A Hobbyist YouTuber

In the middle of some late-night thoughts, I found myself checking out my YouTube channel. 6,444 subscribers. 674 videos uploaded. That’s a lot. I’ve written a ton on Brunch too (a total of 1,125 pieces), with around 600 made public. I’ve been writing on Brunch for nearly 10 years now, but YouTube—my first video was four years ago. After that first video, I didn’t upload anything for a while, but over the last two years, I cranked out more than 600 videos. Most of them are livestreams, but still, I really enjoyed my time on YouTube.

I’ve shared hard stories and happy ones. Packed all sorts of life lessons into my content like heaping bowls of rice. That’s probably why most of my videos are longer than 10 minutes—rarely shorter. It can be a bit boring, but in a way, it works well as bedtime content.

I actually like my own writing and videos. Sometimes I play my own videos to fall asleep, reminiscing about the past—“Ah, that’s what things were like back then.” Same with my writing. I try to be brutally honest in my writing, because only then can a piece capture my soul like a photograph and help me fully remember that moment. Even if it was painful. Even if it was sad.

People often say not to show your weaknesses to others. I understand that mindset, but at the same time, I find it more honorable to live with my weaknesses out in the open. This was how Eminem, the legendary American rapper, did it. He laid all his vulnerabilities bare. While self-disclosure might invite ridicule, it also takes away others’ reasons to attack. He talked about his pathetic early days—how he threw up on his shirt after falling asleep before going on stage, how he was living with his mom, how his buddy shot himself in the foot like an idiot.

My own embarrassing or painful times don’t feel all that shameful anymore either. In fact, because I’ve already put most of it out there, I feel like I’ve got nothing else to hide. That makes me feel bolder and freer.

To me, YouTube is just an extension of my hobbies, like Brunch. I enjoy writing, but I also enjoy talking to people. I like preserving my thoughts in different formats. Maybe it’s an extreme and niche hobby. I do often wish I could turn it into a main source of income, but that hasn’t really worked out. There’s a big difference between doing something as a hobby and doing it as a job.

Every now and then, I think, “What if I turned this into a job?” But then the pressure of content creation always hits me. Getting public love feels like a baseball player stepping up to bat. Even with a 30% batting average, you might get promoted to a better league, but hitting it big is still tough. This field takes skill, instinct, and talent all working together.

One issue is that I’m not easily defined as one type of person. Most creators focus on a specific niche—gaming, beauty, comedy—because dabbling in everything carries a lot of risk. It doesn’t fit the algorithm, and viewers have a hard time knowing what to expect. I once made a separate channel just for dev content and uploaded some videos... then totally forgot about it. Later I noticed they had gotten quite a few views. But since those videos were direct and lacked any background on who I am, they attracted some really nasty comments. It reminded me how much perceived authority matters.

On my main channel, I’m usually in a casual military tee, just talking. For regulars, it’s normal. New viewers probably look into who I am through other videos and build some trust. But on the dev-only channel, there were barely any videos, and I was talking about how things should be, which seemed to rub people the wrong way.

Running a YouTube channel sometimes brings in hundreds of comments. Even when there’s criticism, and others agree with it, if the video itself is good, the dislike ratio doesn’t go up that much. I’ve even fought back against hate comments. But often, if I just leave it alone, the people who enjoyed the video step in and fight back. Whether I fight or my viewers do—it ends up being a choice. Looking back, staying silent often works better.

If there’s genuinely something wrong with the video, I don’t mind getting criticized. What really ticks me off is when people leave comments that have nothing to do with the video—making stuff up, misleading others who only read the comments. I’ve tried explaining things kindly, but those trolls usually just delete their comments and run. If I say nothing, the false narratives grow. If I delete them, I’m left feeling uneasy.

So yeah, YouTube is still a hobby for me—but even with all of that, it’s a fun platform. Watching is never as fun as doing. Like the old man in Squid Game said, doing it is always more fun. And once you start, new things tend to happen.

Lately, I found a channel I really enjoy and ended up subscribing. That creator also streams on Chzzk (a Korean streaming platform), so I’m thinking of streaming on both YouTube and Chzzk. Just chatting, reading the comments, and spending time with people is fun. Talking to developers or job-seekers about their concerns is fun too. Even though the world can feel isolated, those moments where I connect with dozens, hundreds, or thousands of people online—those moments are special. That’s the joy that keeps me doing YouTube.