(From Issue 10)
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Whether it’s YouTube, TikTok, video streaming services, or chat apps, we live for “immediacy” every day. Instant access to information, and sometimes even consuming video content twice as fast, has become the norm. Have you ever heard of the term “taipa”? Taipa stands for “time performance,” symbolizing today’s values that demand efficient use of limited time. Therefore, the act of “waiting” is being treated as an impediment and relegated to a corner of our lives.
But while we make waiting more efficient, do we realize we are losing what is important to us? Patience, introspection, and the joy that comes from anticipation—these are precious experiences that can only come from the act of waiting.
Waiting used to be an essential part of life. Before digitization, a letter took days, sometimes weeks, to arrive. And the natural process of sowing seeds and watching them grow was essential to the harvesting of crops. Such waiting was not considered a waste of time but an important period of preparation and hope. The time it took for the letter to arrive made the emotions contained in it heavier, and the anticipation while waiting for the harvest made the harvest itself more special. The act of waiting itself increased the value of the result.
Today, however, we consider waiting futile and seek immediacy. Internet searches, instant replies to messages, operating a smartphone while commuting to work, or replying to an e-mail while waiting for the elevator – we are concentrating on how to “kill” the time we spend waiting. As a result, we seem to be able to do many things efficiently, but in fact, we may be overlooking the important things behind the “efficiency.”
My great-grandmother taught me the beauty of waiting. She loved to grow plants, and one flower she cherished was “Beauty under the Moon.” This flower blooms only one night a year. If you want to see it, you must wait patiently.
One summer night, my great-grandmother said, “Our Beauty under the Moon will bloom tonight.” I was skeptical but happy to stay up late, so I went out into the garden with my great-grandmother. Under the moonlight, she sat still in front of the flowers with a flashlight in her hand. It felt like such a long time. Listening to the sound of insects, my great-grandmother just sat there quietly, doing nothing. I asked her many times, “Aren’t they blooming yet?” She replied, “It is the timing of the flower itself that makes it bloom. There is no point in being impatient. Instead, enjoy this quiet time.”
As the night deepened, my great-grandmother whispered, “Look, look.” The buds of Beauty under the Moon were slowly beginning to open. Their movements were surprisingly quiet, as if time had stopped. When they opened fully, the large, pure white flowers shone beautifully in the moonlight as if they were covered with light. There was a sweet fragrance in the air, and each petal was delicate, like the wings of an angel.
My great-grandmother smiled and said, “This is Beauty under the Moon. Isn’t it worth waiting for hours to see this moment?” For the first time, I realized the meaning of waiting. It was the waiting itself that made this beauty so special.
Some years later, my great-grandmother passed away. I took in and cared for the Beauty under the Moon that my great-grandmother had raised. The flower reminds me that I am so busy in my daily life that I forget to wait. On the nights when Beauty under the Moon blooms, I am reminded of those summer nights again.
My great-grandmother taught me not just to wait for the flowers to bloom but to “find a special feeling within myself” during the waiting time. The longer it takes for the flower to bloom, the more beautiful the moment becomes. What my great-grandmother cherished was the preciousness of waiting.
Today, “waiting” is often treated as an obstacle. However, the act of “waiting” is not just a mere consumption of time; it gives us the opportunity for anticipation, hope, and reflection. Just like the excitement we felt on the night the Beauty under the Moon blooms, the longer we wait, the greater the joy we gain.
I would like to recall my great-grandmother’s teaching at this age when we had forgotten how to wait. The “special feelings” we can find in that time will enrich our hearts.
Angles 