hailed as the Book of the Year 2023 by The New Yorker, TIME magazine, and Kirkus. This poignant tale explores the redemptive power of language and human connection.

Set in a classroom in Seoul, Greek Lessons follows the story of a young woman who has lost her voice, metaphorically and literally. As she watches her Greek language teacher at the blackboard, she grapples with the silence that surrounds her. Her teacher, gradually losing his sight, finds himself drawn to her enigmatic presence.

Their shared pain becomes evident as they explore their respective pasts. The young woman has recently endured the loss of her mother and a custody battle for her seven-year-old son. Meanwhile, the teacher navigates the complexities of growing up between Korea and Germany, torn between two cultures and languages.

Greek Lessons is a tender exploration of human connection, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. Han Kang's prose vividly captures the essence of life, awakening the senses and evoking profound emotions.

Translated beautifully by Deborah Smith and E Yae Won, Greek Lessons emerges as another stunning gem in Han Kang's literary repertoire. Quiet yet sharply faceted, the novel leaves a lasting impact, traversing the depths of human experience.

In a few lines, Han Kang manages to encapsulate the complexities of existence, offering readers a glimpse into the vast tapestry of human emotions. Greek Lessons is not just a story; it's a profound meditation on life, love, and the power of language to bridge the divides between us.

Katie Kitamura aptly describes Han Kang as a writer like no other, whose words resonate with readers long after the final page is turned. Greek Lessons is a testament to her unparalleled talent and the transformative power of storytelling.

It's a book I savored at a leisurely pace, allowing myself to linger over its poetic prose and relish its beauty without rushing through.

Chalepà tà kalá. Beautiful things are difficult.

CELEBRATING 100 YEARS OF ITALO CALVINO: FINDING LIGHTNESS IN THE INFERNO

2023-10-18T22:31:00.001+02:00

This year marks the centennial celebration of the remarkable Italian writer Italo Calvino. As an Italian and a devoted reader of his works, I find myself compelled to share the profound impact that his words and ideas have had on me. While my blog, FLY HIGH, primarily caters to an English-speaking audience, including many Americans and native English speakers, the universal themes in Calvino's literature make this tribute a perfect opportunity to engage with an international audience.

The Inferno of the Living

One of the most poignant quotes from Calvino's repertoire comes from the conclusion of Invisible Cities. He wrote, "The inferno of the living is not something that will be; if there is one, it is what is already here, the inferno where we live every day, that we form by being together. There are two ways to escape suffering it. The first is easy for many: accept the inferno and become such a part of it that you can no longer see it. The second is risky and demands constant vigilance and apprehension: seek and learn to recognize who and what, in the midst of inferno, are not inferno, then make them endure, give them space”.

This thought-provoking insight has been a guiding philosophy for me ever since I first encountered it. Calvino's words remind us that suffering is an intrinsic part of life, but there are two ways to cope with it.

The first approach is to accept the inferno, to become so accustomed to it that we no longer see it. This perspective may resonate with many who find solace in familiarity. However, Calvino offers a second, more daring path. This path requires constant vigilance and apprehension, urging us to seek and learn to recognize the moments and individuals within the inferno who are not part of it. This, in turn, allows us to make those moments endure and give them space. It's a reminder that even in the most challenging circumstances, there are sparks of hope, resilience, and beauty.

Calvino's Literary Masterpieces

While celebrating Italo Calvino's 100th birthday, it's impossible not to reflect on his literary contributions. His diverse and imaginative body of work includes novels, short stories, essays, and fables that span multiple genres. Here are a few more of his notable works:

If on a winter's night a traveler. This novel is a unique exploration of reading and storytelling, taking readers on a labyrinthine journey through various narrative perspectives.

Cosmicomics A collection of short stories that blend science, mythology, and the human experience, told from the perspective of a being named Qfwfq.

Invisible Cities This is a mesmerizing narrative of the explorer Marco Polo's conversations with the aging emperor Kublai Khan, describing the fantastical cities of his travels.

