You know, my time here in Korea is sadly coming to an end soon. Or at least for now. And every time someone asks me about it, I find myself saying the exact same thing: “It’s only temporary. I’ll be back.” Because I genuinely believe that.
But lately I’ve been thinking a lot about what comes after. Or maybe not even what comes after, but how I feel about it. Because if I’m being honest, the thought of going back fills me with a strange mix of emotions. And somehow, I haven’t really figured out how to put them into words yet.
Of course, I’m excited to see my family and friends again. I miss them. A lot. But at the same time, there is this feeling sitting somewhere in my chest whenever I think about packing my suitcases, going to the airport and boarding that plane.
And I don’t think it’s sadness alone. It’s more complicated than that. I think what makes it difficult is that people often see these kinds of things as experiences, something you do for a while, something temporary – a chapter.
But for me, it never felt that way. Because somewhere along the way, this stopped feeling like an experience. It simply became my life. And maybe that’s what I’m struggling with.
How do you explain to people that a place far away from home somehow ended up feeling more like home than the place you originally came from? How do you explain that leaving doesn’t feel like returning to your normal life? Because this became my normal life.
Even though my family and friends were on the other side of the world, I built something here. I made friends, I met people, I went on dates. I explored neighborhoods all over Seoul, I found my favorite Han River park, my favorite café, my favorite bakery, and even my favorite bagel shop.
Little things, really. But somehow all those little things became a life. And I think that’s what makes leaving so difficult. Not necessarily leaving Korea but leaving the version of myself that exists here.
Because if I’m being completely honest, I really like her. She’s more open, more spontaneous. She talks to people, she puts herself out there, she says yes to things. And after years of feeling stuck, I finally feel like I found my spark again.
Writing that down makes me realise that maybe this isn’t really a post about Korea at all. Maybe it’s a post about finding a version of yourself you thought you had lost. And being scared of leaving her behind. Of course, I know that version of me isn’t tied to a country – at least rationally, I know that. But somehow Korea made it easier for her to exist. And that’s a difficult thing to explain to someone who has never experienced it.
The funny thing is that living here didn’t really teach me anything new. It simply confirmed what I already knew deep down. That Korea feels like home, that I belong here. And that one day, I’ll come back. Because as you know me by now, I usually find a way.
Figuring out how to permanently move my life here feels a bit like solving a puzzle with thousands of pieces. Some days I think I know exactly what I’m doing. Other days I have absolutely no clue. But that’s okay. Because for the first time in a long time, planning my future doesn’t feel like a burden. It feels exciting. Whether I’m sitting in a café somewhere in Seoul, on a beach in Busan or on a train heading somewhere new, I find myself looking forward instead of feeling stuck. And honestly? That’s probably the biggest gift these past months have given me.
So if there’s one thing I want to leave you with today, it’s this: Do the things that make you happy. The things that make you feel more like yourself. Because sometimes that’s how you find home. And sometimes home turns out to be somewhere you never expected.
matcha latte on a rainy night 