With Faith on the Eighth.
Geneva, October 8, 2025
On Life, Loss, Meaning and Memory.
One of the greatest privileges of my life has been the opportunity to travel the world and encounter different cultures. It has exposed me to new ways of seeing, being and doing and I am the richer for it. On my travels, I have had numerous enlightening conversations and received kindness beyond measure from friends who minutes before were unknown. I am naturally friendly and respectfully curious so that person making eye contact with or smiling at a stranger or asking a question that invites connection? That’s me. I marvel at the lessons I have learnt on each journey. It was no different this past spring on a trip to Asia, particularly the four days spent in South Korea. They were pregnant with discovery, rich, intense and deeply rewarding not least the time spent with our Korean family. Yes, I have that too. I found myself gently developing a kinship with this country through its people, stories, culture, food and bridges, five passions of mine. On the ride to the airport for the flight back, nose pressed to the window staring wide-eyed at the rows and rows of skyscrapers obscured by the fog, I was weighed down by a sense of longing, like I was leaving a part of me behind. It was odd but real. That feeling has lingered for months and it is only now as we go into the autumn that I am beginning to make sense of it.First, I realise that Korea felt so familiar: the food as love language vibe – colourful, tasty, abundant and generously shared; the emotional fluency of the people; the high premium placed on seniority and respect; the energy, ambition and drive; the imperfections underlying the perfection; the celebratory traditions of the stages of life and of course, the inherent and inevitable paradoxes. I felt right at home and would have liked to stay longer.Secondly, those four days started and ended with memorials -visible evidence of how love and loss, or more directly put, life and death co-exist. You see, my arrival in Seoul coincided with Memorial Day. I met up with friends for a family lunch, took a short stroll by the Han River and on my way back to the hotel, had to change buses. Standing in line to board, I looked up and saw many flags in this open, beautiful, vast, elegant and dignified space. In the distance I noticed the steps leading to a central building. It was welcoming and drew me in. Before I knew it I was touring the War Memorial of Korea.
An irresistible invitation.
Inside, I wandered around without a plan and was touched by the people, some dressed formerly, laying bouquets of flowers at the feet of the exhibits, particularly the series of columns bearing the names of war heroes. There were young children clutching on to the hands of their parents, listening intently to explanations. Like them, feeling as one, I bowed at different points in homage.
I read the plaques of commemoration, observed people from a respectful distance and how they interacted with memory, solemn yet strong, in gratitude. I celebrated the unity of effort between nations once I read of the countries that had joined in the battle for peace. I visited the memorial hall that houses the roll of honour and an infinity fountain bowl that in its quiet flow spoke loudly of continuity and the energetic and life giving powers of water.
Outside, I mingled with young and older, walking over the stones on the Together Road that call us to a unified commitment to journey from war to peace. I clambered onto the impressive armoured tanks and fighter jets in the outdoor exhibitions accompanied by the excited chatter and laughter of my fellow adventurers.
It felt good to see so much life in a place that commemorates death and to be with Koreans celebrating their heroes known or unknown, remembered and honoured meaningfully. It was educational and moving to witness the sacrifices of those who fought for the freedoms of today. I felt gratitude for the opportunity to have spent time in the warmth and love that surrounded this space. I hopped on my bus two hours later than planned but it did not matter. One of the greatest privileges of my life has been the opportunity to travel the world and encounter different cultures. It has exposed me to new ways of seeing, being and doing and I am the richer for it. On my travels, I have had numerous enlightening conversations and received kindness beyond measure from friends who minutes before were unknown. I am naturally friendly and respectfully curious so that person making eye contact with or smiling at a stranger or asking a question that invites connection? That’s me. I marvel at the lessons I have learnt on each journey.