Mr. Palomar A thought-provoking character study of the titular character as he grapples with his own interpretations of the world around him.

The Concept of "Leggerezza" (Lightness)

Calvino's Six Memos for the Next Millennium is a collection of lectures that he intended to deliver at Harvard University. Unfortunately, he passed away before he could complete the series, but one of the memos, "Lightness," published posthumously with others, is one of my favourites. Calvino's unique conception of "leggerezza" goes beyond mere physical lightness. It encompasses the idea of mental and emotional lightness – the ability to approach life and literature with a sense of curiosity and a playful, open mind.

One of my favorite quotes from these "American Lessons" is, "Whenever humanity seems condemned to heaviness, I think I should fly like Perseus into a different space. I don't mean escaping into dreams or into the irrational. I mean that I have to change my approach, look at the world from a different perspective, with a different logic and with fresh methods of cognition and verification." In our modern, often heavy world, Calvino's call for intellectual lightness is a valuable reminder of the power of curiosity and adaptability.

As we commemorate the 100th anniversary of Italo Calvino's birth, I invite readers from all corners of the globe to explore his rich tapestry of thought-provoking literature. His works, from The Invisible Cities to If on a winter's night a traveller, continue to inspire and encourage us to find lightness in the inferno of our everyday lives. Italo Calvino's ability to meld philosophy, fantasy, and storytelling is a testament to his enduring legacy, one that transcends borders and languages, and speaks to the universal human experience. Happy centennial, Italo Calvino, and thank you for the gift of your literary genius.

DISCOVERING THE HEALING POWER OF KDRAMAS: MY PERSONAL JOURNEY

2023-10-05T21:58:00.000+02:00

Today, I want to take you on a journey through the captivating world of Korean dramas and share how they became my ultimate source of joy, inspiration, and personal growth during the challenging days of the Covid-19 era and after.

The Healing Power of Kdramas

In a time when the world felt uncertain and isolating, Kdramas became my solace. They were more than just a form of entertainment; they became my companions, my teachers, and my therapy. Through their compelling storytelling and relatable characters, Kdramas helped me widen my horizons, boosted my mood, and filled me with optimism.

Thought-Provoking Dramas

My Liberation Notes

My journey through Kdramas began with thought-provoking series like "My Mister," "My Liberation Notes," and "Our Blues." These dramas delved deep into the complexities of life, showing the resilience of the human spirit in the face of adversity. They taught me the power of empathy and the beauty of ordinary moments.

Romantic Comedies

But my love for Kdramas doesn't stop there. I adore their romantic comedies like "What's Wrong with Secretary Kim," "Crash Landing On You," and "Business Proposal." These shows bring laughter, tears, and heartwarming moments, reminding me of the magic of love and the importance of finding joy in unexpected places.

Historical Dramas

The Red Sleeve

The historical dramas like "The Red Sleeve," "Lovers in the Moonlight," and "The King's Affection" transported me to different eras, showcasing the rich history and culture of Korea. They left me in awe of the breathtaking costumes, intricate politics, and timeless tales of love and honor.

Themes and Life Lessons

One of the most incredible aspects of Kdramas is how they tackle profound themes like love, friendship, family, and personal growth. In "My Mister," I learned that even in the darkest of times, kindness can shine through. "Crash Landing On You" showed me that love knows no boundaries, and "The King's Affection" demonstrated the courage to be true to oneself.

Impact on My Life

Kdramas have left an indelible mark on my life. They've shifted my perspective, encouraged me to explore Korean culture more deeply, and inspired me to embrace every moment with an open heart.

