Who Lives the Longest?

I came down with the flu. My throat was so swollen I could barely speak a word, and even swallowing a spoonful of food was difficult. My cough grew deeper, and after a few days I could even hear a wheezing sound from deep in my chest, in my bronchi. In the end, only after my husband scolded me—“Why didn’t you go to the hospital sooner?”—did I finally go. The doctor examined my throat, said my tonsils were severely inflamed, and prescribed antibiotics. He repeatedly emphasized that the medication was quite strong and must be taken after meals.

Of course, antibiotics are usually taken after eating, so I simply thought the doctor was being very kind. But about half a day after taking the medicine, I understood why. It was truly harsh. At some point, the taste of food completely disappeared.

It’s common to lose your appetite when you have a cold, but usually you can still taste food to some degree. This time was entirely different. It felt as if someone had switched off my senses—every taste collapsed.

As we learned in school, taste comes from the tongue distinguishing four basic flavors—sweet, salty, sour, and bitter—while the nose detects aroma, allowing the brain to perceive something as “delicious.” In my case, however, my sense of smell seemed completely shut down. I couldn’t smell perfume, coffee, or even garbage. All food in the world had turned into something with only those four basic tastes.

The coffee that used to refresh me every morning became nothing more than black, bitter water without its aroma. Sticky sweet-and-sour pork a friend had kindly brought from far away didn’t taste sweet at all—it felt like chewy gum. I even tried spicy ramen with well-fermented kimchi, but it was nothing more than spicy, salty cabbage leaves.

A senior once told me, “As you get older, you live for the joy of eating good food,” and I had completely agreed. But having to chew tasteless food like gum at every meal turned out to be far sadder than I had imagined. When my stomach growled, I ate not with anticipation or pleasure, but as if I were filling a car with fuel—just putting food in my mouth and chewing mechanically.

A week passed like that. I finished my medication yesterday. Hoping my sense of smell might return, I bring a freshly brewed cup of coffee close to my nose and inhale—but my unresponsive nose still detects nothing. If you’re curious what it feels like, try pinching your nose tightly and eating.

Surprisingly, it didn’t take long for life to feel gloomy. After three or four days, even my motivation and passion seemed to fade. Then a thought struck me: losing one’s “spiritual sense of smell” might be similar to losing the physical one.

A life in which you cannot discern what is good, what is beautiful, what you want to do, or what you desire easily becomes dull. When spiritual perception is lost, passion for life gradually disappears as well.

A passionless life is truly boring. Yet the time given to us is not that long. Moreover, no one knows how many days we will have with a healthy body. On the surface, everyone may seem to live similarly, but there is a clear difference between those who let time pass and those who live with purpose.

Those who live passionately continue to grow regardless of age. They help others, serve, and cultivate their lives through faith. Among the elements that lead to a meaningful life, one of the most important is passion. Without passion, self-development is difficult to expect. Passion is also the common trait among successful people.

The word “passion” can be expressed in English as passion and enthusiasm. “Passion” comes from the Latin passio, meaning suffering or pain—implying that passion always requires effort and endurance. “Enthusiasm,” on the other hand, comes from the Greek entheos, meaning “God within”—a state of being filled with divine energy, as if possessed by it. Taken together, passion can be understood as a life attitude of giving one’s all and enduring any hardship for what one desires. If life is given only once, shouldn’t we live it passionately?

I am reminded of a friend. He became passionate about encountering God. Though he had attended church for a long time, he often felt conflicted because outside the church he lived no differently from others. At the same time, he grew curious seeing people far more intelligent and successful than himself being devoted to God. He began to question whether God truly exists.

He read the Bible, listened to sermons, and reflected on the lyrics of hymns. At first, nothing seemed to change. But he did not stop seeking God.

One sunny spring day, he noticed acorns beneath an oak tree sprouting into seedlings. The small leaves looked exactly like those of the large oak tree. Though tiny now, they would one day grow tall enough to cover the sky. He was amazed. How could such a small seed accomplish something so great? Would it be possible without someone designing that life?

In that moment, seeing the order of life within the seed, he became convinced that God exists. After that, his life changed completely. Gratitude filled everything, and joy permeated his life. Relationships that once felt burdensome became warm, and even at work he found joy—his business began to flourish.

He said this: “People say they believe in God to go to heaven after they die. But when I truly came to believe, this place—right here—became heaven.”

Whenever I see him, I think: there is a peace in his life that is different from that of the world. He described his experience like water gradually heating until it suddenly boils. Once water boils and becomes steam, it can move a massive locomotive. But until it reaches 100°C, the engine will not move even an inch. Lukewarm water cannot pull a train.

Life is the same. Simply breathing, eating, and sleeping is not enough. We truly feel alive only when we pursue and accomplish something meaningful. The philosopher Rousseau said: the person who lives the longest is not the one who lives the most years, but the one who lives life most fully.

It has been a week since my cold began. My sense of smell has not yet returned. But through this experience, I realized an important truth: when our senses disappear, so does the joy of life.

Soon, when my sense of smell returns, I will once again enjoy the aroma of coffee and the taste of food. But this past week has left me with a profound lesson—that losing our spiritual senses is like cutting off the bridge that leads to joy and fulfillment.

Now is the time to awaken the passions that have been sleeping within us and let them burn brightly again. We do not know how much time we have left, but one thing is certain: life is not long enough to drift through aimlessly.

On the tombstone of George Bernard Shaw, who even won an Academy Award, it is said to be written: “I knew if I stayed around long enough, something like this would happen.” Perhaps he wanted to tell those of us who remain how we should live.

The fields have already changed into green. Grass that was yellow just weeks ago has, under warm sunlight and gentle spring winds, been reborn as a green carpet. It too must have had the passion to become green again.

Reflecting on Isaiah 40:31—“But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles…”—I hope that this April will be a time when we recover the passion within us and rise powerfully once again.

To all the readers of Cleaners Monthly, I sincerely care for you very much. Wishing you a day full of smiles today!

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