If your work requires you to travel, you will understand that

Hear, O wayfarers of the earth and pilgrims of the endless road, the words of Park Chan-wook, who spoke with quiet wisdom: “If your work requires you to travel, you will understand that there’s no vacation destination like home.” These words cut through the illusions of wanderlust and touch a truth hidden in plain sight: that the greatest rest is not always found in exotic lands or distant oceans, but in the familiar embrace of one’s own dwelling, where the soul is free of masks and the heart is at peace.

For many who wander because of work, the road is not always a gift but a burden. Airports, hotels, and strange cities blur together until even beauty becomes weariness. The traveler who journeys for necessity begins to understand that the body longs not only for discovery but also for rest. And where is true rest found? Not in the bustle of a resort or the glitter of another city, but in home, where every corner knows your name, and every silence belongs to you.

The home is more than walls and roof—it is memory, identity, and sanctuary. It is the place where one need not perform, where every object carries a history, where even the smallest chair or window bears the comfort of recognition. After long travel, this return is sweeter than any paradise, for it restores not only the body but the self. Park Chan-wook reminds us that the heart values belonging above spectacle, and familiarity above grandeur.

Consider, O listener, the tale of Odysseus, who wandered for ten years after the fall of Troy. He saw wonders beyond measure—the isle of Circe, the song of the Sirens, the caverns of the Cyclops. Yet none of these satisfied him. His greatest desire was not new marvels, but to return to Ithaca, to the bed carved from olive wood, to the arms of Penelope, to the hearth where he was known. For even the greatest traveler discovers at last that there is no haven like home.

The meaning of Park’s words is thus: the value of home is often hidden from those who never leave it. It is only when distance and duty carry us far away that we discover the sacredness of the familiar. The more one is forced to roam, the more one yearns for the stillness of one’s own dwelling. What others call ordinary becomes, in absence, the greatest treasure.

The lesson for you, O child of tomorrow, is this: do not despise the simplicity of your home. Do not think joy lies only in foreign places. Travel when you can, for travel expands the soul—but remember that true peace is found in returning. Honor your home, tend to it with love, and recognize it as a sanctuary that no hotel, no villa, no distant shore can replace.

Practical action follows: when you travel, carry gratitude, but when you return, carry reverence. Do not rush past your home as though it were nothing; instead, cherish it as the anchor of your being. Take time to sit in your familiar chair, to walk your familiar street, to rest your head upon the pillow that remembers you. For in these ordinary moments lies the deepest rest of all.

Therefore, remember Park Chan-wook’s wisdom: there is no vacation destination like home. For all the beauty of the world, the heart knows where it truly belongs. Journey boldly, but return gratefully. And in your returning, you will find that the greatest gift of travel is not only what you see abroad, but the rediscovery of the place you call your own.