Kdramas and Mental Health: A Therapeutic Escape

Beyond their entertainment value, Kdramas have also garnered attention for their potential therapeutic benefits. The immersive storytelling, relatable characters, and emotional depth in these dramas can have a positive impact on mental well-being. Watching Kdramas can provide a much-needed escape from the stresses of daily life, allowing viewers to temporarily disconnect from their own worries and immerse themselves in the lives of the characters on screen. This escapism, known as "transportation," can provide a sense of relief and relaxation, reducing stress levels. Additionally, the emotional rollercoaster of laughter, tears, and heartwarming moments in Kdramas can trigger the release of endorphins, the body's natural feel-good hormones. This emotional catharsis can serve as a form of emotional release and provide a sense of catharsis, which can be particularly beneficial for individuals dealing with anxiety or depression. Furthermore, the themes of resilience, hope, and the power of human connection often portrayed in Kdramas can inspire viewers and instill a sense of optimism. While Kdramas should not replace professional mental health treatment, they can be a valuable and enjoyable complement to one's self-care routine and contribute to overall mental well-being.

Move to Heaven

Exploring Life's Inevitabilities: Death and Disease

One of the remarkable aspects of Kdramas is their ability to delve deep into sensitive topics that are often difficult to confront in real life. Series like "If You Wish Upon Me," "Move to Heaven," and "Tomorrow" have tackled themes of death and disease with remarkable sensitivity and grace. These dramas don't shy away from the harsh realities of life, but instead offer a safe space to explore these difficult topics. They provide a platform to reflect on the fragility of life, the resilience of the human spirit, and the importance of empathy. Through the stories of characters grappling with illness or loss, viewers are reminded of the preciousness of every moment and the strength that can be found in vulnerability. Kdramas have a unique ability to strike a balance between poignant storytelling and messages of hope, making them a comforting source of catharsis for those who have experienced similar challenges or who simply wish to gain a deeper understanding of the human experience.

Recommendations

For those new to Kdramas, I wholeheartedly recommend starting with some of my favorites. Each of these series has a unique charm and a story waiting to be told. Trust me, you won't regret it.

Kdramas have been my beacon of light during the Covid-19 era, and I'm endlessly grateful for discovering this rich and precious world. I encourage you to embark on your own Kdrama adventure, open your heart to the stories, and let them weave their magic into your life.

Where do I watch K-drama series? On Netflix and Viki Rakuten

USEFUL OR USELESS KNOWLEDGE: A DEBATE ON EDUCATION

2023-09-29T16:32:00.001+02:00

Should schools primarily teach practical, useful skills for the real world, or is there value in cultivating knowledge that some might consider as useless? Recently, I had a thought-provoking discussion with my students on this very topic, and I shared a compelling quote by philosopher Agnes Heller with them: "If someone were to ask me, as a philosopher, what one should learn in high school, I would answer: first of all, only useless things - ancient Greek, Latin, pure mathematics, and philosophy. Everything that is useless in life. The beauty is that in this way, at the age of 18, you have a baggage of useless knowledge with which you can do anything. While with useful knowledge, you can only do small things." In this blog post, I’d like to point out the key moments of our debate about useless versus useful knowledge, exploring the merits of both sides while ultimately standing alongside Agnes Heller's perspective.

Useful Knowledge: A Practical Approach

Let's begin by examining the viewpoint that education should prioritize useful knowledge – skills and information that are directly applicable to real-life situations and careers. This perspective is often championed by students who find themselves bored or disinterested in school, as they may not immediately see the practical value in what they're learning. But not only students see things that way, unfortunately.

Real-world readiness

Supporters of useful knowledge argue that focusing on subjects like science, technology, engineering, and mathematics (STEM), as well as vocational skills, equips students with the tools needed to succeed in today's job market. Practical skills ensure students are well-prepared for the challenges and opportunities that await them after graduation.

Economic benefits

Emphasizing useful knowledge can lead to a more competitive and productive workforce, potentially boosting a nation's economy. Practical skills are essential in industries such as healthcare, engineering, and technology, where innovation drives progress.

Problem-solving abilities

Learning practical knowledge often involves critical thinking and problem-solving, which are skills applicable across various aspects of life. These skills empower individuals to tackle real-world challenges with confidence.

