[An Essay from My Heart]

Before a Box of Business Cards

While organizing the drawer beneath my bookshelf, I pulled out a small, old box. Inside, business cards I had collected over several decades lay quietly at rest. Paper already faded with time, raised letters that still retained their texture, corners worn smoothly by handling. The cards themselves remained neat, but the time written upon them had long since drifted away.

As I took out each card, one by one, I met people again.
Faces that had once shared laughter,
handshakes exchanged after long meetings,
conversations that crossed borders,
names whose contact information has changed,
or whose news I can no longer trace.
These cards were not merely information;
they were imprints of human relationships from another chapter of life.

Some cards were unusually thick; others modest.
Some bore impressive titles,
while others simply listed a name and an email address with quiet restraint.

Yet now, with time passed, I realize that the true dignity of a business card lies not in the quality of its paper or its design,
but in the demeanor and warmth of the person who handed it to me.
Those who listened attentively,
those who kept their promises,
those who lived as if they were accountable to their own names.
Their cards have endured, still vivid within my heart.

As I flip through the cards,
the speed—and the unkindness—of time suddenly strikes my chest.
I have turned only a few cards,
yet ten years have passed, then twenty.
In that span, how much have we gained,
and how much have we lost?
Life always seems as though it should be simple,
but in retrospect it is endlessly complex,
and at every crossroads we were required to make decisions—
as small, yet as weighty, as a single business card.

Before the cards of those I miss, my hand pauses.
Some names belong to those no longer in this world;
others belong to people who may still be walking their own paths somewhere.
Regret for not having stayed in touch,
sadness for not meeting again,
quietly lift their heads from a single sheet of paper.
Yet longing, perhaps, is not regret at all,
but gratitude for the time we once shared.

As I place the cards back into the box, I reflect.
We cannot live clinging to the past,
but neither must we discard it carelessly.
To organize business cards is not to organize people,
but to put our memories in order.
And only when memories are set in order
does the present become clear.

I no longer try to collect many business cards.
Instead, I hope to leave deeper traces within each encounter.
If someday a single card of mine is discovered
in someone else’s drawer,
I hope what they remember is not my title or affiliation,
but the sincerity of the conversation we once shared.

As I close the box of business cards,
I quietly open my heart toward the future.
Time moves swiftly,
but the dignity of life can still be shaped, even now.
Respecting the past,
being faithful to the present,
and welcoming the future with hope—
this, above all,
may be the true name tag of life
that lasts longer than any business card.

January 2, 2026

 At Sungsunjae (崇善齋)

{Solti}

한글 번역: https://www.ktown1st.com/blog/VALover/348141