In Conversation With Juhee Mun
At London Letters our goal is to create beautiful stationery pieces that encourages you to write more letters. We believe that letters play an important role in modern society, and we're not alone in this view.
In 'In Conversation With' we chat with epistolarians of note to find out why they think letters are special, why they think they still matter today, and what drives their passion to promote them.
This month we spoke to the brilliant Juhee Mun. Based in Seoul, South Korea, Juhee is the proud owner of the Letter shop Geulwoll, and author of The Healing Power of Korean Letter Writing. Geulwoll means 'letter', and her shop aims to bring the art of letter writing to contemporary culture. Visit Geulwoll, and you'll be presented with beautiful letter writing materials and stationery, as well as the opportunity to write and send letters to loved ones - and to strangers - via their pen pal letter service. Visitors are invited to select a letter from the busy shelves in store, read it, and compose a response over a cup of coffee.
"Letters are one of the best ways to practise the language of emotion. In the process of translating our feelings into precise sentences, we learn skills that help us sustain relationships in healthier ways."
Tell us a little bit about your own letter writing history. Do you recall the first letter you received, or wrote?
My earliest memory of letter writing is a love letter. When I was in elementary school, it was common to exchange what we called romance notebooks — handwritten journals passed back and forth, filled page by page with feelings for someone you liked. Writing was only part of it. I remember carefully decorating the pages with stickers and photographs, investing time and attention into every detail.
I think I wrote letters most fervently in my childhood. Since then, whenever a meaningful connection has entered my life, I’ve instinctively returned to the same gesture — sitting at a desk, picking up a pen, and writing by hand.
How often do you write letters now?
I write letters around seven to ten times a year. It may not sound like very many, but they tend to be written for moments that matter — friends’ birthdays, or occasions I want to mark with care.
When I started geulwoll, I made a quiet promise to myself: rather than telling people they should write letters more often, I wanted letters to come to mind naturally in important moments. Perhaps because of that promise, I don’t place pressure on myself to write frequently. Instead, I allow letters to remain intentional, reserved for times when words deserve to slow down.
Describe your letter writing set up for us. Do you have any favourite stationery or pens you use? Where do you like to write from?
I’m not particularly bound to a specific time or place when writing letters. As long as there’s a table to sit at, I can write almost anywhere. That said, I do prefer spaces without loud or busy music. Songs with lyrics tend to interrupt my concentration when I’m writing.
Most often, I write at my work desk at geulwoll. I prefer ink pens to ballpoint pens — I regularly use the Rays Gel pen by OHTO, and when I want a change of rhythm, I enjoy writing with a mechanical pencil fitted with a blue lead. When a letter isn’t written in an official capacity, I usually write straight through without drafting. If I make a mistake, I don’t correct it. I leave it as it is and continue with the next sentence. I like allowing these small imperfections to remain in the letter.
What type of content would you use for a letter, as opposed to digital communication?
Perhaps the content itself isn’t so different from what could be shared digitally. The difference lies in the sensory experience. Choosing the paper, holding a pen, considering what to write, and moving through the act of writing — all of these layers of sensation are involved at once.
You could say this is the strength of analogue communication. Conveying one’s feelings through a more effortful process is something that belongs uniquely to letters. That sense of care, embedded in the labour itself, is difficult to transmit in any other way.
Do you feel any positive benefits to your mental health when you're writing or receiving a letter?
Absolutely. From time to time, I receive letters from people who visit our shop. They come from both within Korea and from abroad. When I read their letters, I’m reminded that this place holds meaning for others.
Receiving those words makes me want to continue running the shop and to care for it more thoughtfully. Letters often carry encouragement within them — a quiet but powerful form of support that stays with you.
Are there any famous letters you're especially fond of?
I’m especially fond of the letters of the Japanese essayist Yoko Sano. There is a published collection of her correspondence with Professor Choi Jeong-ho in Korea, spanning nearly forty years. What I love most is Sano’s frankness and the conversational, almost rambling quality of her writing.
Having lost her older brother at a young age, Sano regarded Professor Choi as an older brother figure in her life. Her letters are filled with affection, and reading them feels like listening to a younger sister chatting freely with someone she trusts. Through these letters, you glimpse her spirited, lively personality, which I find deeply endearing.
What do you think makes letters special?
Letters are one of the best ways to practise the language of emotion. In the process of translating our feelings into precise sentences, we learn skills that help us sustain relationships in healthier ways.
At geulwoll, I believe that as more people acquire this kind of emotional literacy, the tenderness of society itself can become deeper and more clearly defined.
Are there any letters that you've held onto for a long time? Do you have a favourite?
I’ve kept many letters over the years. I never threw away the small notes I received as a child, starting in elementary school, so I now have decades’ worth of letters with me.
Each year, the letter I hold most dear seems to change. Recently, the one that stays with me is a letter I received in 2024. A friend wrote that they felt proud of my existence. The warmth of that sentiment lingers, and I find myself returning to the letter again and again, reading it whenever I need to.
How do you envisage the future of letter writing?
As the pace of digital life continues to accelerate, I think people naturally seek balance by returning to slower rhythms. From that slowness, many find a sense of stability.
At geulwoll, I often see people buying letters the way they would everyday necessities. Watching letters quietly weave themselves into ordinary moments like this makes me believe that letter shops won’t disappear so easily. Letters will remain for a long time as a way of expressing the heart — much like the work Theodore does in the film Her.
What would you say to someone that's never written or received a letter before, to encourage them to try it?
I would tell them that a letter doesn’t need to be written beautifully. It only needs to be honest. Writing a letter is less about skill and more about presence — about allowing yourself to sit with your feelings long enough to put them into words.
Sometimes, a single page is enough to begin.
A huge thank you to Juhee for her time and passion. To find out more or to visit Geulwoll, head here.