talk・・・

True to his love for food, Joe approached each dish with care—tasting thoughtfully, sharing detailed impressions, and asking insightful questions.

For a while, all I could hear from him were endless sounds of delight:

"It's really good. It's really good. Oh my god, this is good. Mmm. It's like the perfect umami, the perfect temperature. Everything is cooked perfectly. The noodles are, like, perfect al dente."

Seeing his excitement was beyond rewarding. Thrilled by his reaction, I shared a little of my philosophy when designing a menu: I put a huge emphasis on how the dishes work together, ensuring each one enhances the next.

Joe understood instantly and summed it up beautifully:

"It’s like the flavors switch perfectly—a really happy cycle. You’ve made me an amazing, elaborate meal. Thank you so much, Sol."

As we talked, I explained how I had chosen a fusion concept for this dinner—blending Eastern and Western elements—specifically with him in mind. That led me to tell him something I'd realized while thinking about him:

Sol: "By the way, when I was thinking about you, I realized that you're one of the most culturally literate people I know—at least among my white friends!"
Joe: "Among your white friends? Oh, you said that so well until that last sentence." (laughs) "Well, you're also extremely culturally literate about white people because you've lived in so many places and traveled across Europe. You might be the most ‘white-literate’ person I know."
Sol: "I'm probably the most Westernized Asian, and you're... how would you say it? Asianized? Hahaha."

Joe then shared an interesting observation about his fiancée (now wife) Jade’s two aunts. One had fully embraced British culture, while the other remained deeply connected to her Malaysian roots. Their cultural identities were reflected in their everyday lives—even in the food they served. One aunt would prepare a classic British roast, while the other would serve traditional Chinese dishes. Joe found it fascinating how people adapt to new cultures in different ways, often influenced by their relationships, environments, and personal choices.

Then he asked for my thoughts.

As a Korean living abroad, I told him that rather than feeling like I’m leaning toward one side or the other, I feel more balanced. The deeper my understanding of both cultures, the better I can navigate the space between them. This balance gives me a sense of stability, and more importantly, it helps me introduce Korean culture to people from different backgrounds.

The way I present Korean culture depends entirely on who I’m sharing it with—how familiar they are, what they’re open to, and how best to bridge the gap. Thanks to my experiences living in different countries and traveling extensively, I’ve developed an intuition for this.

As Joe picked up my point-and-shoot film camera and snapped a picture, he laughed and turned it over in his hands. He mentioned that the last time he had used one was during a family trip to Australia. At the zoo, he had taken pictures of birds and other animals and kept a small notebook with notes about them. When he returned to school, he had to present his trip to the class, which he found terrifying.

I could relate to that feeling, as I was always nervous about presentations too. I would come up with any excuse to avoid them. Joe agreed, saying that most kids feel the same way, whether it’s about presentations or physical education. We both agreed that part of it was about competition and the pressure to perform.

Although we both had been avoiding presentations for so long, we eventually overcame our fear through the unavoidable experiences life threw at us. For me, it was the group presentations in university, and for Joe, it was leading countless meetings at work with other employees. It was through these experiences that we gradually became comfortable with presenting. It made me realize that sometimes, facing situations we want to avoid but can't escape is actually an important part of life. Joe agreed, adding, “You know, it’s all about building up. You build up in your life. If you never do it, you’ll never do it.”

Joe brought up an interesting concept: Puer Aeternus. He explained that he had been learning about it recently and found it particularly thought-provoking. The term, which translates from Latin as “eternal boy,” refers to a psychological archetype describing individuals who remain childlike throughout their lives—often behaving like so-called “man-children.”

This idea, explored by psychologists such as Carl Jung and later expanded upon by Marie-Louise von Franz, highlights how some individuals—particularly men—struggle with maturity. They may have trouble holding steady jobs, lack focus, and seem uninterested in personal growth. Instead of embracing responsibility, they cling to an idealized, carefree existence, avoiding the burdens of adulthood. Joe mentioned that this concept had come up in a podcast he was listening to, and it made him reflect on his own life and the paths he and his friends had taken. He had chosen a different trajectory—moving abroad, working in tech—while many of his childhood friends in New Zealand remained in the same routines, still immersed in the same hobbies and social circles. This made him wonder: Was Puer Aeternus simply about immaturity, or did it also describe the feeling of being stuck in a familiar, unchallenged world?

Before diving deeper into our conversation, we decided to finish the wine I had brought and open the bottle Joe had picked out. The moment we took our first sip, our eyes widened in surprise. The wine, bursting with an incredible fruitiness we’d never experienced before, completely filled our mouths. Joe and I love reminiscing about past wine tastings and sharing the flavors we pick up, but with this one, we just couldn’t seem to agree on anything! Completely captivated by this new discovery, we both expressed our gratitude to Sia, the wine shop owner who had recommended it, and kept the conversation flowing.

Joe and I are one year apart. At the time of the supper club, I was just about to turn 30, and Joe was 31. I wanted to reflect on our twenties, talk about what we’re looking forward to in our thirties, and explore what we might have done more of in our twenties if we could go back. Honestly, that question was really for myself, since I was about to turn 30.

