I imagine a restroom in an old building somewhere in Jongno, where the traces of time have accumulated layer upon layer.
Yellowish water stains have settled between the tiles, and the ventilation fan is turning laboriously with a squeak.
People frown at the pungent stench and hurry out of the place.
However, for someone, this place might be a 'high-class buffet' more abundant than anywhere else in the world.
In the corner of the restroom, a mother and son fly were lucky enough to face a freshly prepared(?), piping hot feast again today.
The mother fly finished preparing the meal reverently, rubbing her wings together as if accustomed to it, and sat beside her was her young son fly, still unaware of the ways of the world.
I was in the middle of eating.
The young son, Pari, suddenly felt unfamiliar with the foreign substance on his leg and the smell lingering around his nose.In the glamorous commercials on TV, honeybees collecting nectar or butterflies drinking sweet fruit juice appear as the main characters,
so he began to question why he had to eat something with a name so embarrassing in this dark, damp place.
Wiping roughly from the corners of his mouth, the son asked his mother in a cautious and sorrowful voice.
"Mom... I have a question. My friends go to fancy cafes over there to eat sweet tanghulu and sit on steaks to enjoy the juices...
Why do we always have to live eating only this kind of 'shit'?
Is our life just supposed to be this lousy?"
The son's voice was mixed with deep self-loathing and resentment toward reality.
It was almost like the sight of our youth asking, "Where did my golden spoon go?"
It was then. Mom Fly, who was usually endlessly kind and shielded her son with her whole body to prevent him from getting hit by a dangerous fly swatter, suddenly slammed the table and lifted her head.
Mom's gaze was fiercer than ever, and her voice was firm enough to echo throughout the entire bathroom.
"Hey, you rascal! Are you out of your mind? How can you say such disgusting things while eating! You're really ruining the mood! Don't you know table manners? Shut your mouth and focus on eating!"
A moment of silence followed.
Son Fly was flustered.
The fact that what I was eating was 'poop' remained unchanged, yet Mom scolded me, saying that even mentioning that word was against 'dining etiquette.'
We feel a strange catharsis from this short and ridiculous conversation.
At the same time, we also gain painful insights.
Mother Fly's scolding likely did not simply mean 'don't use dirty words.'
It was closer to 'respect for the reality I am currently facing.'
Whether others call it filth or avoid it because of the stench, what lies before my eyes right now is the 'sacred sustenance' that keeps my family alive.
Mom instinctively knew that the moment she said to herself, "It’s disgusting," while eating it, her entire life would become disgusting.
Our lives are not much different.
Sometimes, the work we do feels embarrassing to show off to others.
Tedious work repeated every day, nagging from a boss, self-esteem gnawing away at by comparing ourselves to others... We often disparage our daily lives as "shit-like" situations.
But according to the fly mom's logic, isn't the very moment we say our daily lives are "disgusting" the most impolite act of all?
Even if it appears weary and wretched, if that daily life comes together to shape who I am today and protect my family, it should be a splendid "feast," not "filth" to be condemned.
Happiness does not come from objective conditions, but is determined by the 'subjective filter' through which I view myself.
Just as there are bees that harbor venom while eating honey, there are flies that maintain their dignity by eating filth in the lowest places while saying, "Don't make dirty noises during the meal."
What we truly need to guard against may not be our surrounding environment, but the 'disgusting thoughts' within us that stain our precious today with complaints.
Strip away the seasoning of others' gazes and focus solely on that precious meal meant only for you. Even if it is a somewhat rough and coarse reality,
fully enjoying that moment. That is the greatest 'dignity of life' that blossoms in the lowest places.
