Yet even while begging for food, I maintained my dignity. If someone refused to help, I would say in a clear and confident voice, “Listen. If you do not help people like us who are in need, you will have great difficulties if you hope to receive blessings in the future!” People would give when faced with such thoughts. We took the food we gathered this way to a flat area where we all could sit together. Dozens of people like us ate in such places. We had nothing, and even had to beg for food, but a warm friendship always flowed among us.
       Once in the middle of a day like this, suddenly I heard someone shout, “Look here! How long has it been?”

      I turned to see standing before me Dok Mun Eom, a friend from my days in Japan. Dok Mun Eom had befriended me for life back then from having been so moved by a song I sang. Today he is one of Korea’s most prominent architects, having designed the Sejong Cultural Center and the Lotte Hotel.

      “Let’s go,” he said, as he embraced me in my wretched clothes. “Let’s go to my home.”

       By that time, Dok Mun Eom had married. He lived together with his family in a single room. To make room for me, he hung a quilt down the middle of that room, dividing it, with one side for me. On the other he slept with his wife and two young children.

       “Now,” he said, “tell me about your life lately. I always wondered where you were and what you might be doing. We were close friends,” he said, “but you have always been more than a friend to me. Did you know that I always held you in great respect?”