The Record of Persistence: Running, Falling, and Rising Again

A story of chasing dreams, facing failure, and discovering that sometimes the longest path leads exactly where you need to be.

Like a Racehorse at Twenty

In my early twenties, I lived like a racehorse.

I carried one unwavering belief: “Effort never betrays.” Four attempts at art school entrance exams. Four times I threw myself at the same dream. One singular goal consumed me — getting into the art school I wanted. It was my entire world.

I had been drawing since I was eleven. Art wasn’t just a hobby; it was my language, my very breath. But Korea’s art school entrance system was unforgiving. Five hours to prove everything. No room for mistakes. No second chances. When nerves struck, my hands would freeze — a fatal flaw. I had prepared so much, wanted so much, that I crumbled under the weight of my own ambition.

Three times, I failed.

Standing in the Exam Hall with Bandaged Hands

Even when my tendon tore and I could barely hold a pencil, giving up wasn’t an option. I wrapped my hand in bandages and walked into that exam hall once more. The result? Another rejection. For over six months, I couldn’t use my hands. Drawing stopped. Studying stopped. Everything stopped.

The emptiness and humiliation — only those who’ve lived it truly understand.

I tutored middle school students to pass the time, to survive. Then came my fourth attempt. Against odds of 78 to 1, with trembling hands still wrapped in bandages, I finally passed. Everyone celebrated, but honestly, it wasn’t the school I had dreamed of.

I had a result, but my heart held only deep disappointment and shattered self-worth. While others were finishing their journey, I was just stepping up to the starting line. A late, exhausted beginning.

Seeds of a New Longing

At university, I studied graphic design, fiber arts, and ceramics. I even earned scholarships. Yet something inside remained hollow. The excitement was gone; only fatigue remained.

Then another dream quietly began to stir — cooking and food styling. In Korea at that time, it was still an unfamiliar path.

Curiosity slowly transformed into longing. I decided to take a leave of absence. Kyobo Bookstore became my refuge. I buried myself in books and magazines, sending desperate emails to food stylists I admired. One of them actually replied.

Unexpected Boldness

I’m naturally quiet and reserved, but sometimes surprising boldness emerges from nowhere. I asked her if I could observe, help, even just wash dishes for one day.

She must have seen something in my passion. She gave me a chance. I shadowed her like a ghost, learning, taking on small tasks. A month later, she asked for my bank account number. Finally, my effort was being recognized.

But happiness was fleeting. Mysterious pains attacked my body. I collapsed on my way to work. Doctors found a tumor and recommended a biopsy. Though I tried to stay calm for my family, inside I was trembling. Fortunately, it wasn’t cancer, but I needed extensive treatment and time to recover.

Again, and Again

Eventually, I returned to school and graduated. Art was my foundation. Graduation was my proof. But the longing remained.

Food stylists were often dismissed by chefs as superficial. How could I move forward with more authenticity? The answer was clear: I needed to truly understand cooking.

A professor recommended culinary school in Toronto. I was thrilled, though the cost was daunting. With my parents’ blessing, I embarked on the journey. After language training and a year in culinary school, life threw another curve: a Korean furniture design company offered me a position combining styling and marketing. An opportunity to grow together.

I returned to Korea once more.

Today’s Conclusion

The persistence of my twenties — that stubborn, relentless passion — shaped who I am today.

I fell and rose, fell and rose again. The path wasn’t straight, but every twist and turn made me stronger. What I once saw as failures were actually preparations for the next chapter. Every detour taught me something essential.

The story doesn’t end here.
The next chapter is waiting.

What dreams are you chasing? What failures are teaching you? Share your stories of persistence with me at bommgachi.com