We'll continue to try to increase knowledge about our culture.

In the words of Jin: “We’ll continue to try to increase knowledge about our culture.” These words carry the strength of a vow, a promise not only to one’s people but to the world. For a culture is not merely songs, dances, or customs—it is the living memory of a people, the vessel of their identity, the soul of their history. To spread knowledge of one’s culture is to say to the world: We are here, we matter, we have something eternal to share.

The ancients knew the sacred duty of passing down their traditions. The Greeks preserved their epics, the Iliad and the Odyssey, not only as stories but as living guides to valor, honor, and fate. The Chinese sages inscribed the Analects so their wisdom might guide emperors and peasants alike. The Hebrew people guarded their scriptures through exile and scattering, ensuring that their culture would endure even when kingdoms fell. In each of these, the effort to increase knowledge was not a casual act, but a struggle against forgetting, against silence, against erasure.

So it is with Jin’s words. Spoken as a modern artist, they echo this ancient truth: when a people rise to share their culture, they are not merely entertaining, but safeguarding their identity from the waves of time. In the face of globalization, where countless voices compete for attention, to proclaim one’s culture boldly is an act of both courage and preservation. It is to say: We will not let our heritage vanish; we will teach it, we will sing it, we will embody it until others see its worth.

History gives us shining examples of this struggle. Consider the Harlem Renaissance in the early 20th century, when African American writers, poets, and musicians filled the world with the sounds and visions of their culture. At a time when they were denied equality, they turned to art and story, increasing knowledge of who they were. Langston Hughes wrote, Zora Neale Hurston preserved folklore, Louis Armstrong played with fire in his trumpet—and together, they built a legacy that could not be ignored. Their culture was not erased; it was exalted.

Jin’s words remind us, too, that sharing culture is not only for pride, but for connection. When one people reveals its art, its food, its language, its rituals, it builds bridges across divides. To increase knowledge of culture is to invite others to see our humanity, to recognize in our stories the echoes of their own. For though traditions differ, the heart of humankind beats the same: in longing, in laughter, in love. Thus, cultural sharing becomes not just self-preservation, but a gift to the world.

The lesson is clear: honor your culture, and do not hide it. Learn its history, speak its language, preserve its traditions. Share it with humility and pride, so that others may come to understand and respect it. At the same time, be eager to learn the cultures of others, for in honoring their stories you honor your own humanity. In this exchange, the world becomes richer, more united, more alive.

Therefore, O listener, let this teaching settle in your heart: every person is a bearer of culture, every community a library of living memory. Do not let your heritage slip into silence. Speak it, sing it, live it, and teach it, so that future generations may inherit not only a name, but a soul. For as Jin declares, the task is ongoing—we must “continue to try.” It is not completed in one lifetime, but carried across many, as each generation becomes both guardian and messenger of its people’s light.