When I opened my yearbook, I began to reminisce about my half year of high school in Korea. As I flipped through the pages of the yearbook, a picture of an old man with a benevolent smile caught my eyes. Daydreaming about the incident, my eyesight became hazy, and I felt my hands becoming swollen, which always refreshes my memory of his profound words.
His name is Mr. Lee, my high school teacher in Korea. A very thin and tall man, Mr. Lee is very caring and always tries to understand the students' concerns and finds joy in having conversations with them. Mr. Lee and I used to discuss my pl…
