October 19, 2025. It was a crisp and gentle Sunday in early autumn. Invited by one of my Spirits course teachers, I attended an event called The Art of Drinks. The atmosphere was lively yet refined, filled with the aromas of spirits and the hum of cheerful laughter.
I wandered from booth to booth, tasting whiskies from Scotland, Taiwan, the Netherlands, and Japan, along with gin, vodka, brandy, rum, champagne, wine, beer, and sake. By the end of the day, I had sampled nearly every type of drink imaginable.
Some of the spirits felt like old friends, while others were delightful first encounters. Each glass carried its own personality and story. Some evoked old memories, others felt strangely familiar, like meeting someone new yet somehow known. I recalled the first time I truly tasted whisky, how it felt like meeting a soul through a glass, sensing its aroma, warmth, and depth, while rediscovering a part of myself in the process. It was a form of reverence for time itself. I have always been moved by the craftsmanship behind whisky: the art, the oak casks, the climate, the years of patience, and the invisible Angel’s Share that vanishes into the air. Every drop holds the breath and patience of time. As I tasted all those varieties that day, I realized I was not just drinking. I was in conversation with time.
From 1:30 p.m. until closing at six, my glass was never empty. Between one sip and the next, I felt pure joy and satisfaction, a familiar kind of bliss that was almost intoxicating in its completeness. I thought to myself, this was not just a feast of the senses; it felt like a final farewell to my seven years of loving alcohol.
People say seven years make a lifetime. Human cells renew completely about every seven years, symbolizing rebirth. I had lived through a full seven-year cycle with alcohol, seven years of ecstasy, loneliness, creativity, and escape, each emotion magnified through the lens of intoxication.
As I drank that afternoon, a memory surfaced. In the autumn of 2020, someone once asked me, “If tonight were your last supper, what would you choose to have?” I answered, “A dozen oysters with a fresh pint of Guinness.” That, at the time, represented the purest and most honest form of satisfaction I knew. But that afternoon at Art of Drinks, a quiet realization arose within me. Wasn’t this, in some way, my last supper already? All my favorite spirits were gathered here. Their aromas, textures, and finishes intertwined like a personal symphony. I savored every sip, completely immersed in the moment. For the first time, I felt that my life was whole. Even if it ended right there, I would have had no regrets.
The next morning, October 20, I woke up with a splitting headache, so hungover that I could barely move. Yet deep inside, there was a strange sense of peace. A quiet voice echoed in my mind: “It’s enough. Time to move on.” It was not a command or a confession. It was a realization, like reaching the end of a long road and finally seeing the way out.
I thought of one of my favorite films, Big Fish. At the end of the story, when the father’s life comes to its close, everyone he had met, helped, or shared adventures with appears to bid him farewell with smiles and applause. Then he transforms into a great fish and dives into the river, swimming freely into a new journey. That scene always brings me to tears. And I realized, the many drinks I had enjoyed the day before were like the companions of my own life’s journey. They had accompanied me through countless nights, led me into worlds of flavor, scent, and emotion. But now, I felt gratitude and the readiness to say goodbye.
Quietly, I told myself: From this day forward, I will no longer drink in daily life. I will only drink while traveling, to learn about local culture, craftsmanship, and history. Not to escape, console, or numb myself, but to understand the world and connect with it more deeply. This decision came peacefully. There was no struggle, no nostalgia, no sadness. Like a leaf falling when the season arrives, I simply followed the rhythm within.
Now two and a half weeks have passed since that day. For the first time in seven years, I have gone more than two weeks without a single drink. To my surprise, I feel no emptiness, no anxiety, no loss. Instead, my body feels lighter, my mind clearer, my spirit cleaner. In the first week of sobriety, I began clearing years of digital clutter, deleting almost fifteen thousand emails, organizing notes and documents from 2013 to 2025. It felt like revisiting the story of my own life, each file a reflection of a past moment. I reviewed them and then I let them go. Then came the physical and emotional spaces. I decluttered my home and quietly re-evaluated my relationships. Some connections no longer resonated, so I let them fade with grace. At the same time, new friends began to appear, people who felt calm, sincere, and aligned with this new energy.
I noticed that the kind of people I attract has changed, and so have the conversations. Before, we often spoke about appearance, pleasure, and material desires. Now, we talk about journeys, books, spirituality, and the inner experience of being alive. This is not merely a change in drinking habits. It feels like crossing an invisible threshold, entering a new world that is quieter, brighter, and freer. I have finally embodied the transformation from Spirits to Spirit. From the material world of alcohol to the invisible realm of spiritual freedom. From outer intoxication to inner awakening. From unconscious repetition to conscious choice.
I can finally feel the depth of life through clarity. This is both an ending and a beginning. I know I will keep traveling, exploring, and tasting the world. But this time, I will do it with awareness and intention. Every sip, every breath on the road ahead will be a mindful step toward the freedom of the soul.
Leave a Reply