It was no different this past spring on a trip to Asia, particularly the four days spent in South Korea. They were pregnant with discovery, rich, intense and deeply rewarding not least the time spent with our Korean family. Yes, I have that too. I found myself gently developing a kinship with this country through its stories, people, culture, food and bridges, five passions of mine. Seoul
First, I realise that Korea felt so familiar- the food as love language vibe –colourful, tasty, abundant, ubiquitous and generously shared; the emotional fluency of the people; the high premium placed on seniority and respect; the ambition and drive; the imperfections underlying the perfection; the celebratory traditions of the stages of life and of course, the inherent and inevitable paradoxes. I felt right at home and would have liked to stay longer.
Secondly, those four days started and ended with memorials -visible evidence of how love and loss, or more directly put, life and death co-exist. You see, my arrival in Seoul coincided with Memorial Day. I met up with friends for a family lunch, took a short stroll by the Han River and on my way back to the hotel, had to change buses. Standing in line to board, I looked up and saw many flags in this open, beautiful, vast, elegant and dignified space. In the distance I noticed the steps leading to a central building. It was welcoming and drew me in. Before I knew it I was touring the War Memorial of Korea.
Inside, I wandered around without a plan and was touched by the people, some dressed formerly, laying bouquets of flowers at the feet of the exhibits, particularly the series of columns bearing the names of war heroes. There were young children clutching on to the hands of their parents, listening intently to explanations. Like them, feeling as one, I bowed at different points in homage.
I read the plaques of commemoration, observed people from a respectful distance and how they interacted with memory, solemn yet strong, in gratitude. I celebrated the unity of effort between nations once I read of the countries that had joined in the battle for freedom. I visited the memorial hall that houses the roll of honour and an infinity fountain bowl that in its quiet flow spoke loudly of continuity and the energetic and life giving powers of water.
Outside, I mingled with young and older, walking over the stones of the artificial lakes that signify a unified commitment to move from war to peace. I clambered onto the impressive armoured tanks and fighter jets in the outdoor exhibitions accompanied by the excited chatter and laughter of my fellow adventurers.
It felt good to see so much life in a place that commemorated death and to be with Koreans celebrating their heroes known or unknown, remembered and honoured meaningfully. It was educational and moving to witness the sacrifices of those who fought for the freedoms of today. I felt gratitude for the opportunity to have spent time in the warmth and love that surrounded this space. I hopped on my bus two hours later than planned but it did not matter.
Icheon.
I spent the two last days in Icheon, about an hour and a half’s drive south east of Seoul. I had found a lovely and conveniently located hotel set in beautiful gardens and booked it without much reflection. I was mostly out in those two days but on my last night took time for a good look around. I discovered the café set in a conservatory and stopped for tea. Mariage Frères tea and delicious matcha scones? Nice! Count me in, I thought. If you know me then you know that thoughtfully prepared and beautifully presented food is one of my happy places.
I placed my order at the counter and struck up conversation with a gentleman waiting to pay. We matched both in our silver hair and curiosity. He asked how I found and chose this hotel. “On the internet”, I said. There was something about his question though, but I filed that thought away and rather spoke of other things. It turned out he was a Professor at a university in Seoul and as you can imagine, our conversation was wide-ranging. I like bookish types.
After my thoroughly enjoyable coffee break, I sat out in the gardens for a little while, taking in its beauty and thinking how talented whoever curated it is. The water features, landscaping, lighting and plants just seemed to live in such harmony. Walking back to my room, I popped into the library, which I had noticed earlier. “Wow! This is gorgeous”. I spent time with the eclectic collection of books old and new, again with this question playing on reel, who designed and curated this library collection? I raved about it to my family and went to bed with a smile celebrating the talent and creativity of whoever had put this all together and feeling gratitude for the gift of being here.
The next morning, waiting to be picked up for the ride to the airport, I noticed a big white cross in the distance. Oh yes, now I remember seeing that as we drove in, I thought. I sent a quick text to my folks to let them know I was hopping along to take a peek at the church and would see them soon. It was Sunday morning after all. What better way to end my trip? I walked a little uphill and there it was: the cutest little church with the most outstanding modern architecture where material and design came together. I was stunned by its simplicity and complexity. Curious, I walked around and like out of nowhere, two huge white hands reached out of a water feature fingers spread out as if giving up or ready to receive.
