My mother-in-law‘s hearing isn’t very good.
When the young doctor began asking questions, she couldn’t catch everything.
I sat beside her and answered for her.
He smiled lightly, his tone quick and bright, almost rhythmic.
I had never seen a doctor like that before.
He was a young doctor still in training, but there was something different about him.
He didn’t seem to be trying to fit into what a doctor is supposed to be.
My Years as a Journalist
Later, I thought of my years as a journalist.
Back then, I thought I was simply being adaptable.
The first thing I changed after becoming a reporter at a daily newspaper was my voice.
I hadn’t originally dreamed of becoming a journalist.
From a young age, I had been part of my school’s broadcasting club, speaking as an announcer. I left my hometown for college, still hoping to become an announcer.
But life took me in a different direction. I returned home and became a reporter instead.
My parents were happy.
I was relieved. I no longer had to continue the exhausting path of competitive exams.
To adapt quickly to the newsroom, I changed the way I spoke. I let go of the announcer’s standard Korean and talked in the local dialect—the way my colleagues did.
It felt natural.
But every fall, I got a call from a younger member of my old college broadcasting club. They would tell me when the annual broadcasting event was and ask if I could come.
The calls were always short, but I felt a little awkward hearing myself speak in a mix of standard Korean and my local dialect.
It’s a bit of a shame I lost that announcer’s voice.
I had felt that way for years.
Later, when I casually mentioned that I had once been an announcer, my colleagues were surprised.
I knew how to work with people. I created a sense of ease among colleagues and helped build a cooperative atmosphere. At team dinners, I naturally took the lead in lifting the mood. People liked having me around.
When I was working on the political desk, I was told to stay focused—that people in politics had begun to notice me.
I married a senior colleague at the newspaper, and later worked mostly in lifestyle and feature sections.
I created pages that hadn’t existed before, and they were well received.
The more I did, the more work I was given. I took on more pages, more projects, even special features like surveys.
I worked hard.
And then, a question began to form.
Why am I the one doing so much?
Others seemed to be doing less, focusing instead on positioning themselves, moving toward stronger departments, getting closer to promotion.
And I was… just working.
I had a sense of responsibility—a clear idea of what a newspaper should be, and how I should contribute to it.
But the number of pages I was responsible for kept growing.
Slowly, I was just trying to fill them.
What had once been driven by belief and purpose became something expected.
Among my colleagues, it no longer stood out.
It was simply… my role.
I felt more like an employee—just doing what needed to be done.
It no longer felt meaningful.
Sometimes I wondered if I should have at least tried for an announcer job at a local station.
There was voice acting, too. Why had I never thought of that?
Eventually, after fourteen years at the newspaper, I left and went to study in the UK.
My Role as a Daughter-in-Law
After I returned from the UK, I gradually took on more as a daughter-in-law.
I prepared food for large family gatherings, sometimes for thirty people or more.
I stayed up through the night, making sure everything was ready.
And I did it willingly.
My mother-in-law wasn’t very strong.
After preparing food together for family gatherings, she would often feel unwell—dizzy, or too weak to get up.
So I told her to rest. I said I would take care of everything.
When the relatives came, the table was full.
They ate well, took food home, and the gatherings passed smoothly.
My in-laws were satisfied.
And I was, too.
Over time, what I did became something expected.
It was no longer seen as something I had chosen to do. It was simply my role.
No one really asked how I felt about it, or whether it was becoming too much for me.
I felt I had done enough. Continuing like this no longer made sense.
Around that time, my husband left the newspaper and decided to try something new in Seoul.
We moved to Seoul, and many of the things I had been doing as a daughter-in-law naturally fell away.
Looking back, I thought I had been losing myself in roles.
But that wasn’t the whole story.
Writing this, I noticed something I hadn’t seen before.
Maybe what mattered to me was whether what I was doing still felt meaningful.
