Time

The old saying is that time heals all wounds. And it’s true. How much time is needed, however, is something we can never ascertain.

It’s been a few months since that whole scandal broke out. I left the space on Twitter because that was the only way I knew I could spare myself from the stress. The issue was too close to my own ethical standings. I had family matters to deal with, too. If people thought it was an act of abandoning ship, I don’t really care. Like I’ve written before, I responded based on the information I had at that time. No regrets. 

A few days after the issue, I tuned out everything. I didn’t want any reminders that would stress me out. I deleted my Instagram fan account, the Facebook page for my blog articles, and decided to be inactive — well, at least for the Seon Ho topics. My full-time job kept me busy as well, along with a number of personal projects. I needed time to process everything, and that meant space away from discussions, gossip, distractions, and all the unnecessary words.

I wanted to spare myself from the lurid details. I didn’t read the text messages. Even though I was disappointed by the circumstances, I wanted to accord Seon Ho at least his dignity. I’m not going to look through his dirty laundry.

Give me some time to unpack everything, I said to myself. Let me walk, too.

Thanks to a consistently naggy friend, however, I have cautiously returned to that Twitter space I used to love and sorely missed — that place where I was able to safely share my words without caring what people would think.

But I guess it’s Seon Ho’s turn to be with himself now. 

Time heals all wounds. I thought Seon Ho had enough of it. I thought he’d be back sooner, considering how his sheer talent, popularity, and persona had weathered the backlash, the scrutiny, the prying, the doubting. But as his own show would remind us, different people respond to situations differently. For some, it’s harder to get yourself back on track.

So whether Seon Ho is the poster boy for canceling cancel culture or the cautionary tale of South Korea’s fickle industry is beside the point. He’s a human being — he gets hurt, he gets worried, he gets tired. I was all three a few months back. I can only imagine what he actually felt. 

For the last two years, his life and career seemed to have been a race against time. His worldwide popularity, after all, came late compared to the standard. Shows here and there. A never-ending list of endorsements. Plays, television series, press conferences, social media posts — Seonhohads and Seon Ho critics alike were inundated with content it was hard to keep up. 

Maybe Seon Ho has finally found it difficult, too. So let him have his time. 

Seon Ho, the old soul beaten and bludgeoned. Let him have the space and time to rest and recover, to reflect and wonder, to unpack what must be processed. He’s an adult. He knows what’s best for him.

Let Seon Ho have the silence, the necessary time away from the limelight to drown out the noise so he could hear his heart is still beating. Let him heal his hurts. Let him find his bearing. Let him spend the hours the way he wants it — long walks disguised as another passerby in the metropolis; lunch or dinner with his parents; conversations with his most trusted confidants. Yes, time away from contracts and obligations. Time away from the weight of the world’s curious gaze. Yes, even time away from our judgments. 

I had my own storms late last year. Only time allowed me to figure out my next steps. Only time provided a space for me to objectively look at my life and identify what was valuable.

The hours away often rekindles our capacity to dream and hope and begin again. Whether spent in solitude or the quiet assurance of familiar faces, only time could let the scars finally become adornment. Then, and only then, when the shame of the past holds no more power over the magnificence of the present, does the freedom to become finally make sense.

Take your time, Kim Seon Ho. Soak in the moments of living.