It is not despair: it is conviction that I have filled up the measure of my sufferings, that I have reached my appointed term.

J.W. von Goethe, “The Sorrows of Young Werther”

How to sum up three months in Korea?

Might as well start with a picture.

I was going to publish an extremely long post about all the interesting people I’ve met in the past six months of traveling. Everyone ranging from strangers, acquaintances, to friends who have left their mark on me. I’ve been writing down one sentence they’ve told me that doesn’t leave my head, or a small reaction I can still visualize.

This post has become too long for me to finish in time. But I have to mention the two most important things I’ve heard.

If I had to pick one sentence from my 3 months in Japan, it would be by the Dutch girl from Yoshino Mountain.

“If people want you in their life, they will make time for you.”

If I had to pick one sentence from my 3 months in Korea, it would be by the Israeli volunteer from Busan.

“The only person who doesn’t disappoint me is me.”

I will never forget the moments when I heard these. And I will continue to experience the lessons behind them, because, for some maddening reason, I continue to trust people, and give them the benefit of the doubt.

Finally, I am reminded of the very first thing I wrote in my first post in Korea.

When I was 19, I learned my two biggest life lessons.

1. I know nothing.

2. People don’t care.

They only grow more and more palpable with time.

“Somewhere Waiting to be Found” (June 18)

They really do grow more palpable. I really do know nothing. And the people you thought cared…

29 July 2023

• 16:25-16:45 Nowon action to Children’s Grand Park station metro
• Sashimi and bingsu for dinner
• 20:15-20:30 Children’s Grand Park station to Banpo station metro, 20:45-21:00 Banpo station bus stop to Itaewon-dong Namsan Daelim apartment stop bus number 401
• Drag show at night
• 1:40-1:50 Yongdam elementary school bus stop to Sinsa station bus stop bus number 402, 2:10-2:40 Sinsa station bus stop to Dobong driver’s license examination office bus number 3100N

I spent the first half of today writing and planning Japan.

Two weeks ago, I’d gone out to a drag show in Itaewon, and promised one of the queens I’d be back today, on my last Saturday.

The next day, I’d gone clubbing in Pyeongtaek for my Kazakh friend’s birthday, and resolved to not go out again in Korea. I was fed up.

Now, I saw a post on Instagram saying that the drag queen I’d spoken to two weeks ago had become a last-minute addition to a club several people had recommended me.

I decided to become a last-minute attendee in return.

My next opportunity to go out would probably be in a month and a half from now anyway. In Japan, I would be in the countryside more than in a big city on a weekend.

So I donned my going out clothes and headed out in the afternoon to my second host’s birthday party. Denim in late-July, daytime Seoul might’ve been a mistake.

Birthday Dinner

We met outside the metro station, us two and her friend from high school, who spoke perfect English.

The meal began with a hangover jelly people ate in Korea before drinking. She was determined to get as shitfaced as possible on her birthday.

The meal was delicious. White fish sashimi (better than the one I’d barely finished in Tongyeong). Weird cabbage and ketchup salad (totally common in Korea). Seaweed soup and tiny raw shellfish you sucked on. Cone sushi with fish egg. And lots of alcohol. Soju, beer, somaek (soju mixed with beer). The latter, the birthday girl mixed by stabbing her spoon inside the cup and removing it. No mixing motion whatsoever.

She grew increasingly flushed and funny. (And crazy.) We’d entered the “I’m going to strike you forcefully in endearment” phase of friendship. Maybe it was the alcohol.

I invited her to come with me to the drag show afterwards. She said yes.

When the friend went to the toilet, she unsheathed a present for me.

A present. For me. On her birthday.

It was a Doraemon card (her nickname for me since May) and a couple of cute, high-quality, men-sized socks. She’d known about my futile attempts at finding them in Korea. It was precisely what I wanted and needed. Their design was perfect.

Luckily, I’d wrapped a present for her, this being her birthday. A few trinkets from Japan, a picture holder for our Photo Booth picture, a rock from Okunoshima – one of my favorite places in Japan, a country she had visited for the first time three weeks ago per my recommendation – and a conch-shell from the black sand beach in Jeju Island. All of this looked pathetic, next to her high-quality socks, but it was what I could afford. The contents of the card I’d written her resembled what she’d written me.

For dessert, we walked four minutes to Sulbing cafe, a famous chain for bingsu. So many options, that they even had a bizarre cheese bingsu, which the birthday girl really wanted. The compromise was a delicious brownie bingsu that ended up featuring cheese cubes as well.

She insisted on paying for all three of us in both establishments.

Drag Club in Itaewon

Afterwards, the girls took a taxi to her apartment (she was way too drunk by now), while I continued to the drag show. Saying a final goodbye to my second host was, as always, sad.

The venue was Rabbit Hole. I approached a straight couple from Saudi Arabia, and we chatted until the show started at 21:40. One of the queens was a regular at the club in Busan.

During the first break’s free shot contest, my hand shot up as fast as Hermione’s, when the audience had to guess the song. (Levitating by Dua Lipa.) I had to perform it and dance on the stage in front of everyone, which made me tremble. But I received a free shot poured into my mouth while on my knees.

The main queen who performed the most and hosted the show spewed jokes like they were CO2. Among her quips:

“Do you like my legs? I bought them on Amazon.”

“Drag queens like two things: money and attention. So clap and tip!”

And, referring to my whistle: “Why do you have a small penis on your chest?”

