Over fifteen years in robes

I spent over fifteen years as a Buddhist monk in Korea, and studied Buddhist philosophy and meditation along the way. Then I came back to ordinary life. (It's a long story. My essays tell it slowly.)

My column on Medium is called Notes from a Failed Monk. The very first essay is titled “I Failed at Being a Buddhist Monk (And I Have Notes).” I write about what practice gave me, what it didn't, and the funny parts in between. Meditation has its light and its shadow, and I try to write about both.

The bookshop

At the center of everything is a small independent bookshop in Seoul. It doesn't have a name yet. (Naming a bookshop turns out to be harder than shaving your head.)

What I want from it is simple. Read quietly. Talk about books with whoever comes in. Live like that until my last day.

I don't need to get rich. I need to earn enough, and to spend this one life on beautiful things. To make the dream possible I work part-time and keep learning practical skills. I completed a professional cleaning course, and one of my essays was born in a fire-damaged apartment.

Korea's bookshops, for the world

Small bookshops everywhere struggle to be seen, and each one is too particular to fit on a simple list. Korea already has good maps of its independent bookshops, in Korean. What I couldn't find was a guide in other languages, for people who dream of travelling to Korea and walking into those shops.

So I want to make one. Not addresses and opening hours (any AI can tell you those), but why a place is beautiful. It would connect books with bookshops, too: if you loved a certain novel, here is a shop in Seoul that feels just like it.

Letters without borders

For more than six years I've kept up handwritten correspondence with about ten people. I teach Korean through language exchange, help Korean learners with their writing on Reddit, and exchange letters in German with a friend. (Estonian and I are still getting to know each other.)

One of my essays, adapted into Estonian, became one of the most popular posts in the history of r/Eesti. I'm still surprised. That spirit lives in the name of the whole project: Letters Without Borders. The bookshop is the address. The letters go everywhere.

What grows around the shop

Books. A book of essays in English, built from my handwritten reading notes, for Amazon KDP. And a book in Korean for the bookshop.

A BookTube channel for readers outside Korea, open for anyone to take part in. Book letters may become its heart. I'm still working that out.

Objects made by artisans around the world, each paired with a book that shares its spirit. What I really want to offer is neither the object nor the book. It's an attitude toward life.

In one line: I want to be a guide to beautiful things. (Not that I'm a particularly beautiful person myself.) Most of this is still hazy, and I know it. Some days I call myself the Grand Demon King of Vagueness.

How I read and write

I read with a pen. Every entry in my reading notebook carries a page number or a chapter title. It's proof that I actually read the book, and a way back to the page.

I keep a daily journal. My essays begin as stories told out loud and drafts in Korean, and they reach English with the help of Claude, an AI. I say that openly. The stories are mine, and I want to be accurate about my tools.

Lately on my desk: Paul Hoffman's biography of Paul Erdős, Barry Mazur's Imagining Numbers, Carlo Rovelli's White Holes, and next in line, Roger Penrose's The Road to Reality.

Where things stand

As of autumn 2026

Bookshop

In preparation, in Seoul. Name and opening date still to come.

Essay book in English

In progress, one essay at a time.

Guide, channel, artisan objects

Long-term plans. Hazy, as confessed above.

Say hello

If we met through a language exchange, on Reddit or in a letter, you already know how I talk. Here is where to find me.

And if you come to Seoul someday, the bookshop will be there. Probably. (I'm working on it.)