The Value of Useless Knowledge: Agnes Heller's Perspective

While the importance of practical skills cannot be denied, Agnes Heller's viewpoint encourages us to appreciate the beauty of so-called useless knowledge. Her assertion that subjects like ancient Greek, Latin, pure mathematics, and philosophy are invaluable at the high school level challenges us to consider the broader purpose of education.

Intellectual enrichment

Useless knowledge, as some might call it, fosters intellectual curiosity and a deeper understanding of the world. Subjects like philosophy encourage students to ponder life's fundamental questions and engage in profound introspection.

Versatility

Agnes Heller contends that a foundation in seemingly unrelated fields like ancient Greek, Latin, and philosophy provides a versatile toolkit. With this "baggage of useless knowledge," students are well-equipped to adapt to a wide range of career paths and challenges, fostering creativity and innovation.

Cultural heritage

Subjects like ancient languages and philosophy are gateways to our cultural heritage. They connect us to our past, helping us better comprehend the origins of our ideas, languages, and societies. Understanding our roots enriches our appreciation of the present.

Balancing Act: Finding Common Ground

In the end, the debate between useful and useless knowledge need not be an either-or proposition. A well-rounded education should ideally strike a balance between the two, recognizing the value in practical skills while also cherishing the enrichment that comes from seemingly unrelated subjects.

Educators can inspire students by demonstrating how seemingly unrelated knowledge can, in fact, complement their real-world pursuits. Encouraging interdisciplinary learning can bridge the gap between theory and application, showcasing the synergy between seemingly disparate fields.

As educators, our responsibility is not only to prepare students for the practical challenges of the future but also to nurture their intellectual curiosity and passion for learning. Agnes Heller's perspective reminds us that education is not solely about preparing students for a job but also about equipping them with the tools to lead fulfilling and enriched lives.

In the end, the debate over the usefulness of knowledge is a reminder that education is a multifaceted journey. By embracing both practical skills and the beauty of seemingly useless knowledge, we can empower our students to not only do small things but to dream big, innovate, and make the world a better place with the knowledge they carry in their hearts and minds.

Inizio modulo

WHY I CONTINUE TO CHERISH TEACHING: A TEACHER'S REFLECTION

2023-09-23T15:20:00.001+02:00

Teaching, undoubtedly one of the most demanding professions, is often associated with burnout and health concerns. While I acknowledge the inherent stress that comes with the job, I can't help but wonder why I still hold such a deep love for it, even as retirement approaches, casting a shadow over my career. Admittedly, I'm aware that my days of being as effective and active as required to engage with energetic teenage students are numbered. However, instead of succumbing to sadness about the inevitable transition, I'm working on embracing this new phase of life with acceptance. Here's why I still adore my teaching profession...

I Love Whom I Teach
Teaching isn't just about imparting knowledge, it's about connecting with students on a personal level. I've made it my mission to understand their world better. I dive into their interests, read about their generation, and watch what they enjoy to gain insights that help me create stimulating lesson materials. Striking a balance between being demanding and sympathetic, I prioritize their feelings and needs. Every day, I experiment with different strategies to motivate them. Being around young people fills me with energy and strength, and sometimes, it feels like I'm absorbing their youthful vitality.
I Love What I Teach
My passion for the English language and British culture has been a lifelong affair that began when I was just 11 years old. This enduring love affair has naturally led me to a career in teaching English as a foreign language and English literature, particularly in the final years of high school.
I Love the Way I Teach
One of the secrets to my enduring enthusiasm for teaching is my ability to integrate my personal passions and hobbies into my lessons. Here's how I do it:
- Blogging: I've encouraged my students to create a web magazine in English, and I've even set up a blog, LEARN ONLINE, filled with valuable lesson materials.
- Multimedia Approach: I incorporate multimedia elements into my lessons by combining reading with visual content, such as period dramas and costume movies.
- Travel: I've had the privilege of accompanying my students on overseas trips, organizing class exchanges and host family stays coupled with language courses.
- Diverse Resources: I constantly explore various resources like books, songs, authors, themes, and magazines to align my teaching with my students' interests.
- Lesson Recordings: The advent of the Covid era prompted me to record lessons for my students, a practice that proved invaluable even after the pandemic had passed.
- Personal Journals: I encourage my students to maintain personal journals in English, and occasionally, I read their entries to foster self-expression and language development.