Joe then shared his thoughts on his twenties. He admitted that he hadn’t always given this period much thought, but after our discussion about Puer Aeternus and the idea that growth only happens when you change—something that requires experiencing situations that push you to evolve—everything started coming together. He recalled a vivid memory from high school, when, at 17, a friend showed him a YouTube video of a physicist discussing astrophysics. That moment sparked a shift in his mindset. Until then, Joe had never seen YouTube as a place for educational content that he could genuinely enjoy. But that moment marked the beginning of a more curious approach to learning. While he didn’t suddenly excel in physics, he began reading outside of his academic life, diving into literature and works by authors like Dostoevsky and Tolstoy, whose philosophies deeply influenced him.

During his university years, he found himself reading more than ever, absorbing ideas that helped shape his worldview. But by his mid-20s, when he started working, his focus shifted. Work took up more of his time, but he still spent energy learning about himself, navigating adult relationships, and figuring out what truly mattered. By the time he reached his late 20s, he began to think more seriously about his next steps, which eventually led him to move to London. Reflecting on his journey, Joe said that while he hadn’t experienced a single defining moment, his transition through his late 20s had been significant. His views on relationships, life’s purpose, and personal motivations had all shifted profoundly.

Looking ahead to his 30s and beyond, Joe felt confident that his foundation had been solidified. Whatever came next, he would approach it with a clearer sense of direction, guided by the principles he had honed over the years. While he joked that he might not fully understand everything now, he believed that, when he reached his 40s, he would look back and see how far he had come in understanding himself.

I couldn’t help but ask Joe how he thought he might feel when he’s older. "You think you’re going to base your 30s and 40s on the principles you have now," I said, "but I wonder how you’ll look back on this period when you’re 39 or 40. Maybe you’ll say, 'Sol, life is more interesting than that.'."

Joe paused for a moment before responding. "There are still formative things I haven’t experienced yet. I haven’t had children, I haven’t bought a house, and I’m not married yet, though that’s coming soon," he said. "I do think that, between now and when I turn 40, my mindset will change. Right now, compared to my mid-20s, I feel more settled—not in the sense that I don’t want to change, but in that I know who I am and what I want."

I could relate to what Joe was saying. "More confidence," I said. "I know exactly what you mean. I feel the same way. I really love my current age, and I don’t want to go back to my 20s, but I really enjoy where I am now. I feel like I’m finally turning my words into actions, and I can show people the results of that."

As the conversation shifted, Joe asked me about my own sense of achievement. He wanted to know how I gauged success and whether external factors, like job opportunities, played a role.

I explained that one of the things I valued most was my habit of journaling. When I looked back at my journals from five years ago, I realized my goals hadn’t really changed. I still wanted to accomplish the same things, but back then, I didn’t feel like I was in the right environment or surrounded by the right people who could support me. I also wasn’t fully confident in my goals. Over time, though, I had made real progress. I had started trusting myself more and taking concrete steps toward those goals. I mentioned that I was a planner—someone who liked making long-term plans. Before moving to London, I had written down exactly what I wanted to do differently from my time in Austria and Finland.

Joe shared that he hadn’t applied this level of introspection to his personal life until recently. His previous approach was more work-focused, influenced by a manager who taught him to consider what he was gaining and giving in a job. When he moved to London and joined a new company, he started setting clear goals. Lately, he had applied this mindset to his life outside of work, reflecting on questions like, "Why do I want to be in New Zealand?" and "What will I gain from this experience?" It was a new way of thinking he hadn’t previously considered for his personal life.

The conversation shifted to the gig we had attended in the UK, where we saw the Ambiguous Dance Company perform. The performance was incredible, but I couldn’t help but think their social media marketing didn’t do justice to the quality of their work. With my background in marketing and branding, I felt I could help improve their online presence and increase their recognition. I considered emailing them with some ideas, but hesitated. I wasn’t sure if they already had a marketing person, and I didn’t want to offer unsolicited advice.

Joe immediately told me I should have emailed them while the emotion was still fresh. He explained that stoicism often encourages us not to act on emotions and to let things settle before making decisions. But he felt the opposite—sometimes, it’s better to act on emotion. This was a perspective I hadn’t considered. I tend to overthink and hold back until everything feels perfectly in place, but Joe’s point made me realize that acting on genuine emotion can be just as important.

As we continued talking, Joe shared that he had recently messaged someone involved with Auckland’s transport system. Frustrated by the city’s transport issues, he felt compelled to reach out, even though he didn’t know how the person would respond. His story made me reflect on how often I hold back from taking similar actions due to self-doubt. Joe’s experience pushed me to consider how fear and hesitation may stop me from acting when I’m truly passionate about something.

Eventually, I admitted to Joe that I still struggled with that fear of reaching out. I worried about being seen as inauthentic or intrusive, which made it hard to take the first step. In response, Joe told me something that really resonated. He said, “The best advice for women is to act with white male privilege.”

His words lingered with me long after the conversation ended. It was a reminder of how often we hold ourselves back with self-imposed limitations, and how stepping past those barriers—no matter how small the action—can open up new possibilities.