The Declaration of Seaweed and a Gentle Taste

The author reflects on the profound lack of space in cities like Seoul, where finding even a small patch of land to bury a pet becomes a challenge. This scarcity highlights the preciousness of even the most rudimentary forms of urban cultivation. Despite the difficulties, people persist in planting and growing food in any available nook – beneath walls, on rooftops, or in vacant lots. These small-scale gardens, often yielding meager results, are termed "urban gardens" with a sense of respect for the effort invested.

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Seoul is a city without land. Despite talking so much about land, it is extremely difficult to find land in its literal meaning.

Produce grown in these urban settings is described as "tender" or perhaps "fragile," lacking the robust quality of vegetables cultivated in ample land. Their taste is characterized as the "taste of the city," dissolving quickly in the mouth rather than offering a lingering flavor. This contrasts with the larger, cheaper vegetables readily available in stores, suggesting that the act of growing one's own food provides a different kind of satisfaction beyond mere sustenance.

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The harvest grown with such effort is tender. Or perhaps, fragile is a more fitting word. Lacking the nourishment of abundant land, they are small and delicate.

The narrative then shifts to an encounter with activists undertaking non-motorized voyages, sailing small yachts between places like Jeju, Okinawa, and Taiwan. These journeys, spanning days or weeks, are powered solely by wind and currents, symbolizing a profound self-reliance and the ability to connect with others without relying on conventional civilization. An activist named Haecho, who previously sailed on such a yacht, recently completed a second voyage toward Gaza.

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The desire for peace is primal. Asking why they sail is like asking why one gets wet jumping into the sea.

The author defends these seemingly impractical endeavors, comparing the criticism against them to questioning why someone would swim in the sea or plant seeds. The desire for peace, like the desire to grow food, is presented as a fundamental human impulse that cannot be easily suppressed. While acknowledging that the desire for war is also primal, the author firmly chooses to support the desire for peace and creation over self-destruction, finding solace and inspiration in the "firm declaration" of activists like Haecho, whose voices cut through the "roar of bombing."

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So, Haecho and her colleagues' firm declaration that they will sail to Gaza again anytime is a comfort to me.