Teaching may indeed be an arduous journey, but it's one I wouldn't trade for anything. My connection with my students, my love for the subjects I teach, and the creative ways I've embraced in my teaching method make it an incredibly rewarding profession. As retirement looms, I'm not merely resigning myself to growing older and poorer; instead, I'm preparing to embark on a new chapter with a wealth of cherished memories and experiences to carry with me.

THE TIMELESS ALLURE OF COSTUME DRAMAS: WHY THEY REMAIN POPULAR

2023-09-15T15:19:00.000+02:00

Rose Williams as Charlotte Heywood in Sanditon season 3, based on Jane Austen' s unfinished novel

In a world filled with modern technological marvels and fast-paced storytelling, it may seem surprising that costume dramas, period dramas, and historical dramas continue to captivate audiences. Shows like Bridgerton, Peaky Blinders, Downton Abbey, Outlander, The Gilded Age and adaptations of Jane Austen's novels transport viewers to bygone eras, providing a glimpse into the past. Yet, these productions are far from relics; they are thriving in the age of streaming services and digital entertainment. So, what is it about these narratives that continues to draw us in? Let's explore the enduring appeal of costume dramas and why they remain relevant and popular today.

Escapism to Another Time

Caitriona Balfe and Sam Heughan as Claire and Jamie Fraser in season 7

One of the primary reasons for the popularity of costume dramas is their ability to transport viewers to a different time and place. Whether it's the Regency-era London of Bridgerton, the gritty streets of post-World War I Birmingham in Peaky Blinders, or the 18th-century Scotland of Outlander, these shows offer a form of escapism that allows us to step away from our modern lives and immerse ourselves in the past. This escape is especially appealing in today's fast-paced world, where many seek solace in the nostalgia and romance of bygone eras.

Rich Historical Settings
Much of The Gilded Age and, especially, ep. 9 in season 1, is centered around who—and who was not—invited to a party.
Costume dramas are often meticulously researched and crafted to recreate historical settings with remarkable detail. From the elaborate costumes and set designs to the historical accuracy of the dialogue and cultural norms, these shows provide a window into the past like no other. Viewers can learn about different time periods, social hierarchies, and the challenges people faced during those times, all while being entertained. This combination of historical accuracy and storytelling prowess appeals to those with a love for history as well as those who simply enjoy a well-crafted narrative.

Compelling Characters and Relationships
Promo still for the movie Downton Abbey, A New Era

At the heart of every great costume drama are the characters and their relationships. Whether it's the witty banter and budding romances of Bridgerton or the complex family dynamics of Peaky Blinders, these shows excel at creating characters that resonate with viewers. They struggle with universal themes like love, power, ambition, and morality, which are as relevant today as they were in the past. We become invested in their lives, rooting for their successes and lamenting their failures, much like we do with characters in contemporary stories.

Timeless Themes and Social Commentary

Peaky Blinders- A gangster family epic set in 1900s England, centering on a gang who sew razor blades in the peaks of their caps

Costume dramas are not just about pretty costumes and lavish settings; they often tackle timeless themes and offer social commentary. Outlander, for example, explores themes of love and loyalty across time, while Peaky Blinders delves into issues of class and power. These shows provide a lens through which we can reflect on our own society and the ways in which it has evolved or remained unchanged over the years. In this way, costume dramas offer a form of cultural critique that is both thought-provoking and entertaining.

Modern Relevance and Diverse Representation
Phoebe Dynevor and Regé-Jean Page in Bridgerton season 1

In recent years, costume dramas have also adapted to address modern sensibilities. Shows like Netflix's Bridgerton have embraced diversity and inclusivity, featuring a racially diverse cast and addressing issues of race and class in a historical context. By doing so, they not only make the past more accessible to a wider audience but also highlight the relevance of historical narratives to contemporary conversations about representation and identity.