PHOTO.
“What is this place”? I thought. I spent a few minutes in the church and felt drawn to walk up the steps just outside that led to an entrance on the upper floor. I pushed the door open gingerly and was met by two pairs of curious eyes from men in black standing next to an entry turnstile. “Huh?” I spoke fast into my translation app phone explaining I had spent two nights at the hotel and was leaving this morning but was drawn to visit the church and found myself here. “What is this space”, I asked?
He beckoned me to follow him into what has to be one of the most beautiful spaces I have ever been in. All light wood indoors with glass outer walls opening into triple height spaces surrounded by greenery, adorned with metallic sculptures and inscriptions. Come, he beckoned. I walked with him into the first room. It was open, bright, airy and beautiful. I looked at him, and looked around the room. I looked at him then looked around the room, all the walls framed by more of the light wood and only then noticed the niches. “Ah! Oh! Ohhhh!” I looked at him and held my hands to my chest as the penny dropped. For a few minutes I had what can only be described as an out of body experience as I realised I was standing in the middle of a memorial room looking at a display of urns storing cremated remains. I have rarely felt such emotion nor been in such a place of serene beauty.
Each niche was alive it seemed. In one there was a wedding photo of a smiling young couple, recently placed there I was told. In another there were personal items- a wrist watch, photos of laughing children, a wallet, flowers, fruit, a child’s hair brush, a CD, a hand written letter… Each, a living memory, nestled in joyful coexistence with death.
“Where life flourishes throughout all four seasons, weddings and jazz classical concerts are held. At a place where our loved ones rest, what can’t we do…?
Geneva.
I carry those memories with me tenderly today as I write. It required time to process and come to a place of knowing that how we remember and how we are remembered is a reflection of how we live(d). In the time since, I have friends who have lost a grand father, another a father, another a mother and yet two others a daughter and niece. I have felt privileged to listen to their stories of the life of their loved ones and their loss. My experiences in Korea made it even more meaningful. To be present with and hold the joys and sorrows of others simultaneously. To be at peace with death and to know that it is not so much about dying but how we live. This comforts and strengthens me.
And now to you. What is opening up for you? What matters right now? Wherever this meets you, I send you warmth and strength, wrapped in kindness, just as I have received.
With love,
Faith Seoul
First, I realise that Korea felt so familiar- the food as love language vibe –colourful, tasty, abundant, ubiquitous and generously shared; the emotional fluency of the people; the high premium placed on seniority and respect; the ambition and drive; the imperfections underlying the perfection; the celebratory traditions of the stages of life and of course, the inherent and inevitable paradoxes. I felt right at home and would have liked to stay longer.
Secondly, those four days started and ended with memorials -visible evidence of how love and loss, or more directly put, life and death co-exist. You see, my arrival in Seoul coincided with Memorial Day. I met up with friends for a family lunch, took a short stroll by the Han River and on my way back to the hotel, had to change buses. Standing in line to board, I looked up and saw many flags in this open, beautiful, vast, elegant and dignified space. In the distance I noticed the steps leading to a central building. It was welcoming and drew me in. Before I knew it I was touring the War Memorial of Korea.
Inside, I wandered around without a plan and was touched by the people, some dressed formerly, laying bouquets of flowers at the feet of the exhibits, particularly the series of columns bearing the names of war heroes. There were young children clutching on to the hands of their parents, listening intently to explanations. Like them, feeling as one, I bowed at different points in homage.
I read the plaques of commemoration, observed people from a respectful distance and how they interacted with memory, solemn yet strong, in gratitude. I celebrated the unity of effort between nations once I read of the countries that had joined in the battle for freedom. I visited the memorial hall that houses the roll of honour and an infinity fountain bowl that in its quiet flow spoke loudly of continuity and the energetic and life giving powers of water.
