Public libraries in Korea are remarkably well developed. You can freely enjoy excellent facilities without paying anything. There are plenty of books, inexpensive yet delicious cafés and restaurants, and a comfortable atmosphere where you can simply relax. In particular, most libraries are surrounded by green spaces, making them wonderful places for a walk as well.
I make good use of these wonderful facilities every weekend. Of all the benefits I receive as someone who pays taxes, this is probably the one I appreciate the most. I would even recommend that foreign visitors experience Korea’s public libraries. Public libraries in regional cities, in particular, are often so beautifully situated that they feel like famous tourist attractions. Some are beside lakes, almost like observatories overlooking the scenery. If you ask an AI, it can easily recommend places to visit.
On weekends, I often listen to news in English or Japanese at the library. One day, I suddenly heard the sound of heavy rain outside. Perhaps because I had not heard the sound of rain like that in a long time, I wanted to see the rain and listen to it more closely. I went to the entrance of the library, hoping to watch the rain and lose myself for a while in a somewhat romantic moment of contemplation.
But the rain gradually became heavier, and soon a torrential downpour began. Suddenly, I remembered the news about severe flooding and damage caused by heavy rain in Chiba Prefecture, Japan. Reports of tornadoes and torrential rain causing damage in the United States also came to mind.
I was no longer watching the rain with a romantic feeling. Instead, I suddenly regretted leaving home with the window open. With rain this heavy, surely water would be pouring through the window. What should I do? The thought immediately made me anxious. Should I brave the rain and rush home to close the window? I began worrying nervously.
I started calling my children. On weekends, they tend to stay awake until late at night and sleep until well into the morning. I called more than ten times, but no one answered. Finally, my son answered the phone in a sleepy voice. I told him that the rain was coming down heavily and asked him to close the window. Only then did my encounter with the rain finally come to a peaceful end.
When I returned to my seat in the library, I suddenly felt a little sorry for myself. I had initially wanted to listen to the rain simply because I found its sound romantic. Yet, instead of enjoying it, I had ended up worrying about possible damage caused by the storm. I felt a sense of regret that the realities of life had taken away that romantic moment.
It suddenly occurred to me that my life these days is much the same.
After running tirelessly through 30 years of my career, I saw myself reflected in that moment—slowly forgetting who I was along the way.
The innocence of my childhood, the happiness I once found in small things, and the simple laughter that used to come so easily have somehow disappeared from my life.
My imagination and sense of romance, once so vivid and full of light, have already been swallowed up by the relentless pressure of time.
We are told that we live in an era of 100-year lifespans. Having already passed the halfway point, I cannot help but wonder: Was living this way really the right answer for my life? I have many regrets.
And yet, alongside those regrets, there is also a sense of relief. My children have grown up quite well, and at least I have no major financial worries.
Now, I want to live the way I truly want to live.
After 30 years of constantly being chased by time, I want to break free and create something meaningful in the spaciousness of a more leisurely life.
Something born from that freedom.
Something created together with a little romance.(Q's hope)

In the AI era, power is the most critical element for running semiconductors and data centers. Although both South Korea and Japan have been hit by severe heatwaves recently, fortunately, both nations have managed to produce and maintain electricity stably without experiencing shortages or power restrictions. Remembering how power shortages were major headlines just a few years ago, it is clear that both countries have prepared well in the meantime by expanding renewable energy, particularly solar power.
Japan, in particular, is far ahead of Korea in the renewable energy sector, with solar power capacity several times larger than Korea's. Regardless of which administration initiated it, it was an excellent policy that anticipated the future and laid the groundwork for today. Recently, Korea has also been accelerating its shift toward renewable energy with the inauguration of the Lee Jae-myung administration. The renewable energy initiative, which had been driven since the late President Roh Moo-hyun's term, lost momentum and stalled when conservative administrations took power, but it is gaining traction once again with the return of a progressive government. Furthermore, the Lee Jae-myung administration has adopted a pragmatic energy policy by permitting the operation of existing and under-construction nuclear power plants, moving away from the strict "nuclear phase-out" stance previously held by progressive factions. This practical approach is the exact reason why Korea constantly maintains a 10% power reserve margin despite the soaring electricity demand.
While both nations are making steady preparations for the surging power consumption of the AI era, distinct structural differences remain between the two.
In Korea, the power industry is centrally operated by a single, state-controlled entity, the Korea Electric Power Corporation (KEPCO). In contrast, Japan's power market is divided among ten regional, private utility companies. Except for Tokyo Electric Power Company (TEPCO), which is tied to the government due to Fukushima disaster compensation issues, Japan's energy sector is highly driven by corporate decision-making.
Furthermore, Korea has implemented the "Distributed Energy Act" to legally enforce the geographical dispersion of data centers and semiconductor plants to regional provinces. While some might view this as overly authoritarian, it was a necessary preemptive move by the state; without dispersing the power demand concentrated in the Seoul metropolitan area, large-scale AI infrastructure investment would be physically impossible. Taking such decisive action is precisely what administrative leadership should look like.
On the other hand, Japan aims to transmit electricity via a wide-area grid, raising concerns about whether the massive investment required and the necessary administrative coordination can be effectively achieved. A case in point is the Linear Chuo Shinkansen (maglev train). More than 30 years since its planning, it is still under construction, with a partial opening expected only after 2036. The project has been stalled for years due to negative pushback during environmental impact assessments, serving as a real-world example of passive governance where active administrative intervention was desperately needed. Granted, exercising caution to ensure safety and environmental protection is ideal, but the pace of change in the AI era is exceptionally fast. This traditional Japanese approach is no longer effective. Japan needs to benchmark the administrative speed of Korea and China to some extent.
It remains to be seen whether Japan, with ten separate private power companies moving independently, can efficiently supply power to massive data centers and semiconductor hubs. This is a critical juncture that demands deeper, more meticulous intervention from the Japanese government. Moreover, in a country prone to natural disasters like earthquakes, the role of administration is more vital than ever to demonstrate infrastructure stability to global investors.(Q's hope)