SEOUL, South Korea — I did not know at the time that my interview with the late President Roh Moo-Hyun for Talk Asia in December of 2007 would be the one of the last ones he ever did with a foreign correspondent.

If I had, I would have wanted to know more about why this man, who was the most powerful in the country, was so sad.

That is the feeling I was left with as we ended the sit-down discussion, probed his computer system together, and walked around in his private office.

One of the last things he said to me was that he was really looking forward to stepping down as president.

“I think I will be able to watch the news with a more peaceful state of mind. I will be able to move when I want to move. That’s freedom. To be able to achieve such freedom fills my heart with anticipation,” he said.

I could see his face visibly brighten as he talked, and that to me indicated just how much angst this man experienced during his presidency.

For, despite good intentions, his presidency was one that was marred by controversy and deepening division between liberal and conservative factions.

The establishment never really acknowledged that this man who started out in a poor farming family, and never even went to college, had the right to lead the country.

It was Roh’s supporters on the streets that elected him president … the relatively young, of middle- or low-income status, and Internet-savvy.

They called themselves NoSaMo, the Korean acronym for “Group of people who love Roh Moo-Hyun.”

Their color was yellow, for the people’s movement.

They were the ones who took to the streets when the establishment tried to impeach their champion, and they are the ones who are the driving force behind the huge nationwide wave of mourning.

And they are also the ones that are most angry at the current government of President Lee Myung-Bak, who they believe initiated an unfair investigation into the late president that ultimately led to his death.

It was their presence that I felt in the late president’s private office as he proudly showed off a wall hanging of miniature piggy banks.

Thousands sent in coin-filled piggy banks to support Roh during his presidential campaign.

There were also memos of love and support, and even a gold medal someone sent him to use as campaign funds.

He said he put these things on his wall to remind him just who made him president and who he was working for.

It was this wall that was a huge burden as well, especially when Roh was going through the impeachment process.

“I couldn’t help thinking, they made me president, and now I am going to get myself impeached,” he said.

After he stepped down, he indeed seemed to enjoy life as a “normal” citizen.

He retired to his home town in southern Seoul and was shown doing “normal” things, riding a bicycle with his granddaughter in the back, walking to the corner store, always with a big fat smile on this face.

But the peaceful farm life did not last long. Prosecutors started an investigation into alleged corruption by the former president and his family, and he was summoned to the prosecution’s office to answer questions about his alleged illegal actions.

The smile was gone, replaced by the slightly sad grin I so vividly remember.

So as I cover the late president one last time, I am reminded of the words he left behind on a computer screen just before leaping to his death.

“Don’t be sad.  Don’t blame anyone.  Life and death are both a part of life.”

President Roh, may you finally be at peace and free.

SEOUL, South Korea — Since I arrived in Seoul early Tuesday morning, I have been struck by a scene that I walk by every day: a long line of people waiting to pay their respects to the late former President Roh Moo-hyun, who committed suicide last weekend by jumping off a cliff near his home.

This makeshift altar is one of several set up in Seoul and across the country to mourn Roh.

The long line of mourners is full of professionals, dressed in business suits. I have seen them at lunchtime, all afternoon and even late at night. Police buses line a roundabout nearby. The mourners stand behind a cord of yellow and black ribbons.

Yellow is the color associated with Roh's presidency. The line of mourners ends at a makeshift shrine under a yellow tent. That is where people bow several times before a portrait of Roh.

On the side of the tent, video screens show Roh meeting dignitaries during his 2003-2008 presidency. I have seen residents writing messages of condolences and taping them along the cement wall of the nearby subway stop.

While the rest of the world is watching what North Korea does next after its nuclear test on Monday, surprisingly, South Koreans are taking that news in stride. They are accustomed to and cautious about North Korea's unpredictable moves. To most South Koreans, they are less moved by the North Korea news and more connected to mourning their late president. That is the big story for them.

A man reads messages of condolence posted at the City Hall subway stop in Seoul.

The public is angry, shocked and saddened by Roh’s death. Angry because many believe his suicide was the outcome of an intensely political corruption investigation; shocked and saddened because Roh was a politician who had campaigned on rooting out corruption. Before his death, he had denied allegations against him.

This morning, I walked to the bureau and passed the line again. I smelled incense in the air. Incense is burned to pay respects to ancestors or when someone passes away. With the state funeral set for Friday, the lines of mourners will surely grow longer and larger.