Outside, I mingled with young and older, walking over the stones of the artificial lakes that signify a unified commitment to move from war to peace. I clambered onto the impressive armoured tanks and fighter jets in the outdoor exhibitions accompanied by the excited chatter and laughter of my fellow adventurers.
It felt good to see so much life in a place that commemorated death and to be with Koreans celebrating their heroes known or unknown, remembered and honoured meaningfully. It was educational and moving to witness the sacrifices of those who fought for the freedoms of today. I felt gratitude for the opportunity to have spent time in the warmth and love that surrounded this space. I hopped on my bus two hours later than planned but it did not matter.
Icheon.
I spent the two last days in Icheon, about an hour and a half’s drive south east of Seoul. I had found a lovely and conveniently located hotel set in beautiful gardens and booked it without much reflection. I was mostly out in those two days but on my last night took time for a good look around. I discovered the café set in a conservatory and stopped for tea. Mariage Frères tea and delicious matcha scones? Nice! Count me in, I thought. If you know me then you know that thoughtfully prepared and beautifully presented food is one of my happy places.
I placed my order at the counter and struck up conversation with a gentleman waiting to pay. We matched both in our silver hair and curiosity. He asked how I found and chose this hotel. “On the internet”, I said. There was something about his question though, but I filed that thought away and rather spoke of other things. It turned out he was a Professor at a university in Seoul and as you can imagine, our conversation was wide-ranging. I like bookish types.
After my thoroughly enjoyable coffee break, I sat out in the gardens for a little while, taking in its beauty and thinking how talented whoever curated it is. The water features, landscaping, lighting and plants just seemed to live in such harmony. Walking back to my room, I popped into the library, which I had noticed earlier. “Wow! This is gorgeous”. I spent time with the eclectic collection of books old and new, again with this question playing on reel, who designed and curated this library collection? I raved about it to my family and went to bed with a smile celebrating the talent and creativity of whoever had put this all together and feeling gratitude for the gift of being here.
The next morning, waiting to be picked up for the ride to the airport, I noticed a big white cross in the distance. Oh yes, now I remember seeing that as we drove in, I thought. I sent a quick text to my folks to let them know I was hopping along to take a peek at the church and would see them soon. It was Sunday morning after all. What better way to end my trip? I walked a little uphill and there it was: the cutest little church with the most outstanding modern architecture where material and design came together. I was stunned by its simplicity and complexity. Curious, I walked around and like out of nowhere, two huge white hands reached out of a water feature fingers spread out as if giving up or ready to receive.
PHOTO.
“What is this place”? I thought. I spent a few minutes in the church and felt drawn to walk up the steps just outside that led to an entrance on the upper floor. I pushed the door open gingerly and was met by two pairs of curious eyes from men in black standing next to an entry turnstile. “Huh?” I spoke fast into my translation app phone explaining I had spent two nights at the hotel and was leaving this morning but was drawn to visit the church and found myself here. “What is this space”, I asked?
He beckoned me to follow him into what has to be one of the most beautiful spaces I have ever been in. All light wood indoors with glass outer walls opening into triple height spaces surrounded by greenery, adorned with metallic sculptures and inscriptions. Come, he beckoned. I walked with him into the first room. It was open, bright, airy and beautiful. I looked at him, and looked around the room. I looked at him then looked around the room, all the walls framed by more of the light wood and only then noticed the niches. “Ah! Oh! Ohhhh!” I looked at him and held my hands to my chest as the penny dropped. For a few minutes I had what can only be described as an out of body experience as I realised I was standing in the middle of a memorial room looking at a display of urns storing cremated remains. I have rarely felt such emotion nor been in such a place of serene beauty.
Each niche was alive it seemed. In one there was a wedding photo of a smiling young couple, recently placed there I was told. In another there were personal items- a wrist watch, photos of laughing children, a wallet, flowers, fruit, a child’s hair brush, a CD, a hand written letter… Each, a living memory, nestled in joyful coexistence with death.
