Falling in Love
Have you heard of the Bao family at Everland Zoo? I’ve been a fan — no, a“deokhu” a devoted, almost obsessive fan — of the Bao family for three years now. I found out rather late that Korea even had pandas. Since then, not a single day has passed without watching their videos. Every evening after work, I sit down and search for the Bao family on YouTube. I rewatch the same clips over and over, yet somehow, I never tire of them. How can a creature be this endlessly lovable? The more I watch pandas, the deeper I fall into their quiet charm.
My First Encounter with Pandas
My fascination began years ago, when I was living in Hong Kong. One night, I stumbled upon a video of a panda giving birth—a massive 120-kilogram mother gently holding a fragile pink baby that weighed barely 170 grams. That sight was both magical and humbling. From that night on, I started watching every panda video I could find. Back then, there weren’t many, and I could easily finish them all in a single night. Yet I never grew bored. Beneath the cuteness was something else—something softer, healing, almost sacred.
“Growing is gentler when we grow together.”
Two young giant pandas sit atop sunlit rocks, gazing curiously at each other under a clear blue sky. Their soft fur and bright eyes capture both innocence and connection. This image evokes Korea’s twin pandas, Ruibao and Huibao, symbolizing the quiet warmth of togetherness and the purity of mirrored hearts.
The Memory of Sichuan
Around that time, I was working as a designer for a Chinese brand. My job once took me to Chongqing, a city in Sichuan Province, one of the main habitats of giant pandas. Chengdu, home to the Chengdu Research Base of Giant Panda Breeding, was just a three-hour drive away. I hesitated—should I go? I didn’t, in the end. Instead, I filled my suitcase with panda souvenirs from Chongqing Airport. The regret stayed with me for years, and my brief obsession with pandas slowly became a quiet memory.
Back to the Bao Family
Then, in 2023, news broke about the birth of twin pandas in Korea. My heart fluttered. That moment pulled me right back into the world of pandas. Most people know Fubao (whose name means “ a treasure that brings happiness”), the first panda born in Korea, but I fell in love with her younger sibling, Huibao (辉宝), whose name means “Shining Treasure.” Among fans, she’s affectionately called “That Panda.” The nickname started when Huibao’s playful or mischievous behavior caught everyone’s attention—“Ah, that panda!” people would say.
Fans also call themselves dolmeng-i (돌멩이), or “little stones,” because they spend times quietly waiting and watching, motionless like pebbles in the sun. I, too, am one of them—a “Stone Aunt” who ends her day by finding comfort in Huibao’s world.
Comfort always finds its way back — in the form of love.
"Ai Bao and Fu Bao — this is how love grows." -- A mother panda and her cub walk side by side, evoking the bond between Ai Bao and her first daughter, Fu Bao. The little one follows gently, learning each step; the mother watches quietly, steady and sure. This image symbolizes protection, learning, and the quiet continuity of love — the way comfort and care are passed on.
A Simple Way to Be Healed
When I watch them, I’m reminded of how easily life wears us down—by people, by work, by the quiet weight of things we didn’t see coming. Whenever that heaviness sets in, we look for ways to be comforted. For me, that comfort comes from the Bao family. Lubao, Aibao, Fubao, Rui, and Hui—their days are simple, yet within that simplicity lives a warmth we often forget exists.
“When different warmths meet, the world becomes a little softer.”
A black-and-white photo shows a young panda gently hugging a white cat. Their contrasting colors highlight a tender harmony between difference and connection. This image symbolizes Hui Bao’s gentle nature — a heart that embraces without words, teaching us the purest form of empathy.
What Pandas Teach Us
Pandas don’t speak. But emotion flows through every gesture—their slow movements, soft grunts, and sleepy eyes. They never fake sadness or exaggerate joy. They simply live as they are. Watching them, I often think: “Pandas have the kind of grace we’ve lost.” They don’t argue. They don’t wound each other needlessly. They pause when they’re tired, nap when they’re sleepy, roll around when they’re happy. They remind me that life can be lighter when we stop complicating it.
Our Imperfect Selves
We humans promise ourselves: this time, I’ll be better. I’ll grow, I’ll control my emotions. Yet we stumble, repeat mistakes, and lose patience. That’s what it means to be human—to know, yet still falter. Perhaps that’s why we love animals, or why watching pandas brings such strange peace. They accept life without demanding that it make sense.
If we can’t keep a real panda — maybe one day, we’ll build a being that feels just like one.
A panda-shaped robot with white metallic armor and a yellow stripe stands against a dark background. Its expressive eyes convey both mechanical precision and quiet emotion, blurring the line between life and creation. This image symbolizes humanity’s longing for connection — the desire to recreate warmth and empathy through technology.
Learning to Let Go of Thought
If I were to become a panda’s jipsa (집사)—a Korean word that affectionately means “caretaker” or “devoted companion”—I might begin by wanting comfort, only to find myself offering it in return. Maybe that’s what connection really is: a quiet circle of comfort, where what we receive slowly becomes what we give.
Just as these moments with the Bao family soothe my heart, I hope my love, in some small way, makes their world gentler too. Comfort flows from one side to the other, until it completes a circle and returns home.
We think too much. That’s how we exhaust our hearts. Maybe we should live more like pandas—feeling what we feel, accepting what is. Lightness doesn’t come from escaping life, but from meeting it calmly. Like the moment I end my day, watching that panda and smiling — quietly, peacefully, and enough.
Lightly, yet deeply.
And once again today, I find comfort in that panda.
NOTE
- The Korean word “jipsa” (집사) literally means “housekeeper,” but is affectionately used to describe people who care for their pets—or in this case, pandas—with deep devotion and love. It carries a tone of gentle servanthood, humor, and warmth, often used by fans to express emotional connection rather than ownership.
- The Korean word “deokhu” (덕후) originates from the Japanese term “otaku.” It refers to someone who is deeply, even obsessively, passionate about a specific interest — but in modern Korean usage, it carries a warmer, humorous tone, often describing someone’s affectionate devotion rather than social isolation.
A True Jipsa, Kangbao
The person who devotes himself wholeheartedly to caring for Korea’s beloved pandas is zookeeper Kang Cheol-won, lovingly known to many fans as “Kangbao.” He is the one who opened countless hearts through his videos documenting the everyday life of Fubao—the first panda born in Korea.
At first, his intention was simple: he wanted Fubao, who would one day return to China, to be loved and remembered by as many people as possible. But his videos became much more than a record. They turned into gentle stories that deliver warmth, comfort, and small joys to people’s lives.
Kangbao is not just a caretaker; he is, in every sense, a true jipsa (집사)—someone who cherishes the panda family with genuine love and devotion. In his hands and in his eyes, you can feel a quiet respect for life itself.
The happiness that people find in watching the Bao family is, in many ways, the reflection of his sincerity. And I hope his warm care continues for a long time, so that our Bao family may live peacefully, surrounded by the same love that began with him.
