In Korea, we have a specific word for a wife: Manura. To me, it’s a title earned only when a couple becomes truly equal—two people from different worlds who have walked the same path, hand-in-hand, for so long that there are no secrets left. Honestly? Having someone who knows me better than I know myself is a little terrifying. A wife is a formidable being. (Haha!)

No matter how successful a man is out in the world, he usually softens the moment he stands before his wife. They say behind every great hero is a woman, and I think they’re right. Women are sensitive to status and "face"—if the husband thrives, the wife shines. Success covers a multitude of flaws; it makes everything look a little more beautiful.

In today’s world, "thriving" usually means not worrying about money. But let’s be real: money is a worry whether you have it or not. Most people just prefer the "rich" kind of worry. Scientifically, both types of stress mess with your brain the same way, but I’ve realized something: worrying is a waste of time. When I look back, those seasons of intense anxiety have faded into blurry, nostalgic memories. That’s just the rhythm of life, isn't it? We aren't dying tomorrow, and we aren't going hungry today.

The philosopher Schopenhauer said that as we age, we must master the art of being alone. But can I ever truly be alone? My Manura and I are destined to grow old together until our hair turns as white as green onion roots. She is me; I am her. We are one body. Schopenhauer lived as a bachelor—he couldn't possibly understand the concept of a Manura. In our society, becoming a couple is the natural order. Two becoming one.

My wife is a stunning woman. Even now, people ask if she used to be an actress. Perhaps because I’ve always pursued "beauty" in my life, I feel a deep sense of satisfaction having such a handsome woman by my side. Sometimes, I look at her and think to myself, “Man, I got lucky.” Even as the wrinkles settle in, true beauty doesn't fade. Most people "spread out" as they age, but she still carries herself like a younger woman.

Her focus is entirely on me. If I weren't such a self-centered artist, I might have felt suffocated by that level of devotion. But the way she anticipates my needs—as if by telepathy—is more than just luck; it’s a profound karmic connection. Being the wife of an artist requires a level of patience and focus that most people simply don't possess.

They say that as we age, men become more feminine and women become more masculine, swapping roles naturally. The problem is... I’m still a "Macho." I suppose I haven’t fully matured yet. Despite all my studies and life experience, I still feel like there’s so much I don't know. When am I supposed to find the time to actually grow old?

This is where the friction happens. Even if we are "one body," it’s philosophically impossible for two people with different backgrounds to truly become one. If there is a whole universe inside of me, how can there be another "me"?

We are bound to disagree on how to live. And in a marriage, the one who surrenders is the one who actually wins. Usually, the woman wins. For a man like me, who has never liked losing, this is the ultimate challenge.

But then again, if we didn't have these little battles to fight... would life even be worth living?