“Where life flourishes throughout all four seasons, weddings and jazz classical concerts are held. At a place where our loved ones rest, what can’t we do…?
Geneva.
I carry those memories with me tenderly today as I write. It required time to process and come to a place of knowing that how we remember and how we are remembered is a reflection of how we live(d). In the time since, I have friends who have lost a grand father, another a father, another a mother and yet two others a daughter and niece. I have felt privileged to listen to their stories of the life of their loved ones and their loss. My experiences in Korea made it even more meaningful. To be present with and hold the joys and sorrows of others simultaneously. To be at peace with death and to know that it is not so much about dying but how we live. This comforts and strengthens me.
And now to you. What is opening up for you? What matters right now? Wherever this meets you, I send you warmth and strength, wrapped in kindness, just as I have received.
With love,
Faith 
I love this photo, one of many I took. The kids, the bird soaring over the monument, the Korean flag keeping watch.
I spent the last two days in Icheon, about an hour and a half’s drive south east of Seoul. I had found a lovely and conveniently located hotel set in beautiful gardens and booked it without much reflection. I was mostly out in those two days but on my last night took time for a good look around. I discovered the Eden café set in a glass house in a corner of the gardens and stopped for tea. Mariage Frères tea and delicious freshly-baked matcha scones? Nice! Count me in. If you know me then you know that anywhere with thoughtfully prepared and beautifully presented food is one of my happy places.
Every shade of green in the approaching dusk light.
I placed my order at the counter and struck up conversation with a gentleman waiting to pay. We matched both in our silver hair and curiosity. He asked how I found and chose this hotel. “On the internet”, I said. There was something about his question though, but I filed that thought away and rather spoke of other things. It turned out he was a Professor at a university in Seoul and as you can imagine, our conversation was wide-ranging. I like bookish types.
After my thoroughly enjoyable coffee break, I sat out in the gardens for a little while, taking in its beauty wondering who designed this place. The water features, landscaping, lighting and plants just seemed to live in such harmony. 
Walking back to my room, I popped into the library, which I had noticed earlier. “Wow! This is gorgeous”. I spent time with the eclectic collection of books old and new, again with this question playing on reel, "who designed this library and curated this collection"? I raved about it to my family and went to bed with a smile celebrating the talent and creativity of whoever had put this all together and feeling gratitude for the gift of being here.
Every single detail is well thought through. Look. What do you see? I spent time alone here on my last night. Then a couple came in with their toddler, sat in a corner pulling out books, reading together, cuddling and laughing. I smiled inside me.
So apt.
Index.
Indeed.
This is where I’ll be when I go back.
The next morning, waiting to be picked up for the ride to the airport, I noticed a big white cross in the distance. "Oh yes, now I remember seeing that as we drove in", I thought. I sent a quick text to my folks to let them know I was hopping along to take a peek at the church and would see them soon. It was Sunday morning after all. What better way to end my trip? I walked a little uphill and there it was: the cutest little church with the most outstanding modern architecture where design, material and nature came together. I was stunned by its simplicity and complexity. Curious, I walked around and like out of nowhere, two huge white hands reached out of a water feature, fingers spread out as if giving up or ready to receive. 
I spent a few minutes in the church and felt drawn to walk up the steps just outside that led to an entrance on the upper floor. I pushed the door open gingerly and was met by two pairs of curious eyes from men in black standing next to an entry turnstile. I spoke fast into the translation app on my phone explaining I had spent two nights at the hotel and was leaving this morning but was drawn to visit the church and found myself here. “What is this place?”, I asked.
One of them broke into a smile and beckoned me to follow him, holding the turnstile open. Together, we walked down an airy corridor, all glass on one side with a view on a triple height stone courtyard, surrounded by greenery, adorned with metallic sculptures and inscriptions. On the other side, a wall of honey-coloured wood panelling framing several doors. Come, he beckoned again leading me into the first room. It was bathed in light and beautiful. I looked around all the walls of yet more of the light wood panelling and only then noticed the niches. I looked back at him. He had a smile that said yes. “Oh! Ohhhh!” I held my hands to my chest as the penny dropped. For a few minutes I had what can only be described as an out of body experience knowing I was standing in the middle of a memorial room looking at a display of urns storing cremated remains. I have rarely felt such emotion nor been in such a place of serene beauty.
