I’ve never liked sports. So Olympic broadcasts don’t mean much to me.
As a child, I watched rhythmic gymnastics, diving, and synchronized swimming a few times, drawn in briefly by their beauty and fluidity.
But the core of Olympic sports always felt dull to me—repetitive, formulaic.
Especially the ones where nations seem to clash physically for pride or dominance.
Even from a young age, I never had a burning obsession with anything.
When someone from my country won a gold medal, people around me would cheer, scream, celebrate.
I’d simply think: “Well done. Congratulations.”
And that was it.
When I looked at things objectively, I saw it clearly: they are them, and I am me.
It’s not my victory. It’s not my story. So I remained detached.
But now, with time and reflection, I think—perhaps the Olympics is the last collective human act that still carries some sense of fairness.
Your DNA and your effort. That’s all you have to offer.
Just those two—nothing more, nothing less.
Of course, there are controversies, especially in team sports, where biased judgments ruin the spirit of the game.
But in disciplines like running, throwing, jumping—where it’s purely about physical ability—there’s little room for interference.
And if even the Olympics were to vanish, maybe our last semblance of a just world would disappear too.
What is it to be born with something?
Can human will truly overcome the inborn?
As an Asian, I can’t become White.
I could bleach my skin, dye my hair golden—but I’d still be Asian.
Likewise, tanning your skin and dyeing your hair black doesn’t make you Asian either.
Some things are innate—immutable attributes from birth.
Acknowledge difference, but never let it breed discrimination.
Difference exists so we can complete each other’s gaps—not so we can rank ourselves above or below.
Let’s look at the simplest form:
Between parents and children, the difference is immense—physically, intellectually, financially.
Yet they love and coexist.
Why? Because a parent learns to see their child as part of themselves.
Loving a child becomes an extension of loving oneself.
The gap is wide, but the emotional distance is shallow.
A fair, cooperative world begins when we can acknowledge both the light and the shadow in others.
And suddenly, I wonder—
Why did God design the world this way?
Why did Jesus say, “Love your neighbor as yourself”?
Why did Buddha teach about karma and warn against creating harmful intentions?
In the end, maybe what we do and feel toward others is what we ultimately do to ourselves.
It took me a long time to realize this.
I was you, and you were me.
So why did I hate you so much?
Because I loved you deeply.
And you shattered me.
You ignored me, hurt me, drove me into pain.
I gave you everything, only to be torn apart.
Now I hate you—as vast as the universe.
There’s no foolishness greater than offering love to someone who doesn’t know how to love.
But even so, I believe in karma.
What I gave in love will one day return.
And someone, somewhere, will love me with the same depth I once gave you.
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