Dakota Johnson as Anne Elliot in Netflix Persuasion 2022

The enduring popularity of costume dramas, period dramas, and historical dramas like Bridgerton, Peaky Blinders, Outlander, and Jane Austen adaptations can be attributed to their unique ability to blend elements of history, romance, escapism, and social commentary. These shows transport us to different worlds while simultaneously addressing themes and issues that remain relevant today. In an ever-changing media landscape, costume dramas offer a comforting and enriching experience, reminding us that the past has much to teach us about the present and the future. So, it's no wonder that they continue to capture our hearts and minds, proving that some stories are truly timeless.

THE KOREAN WAVE: AN AUTHENTIC FUSION OF TRADITION AND MODERNITY

2023-09-14T16:13:00.001+02:00

I recently had the privilege of taking an online course on Korean philosophy, and I must say it was a truly enlightening experience. This course, rooted in the rich cultural tapestry of Korea, delves deep into concepts that resonate with anyone seeking a new perspective on life.

One of the most captivating aspects of this course was the exploration of the "Korean Matrix." It's a concept that beautifully illustrates how Korea has absorbed and transformed external influences, crafting a cultural identity that is uniquely Korean. Understanding this process allowed me to appreciate the depth and authenticity of Korean thought. What follows is my final assignment, an article which had to combine present-day culture and the aspects of philosophy we considered as the most interesting in the course.

In recent decades, South Korea has experienced an extraordinary cultural phenomenon known as the "Korean Wave" or "Hallyu," where Korean film, TV, and music have captured the hearts of global audiences.

This cultural wave is a fascinating case study in the way Korean thought and worldview have influenced and shaped modern Korean culture.

One striking aspect of the Korean Wave is its innovative nature. Korean entertainment has managed to be both adaptive and disruptive simultaneously. It adapts by embracing elements from various global cultures, such as Western pop music and Hollywood storytelling, but also disrupts the status quo with its unique blend of tradition and modernity. It's a prime example of the Korean Matrix, where foreign influences are expertly digested to create something authentically Korean, as exemplified in hit TV series like "Crash Landing on You" and films like "Parasite."

A scene from the K-drama series Crashlanding on You (2019)

The Korean way of thinking plays a pivotal role in shaping this cultural innovation. One of the most evident aspects of the Korean worldview is the concept of "Han" and the mind-heart duality. Han represents the deep, collective sorrow and resilience of the Korean people, and this emotion is often portrayed in Korean dramas and films. Characters in these narratives often grapple with intense emotional conflicts, reflecting the Korean belief in the interconnectedness of the mind and heart, as portrayed in the emotional depth of Korean dramas like "Reply 1988" or “Pachinko”

The cast of K-drama series Reply 1988

Moreover, the Korean emphasis on the collective "we" can be seen in the strong sense of community and family values depicted in Korean entertainment. Korean dramas, in particular, highlight the importance of interpersonal relationships and how they shape an individual's life. This emphasis on everyday feelings and morality underscores the Korean belief in the interconnectedness of people and their impact on each other.

Korean music, notably K-pop, also embodies the Korean worldview. K-pop's emphasis on group dynamics, teamwork, and synchronized performances reflects the Korean notion of the collective over the individual. The emphasis on discipline, hard work, and humility mirrors the values deeply ingrained in Korean society, which is reflected in the success of pop music bands like BTS, Stray Kids, Exo, Blackpink and others, where teamwork and unity play a pivotal role in their global acclaim.

BTS's synchronized choreographies

In conclusion, the Korean Wave is a remarkable showcase of how Korean culture has adapted to global influences while remaining rooted in its traditional worldview. It's an innovation that manages to be both adaptive and disruptive, drawing on concepts like the mind-heart duality, the Korean sense of collective identity, and the importance of everyday emotions and morality. The Korean Wave not only entertains the world but also provides a window into the unique and profound aspects of Korean thought and culture.