Each niche was alive it seemed. In one there was a wedding photo of a smiling young couple, recently placed there I was told. In another there were personal items- a wrist watch, a wallet; in yet another, photos of laughing children, flowers, a pair of glasses, a cuddly toy, a birthday card ... I walked around, looking and learning of lives lived... here a child’s hair brush; there, a CD, a hand written letter, a mobile phone, socks, lipstick … Each, a living memory, nestled in joyful co-existence with death. 
Eden Paradise Memorial. Designed by Choi Si-Young. Architect, Landscape and Space Designer, South Korea. Photo Credit: Seoul Design Awards website.
I ran back to the Library just before we left to leaf through a coffee table book I had seen. There, I read about the genius and visionary architect, Choi Si-Young. What a wonderful world. I was happy to have found the answer to my questions. In creating this place of rest, solace, contemplative strolls, meditation and introspection, Choi, in the words of the Seoul Design Awards jury ... [offers] "a place for living people to cultivate memories... to encourage reflection for anyone whether or not their dead relatives lay there." That exactly was my experience. Unlike most Charnel houses where cremated remains are stored far from residential areas, the setting of the Eden Paradise Memorial next to the hotel and near a city invites the living to visit and make memories.The seven gardens in the complex invite life and celebration; remains can be sprinkled in the lazy river outside the charnel house which flows through the gardens and is naturally absorbed into the soil. The books in the library are all donations by the deceased. Tea classes and flower classes are held in the Teahouse according to season. The space is booked out for weddings and concerts. I love what the architect says in a 2017 interview: "I don't want people to feel obligated to visit their deceased family members just once or twice a year, but to stop by whenever they think of them."
Cross roads. Photo Credit: Seoul Design Awards website.
Remember the Professor's question to me? I now get it. Remember the family in the Library? I now get it. Remember the sense of loss I felt when leaving Korea? It took a while, but I now get it. 
Insightful.
I carry all those memories tenderly with me today as I write in Geneva. And there's one I hold ever so dear. That of the connection with the man in black who took me on a tour of Eden Paradise Memorial. We spoke different languages, could not look more different but in our humanity, our sameness shone. He felt me on that day and in his kindness, held me safely in my discovery, unrushed. When done, we walked down the stairs like old friends. He ended up getting me to pose for photos in the grounds enthusiastically urging me on. I followed his guidance reluctantly at first. Then I got in the game and it was fun. I extended my hand for a handshake but ended up pulling him in for a hug. We both laughed as we said goodbye. I had a plane to catch after all. I know though that I will be back. 
Harmony of Love, Shin Heung Woo, May 2020
It has required time to process the emotions from my time in Korea and to come to a place of knowing. That how we remember and how we are remembered is a reflection of how we live(d). That we can let go and yet live with those who are gone. And that, with intention, our memories of them can carry and even uplift us. In the time since, I have friends who have lost a grand father, another a father, another a mother and yet two others a daughter and niece. I have had the privilege to listen to their stories of life and loss and to hold space for emotions and friendship. My experiences in Korea have been a blessing and given more meaning to how I am with myself and others in times of grief. To be present with and have a heart big enough to hold our joys and sorrows simultaneously. To be at peace with death. To know that it is not so much about dying but how we live. This comforts and strengthens me. I no longer feel that sense of loss and longing, just gratitude. Why? Because I gave myself the gift of sitting with and processing my emotions. It took time but I got there. And now to you. What is opening up for you? What are you longing for? What is calling for your attention right now? Take time to reflect. Wherever this meets you, know that I send you warmth and strength, wrapped in kindness, just as I have received.
With love,
Faith