During a working trip to South Korea to attend the 2025 World Journalists Conference, I had the opportunity to visit a remarkable place with international colleagues – the Suwon Museum of Writing, which recreates one of humankind’s greatest inventions: the written word. The space was both quiet and solemn, yet bright with inspiration, like an open invitation to reflect deeply on humanity’s memory.
Language begins with light.
From the main hall, we entered a stunning visual space: a massive cylinder projecting dozens of ancient writing systems — from Egyptian and Mesopotamian scripts to Chinese, Devanagari, Hangul, and Latin. The characters moved in beams of light as if they were alive, whispering stories of civilizations long gone.
The giant loudspeaker tower, an installation artwork in the museum.
International journalists take photos at the massive sound tower, made of hundreds of old speakers, in the center of the ground floor of the Suwon Museum of Writing.
In the center of the ground floor stood a massive sound tower made of hundreds of old black loudspeakers. Ancient sounds resonated from within as a beam of white light shot upward from the center to the high ceiling. Unplanned yet instinctive, everyone stood in a circle, silently gazing upward. In that moment, no one was merely a “visitor”, we all participated in a silent ritual, where humanity and language met once more.
Gathering characters from across time
The Suwon Museum of Writing is part of the Suwon City Museum complex, which includes both the History Museum and the Korean Calligraphy Museum , and houses over 33,000 artifacts related to writing and calligraphic art throughout history.
I was particularly drawn to the Geumseokmun (stone and metal engravings), as well as the Seogan (official documents from the Joseon Dynasty), with their delicate, breath-like brushstrokes. Some 19th-century handwritten letters were displayed alongside digitized versions, allowing visitors to interact with them and read them – even without knowledge of Korean – could still feel the emotion woven into every stroke.
Most of the artifacts were collected over many years – from royal relics and clan records to unearthed pottery shards and stone tablets. Each piece served as a fragment of memory, creating a vivid map of writing civilization.
From “a” to “ㅎ” – a silent thread connecting us all
One of the most thought-provoking installations was a black cable gently snaking across a white wall, stretching from the Latin letter “a” to the Hangul character “ㅎ” (the last letter ò the Korean alphabet – the youngest writing system in human history).
From “a” to “ㅎ” – a silent thread connecting all people.
There was no explanatory plaque. But standing in front of it for just a moment, you understood: the journey of writing transcends language and borders — it is a silent thread connecting cultures, connecting people.
From “a” to “ㅎ” — like a voyage through the world’s collective memory, from West to East, from ancient to modern, where every script strives to help humans understand one another and open the worlds within each other.
Writing is not just for reading, it is for connecting
The museum is not merely a place to display relics, but also a place of quiet, profound education. When we visited, many Korean schoolchildren were attentively listening as guides explained the history of writing in different civilizations.
The exhibits are organized both chronologically and geographically, combining real artifacts with interactive visuals to help visitors easily understand the development of writing worldwide. Several areas feature archival footage and illustrated charts, with multilingual narration, including Vietnamese.
What was most striking was the deliberate silence, restraint, and reverence in the way everything was displayed, allowing visitors to enter a “memory sanctuary” — where each letter carries the weight of time and emotion.
Artifacts displayed at the museum preserve traces of the history of human writing, including some of the earliest printing presses.
We—as journalists—stood together beneath that shaft of white light, forming a silent circle. No common language was needed. Just eyes, stillness, and a shared feeling. It was a moment that felt like an embrace—of letters, of empathy, and of humanity.
Writing gives a voice to humanity. Not because everyone can read it, but because everyone longs to be understood.
A spark for educational television
As I left the museum, I kept wondering: what if we had a children’s television program in Vietnam that could help them discover the journey of writing — could it evoke even a fraction of the emotion I felt in that place?
After all, writing is not merely for recording. Each letter is a door to memory, and a bridge for people to find one another.
