A wonderful country where age isn’t asked when it comes to work.— Immigration to Melbourne

Before I knew it, five years had passed since I arrived in Australia. It was one New Year’s Day, and I was approaching the age of 55. As another year went by and I added one more year to my age, I felt even more keenly how quickly time passes.

Yet, in a way, it was quite remarkable. Here in Australia, even when a new year begins, no one asks, “How old are you this year?” People show little interest in age. Because of that, I didn’t feel the need to worry about how others might see me growing older, or whether my age might become a disadvantage at work. That alone was something I appreciated. The only real change I noticed was physical — a quiet awareness that my body was not quite the same as it had been the year before.

The following is an excerpt from an article I read a few years ago in an economic newspaper:

“‘Yes, I want to work.’ Perhaps this is what many people in their 60s in Korea truly want to say. They are still capable of working, yet it has already been years since they were pushed out of their jobs. Even if they try to find work, there are few opportunities available, and before they know it, they are already past 60. How frustrating it must feel to want to work but not be able to.

Why is something possible in the United States not so common in Korea? In the U.S., employers are willing to hire older people. In Korea, older workers are often avoided. In the U.S., elderly people are not picky about jobs, while in Korea, many hesitate, worrying about losing face in front of their children. In the end, the problem lies on both sides — there is little demand for older workers, and people themselves are reluctant to take certain jobs.”

Reading this, I realized that jobs in Korea are still largely based on monthly salaries. This places a burden on employers, especially when there is not enough work to justify paying a fixed salary. Naturally, they begin to consider factors such as age and gender.

In contrast, here in Australia, most jobs are paid hourly or weekly. From an employer’s perspective, especially for casual workers, there is little burden — they simply call people in when there is work available. Workers, on the other hand, often work only a few hours a day, so to supplement their income, they move between different workplaces depending on the day of the week. As a result, age becomes less important, and as long as one has experience, there are opportunities to work in many places.

My own working hours changed starting in January. Previously, I would finish work around 11:30 p.m., but now I work five days a week, starting at 10 a.m., taking a 30-minute break around 2:30 p.m., and finishing at 6 p.m. My wife was very pleased with this change.

Before, by the time I returned home, it was close to midnight. I couldn’t go straight to bed, so I would spend an hour or two watching TV or checking news from Korea and around the world. My wife, who had to wake up early for work, would become sleepy after 10 p.m. and go to bed first. Our daily rhythms became completely out of sync. If I came into the bedroom late after watching TV in the living room, she would wake up, so eventually she moved her bedding into our daughter’s room and slept there instead. It was, in a sense, like living separately under the same roof.

Perhaps feeling sorry for how tired I looked after coming home so late, one day I found a box of beer waiting for me. Grateful, I began drinking one bottle each night while watching TV. However, drinking cold beer late at night didn’t suit my stomach, and before long I suffered from severe diarrhea for several days.

After mentioning a couple of times to the head chef that my shifts ended too late, my working hours were adjusted. My wife said, “The Lord has taken care of it.” She enjoys praying and has become more active in church activities since last year, and often says that things do not happen solely by our own will. There was little I could say in response.

At the restaurant, there were several chefs, most of them in their early to mid-20s, including the head chef. After working there for over four years, I was treated as a senior staff member. My work was no longer limited to dishwashing. In the mornings, I prepared individual portions of various pastas, sliced garlic, and cleaned seafood such as mussels. After the lunch service, I returned to dishwashing duties.

Although the chefs were exactly half my age, watching them joke and laugh while working made the age gap feel insignificant. Rather than feeling awkward, I found myself blending into their energy. Even though my English was still not fluent, I tried to grow younger in spirit alongside them, listening to their conversations, their music, and sharing in their atmosphere — even as my hair slowly turned gray.

Recently, my wife brought home a CD from church and asked me to listen to it. It contained a talk given by a priest at a retreat for elderly women. The message was that due to advances in medicine, many Koreans now live well into their 90s.

He told a story about a woman who, at the age of 70, felt hurt by her daughter-in-law and stayed confined in her room, thinking, “I should just die soon.” Yet she lived another 20 years, reaching 90, and later regretted wasting those years. The priest encouraged elderly women not to stay at home, where conflicts might only deepen, but instead to go out, enjoy life, attend senior programs, and live independently without relying entirely on their children.

That message resonated deeply with me.

Then I began to wonder — how should men live? Especially men of my generation, who often felt old once they passed 55. Whenever they tried to do something new, people would say, “At your age, you should think about your health.” Many believe that after retirement, one should simply enjoy life.

But in an era where life expectancy continues to increase, can a life of meeting friends and passing time in conversation alone remain fulfilling for decades? For men who must confidently live into their 80s or even 90s, this may well be a question — or perhaps a responsibility — that we all must face.