To which I replied: “So I can cheer you up.”

That killed her.

“Wanna know where I got it?”

“Yeah,” she said.

“Um – is this a safe space?” I asked, not sure if I should continue.

“YEAH,” she said, the audience concurring.

“Well… I stole it from an abando –”

She was so taken aback, that she didn’t even let me finish.

After this, an American guy two meters tall with a half white, half black ponytail, who was teaching English in Seoul, tried to bond with me over Israeli pop, a favorite of his. But I didn’t know any of the songs.

During the second break, the Saudi couple left, while the British guy from Seoul Forest showed up with a date. He didn’t seem intent on including me with his group of friends.

No matter. I’d come tonight knowing I’d be alone, with no desire to mingle.

The show went on. I talked to a British drag queen from Essex who now lived in Japan. She wasn’t there during Pride, because I’d been to her regular club in Shinjuku, and hadn’t seen her. I promised to pop by again.

At 1:00, the show ended. That last-minute-addition queen hadn’t come.

I lost the first round of the post-show dance battle, but got a free shot. Two guys each won a bottle of champagne.

We all danced on the stage after, but at 1:30, everyone left. The British guy invited me to move on to a club with his friends. But I’d had enough for today. So I climbed the hills of Itaewon, panting and sweating, as if hiking a mountain. The screeching of cicadas was deafening.

An hour and a half and two buses later, I was in bed.

Today’s highlights: the birthday dinner – sashimi and bingsu; receiving the perfect pair of socks; drinking a shot on a stage while on my knees; the drag show.

30 July 2023

End of Korea Blues

A slow day. Most of it went to buying a JR pass and booking Shinkansens. As challenging as booking accommodation in Tohoku during the summer holidays.

Writing extremely long emails in Japanese, using extremely formal and polite language, was part of the reason my Japan planning had been taking so much time in the past few days. I’d been corresponding with the Japanese woman I’d met in Narita Airport on May 9^th this entire time. She was working at some kind of a travel-related agency in Tohoku, and had been emailing me more and more suggestions at joint activities.

She had some unique opportunities planned for me. At the cost of exorbitant Shinkansen trips around this region, I’d been saying to all “yes”.

Then, reading about Hokkaido in fall made me quickly draft a busy, month-long itinerary just for that island. Fall colors, festivals, and exciting events, none of which I’d expected to be able to attend.

I might spend a full two months out of my upcoming three in Japan in the countryside. They would probably be lonely. No opportunities for partying.

Would I get to meet in this timeframe people who would make me forget about my partying in Korea? And the rejection and elation that had come with them?

Would I even get to experience more of those – more anguish and infatuation?

No. I doubted what had happened in Seoul could repeat itself.

Maybe it was a good idea, to run away to the countryside and surrounded myself with Japan’s aging population, yet again. No point in trying to recreate the things that had happened.

I would still try, though, in Tokyo and Sapporo. In a certain ryokan as well. I already knew that.

I already knew that I would fail.

I already knew that, in the coming three months, I would lose touch with more people I would want in my life. Going into who and why – no point in that. I already knew that, despite what they’d told me, their vivid presence would fade away.

Returning to my favorite place on Earth excited me. Yet the prospect of suffering even more loss, while starting a new, remote job, already weighed down on me. I would see nature and talk to colleagues more than I would enjoy affection.

And so, in a twisted turn of events, the end of my time in South Korea struck me as the climax of my trip, and the second, long-awaited round in Japan, the dwindling aftermath.

I really couldn’t have anticipated any of this.

And I couldn’t have been sadder by this outcome.

“The happiest chapter of my life had come to a close,” I’d written in my last night in Japan. Now, I felt the same.

If I had the money, I would consider flying to New York. My 10-year visa to the United States, which I’d issued 7 years ago, had never been touched.

As for tonight’s farewell dinner, the British guy who lived in Nowon cancelled in the morning. Family emergency.

I texted the Ukrainian girl that dinner was off. In the end, my host and I spontaneously returned to the restaurant we’d gone to with her Canadian couch-surfer. Knowing this would probably be my last restaurant in Korea, I asked for the exact same meal. Kimchee, tofu stew, roasted fish, red bean rice, and tons of vegetable side dishes.

After surviving that tteokbokki lunch without much agony, my mouth was aflame again. I had to stop at some point and rest.

Without knowing the price, I shoved my credit card at the cash register, and paid for us both.

The receipt made my eyes widen in horror.

In the evening, she went to work at her apartment again. For the past week or so, she’d been painting in her apartment, rather than in her studio, where I slept. I felt like a burden.

I re-read my last post and thought about the last few days. Everything that had brought me to tears seemed old and distant.

“You have no more tears left to cry,” the Mongolian student had said during our video call two days ago.

I couldn’t shed a tear now, even if I wanted.

Incidentally, one of the drag queens from yesterday had performed this song by Ariana Grande.

Today’s highlights: reaching the final stages of finalizing my Tohoku itinerary; recreating one of my favorite Korean dinners.

Stray observations:

• When setting the table in Korea, the spoon comes to the right of the chopsticks.
• Korea has the lowest fertility rate in the world. Japan is close to that.

31 July 2023

Destitute and Betrayed

Today started much like all the previous days. Japan planning in the morning. Leftovers for lunch with my host at her studio.

I was supposed to meet the Korean student today. I asked him if this was still happening. He cancelled.

It had been a week since our last meeting. His incessant postponing didn’t make me cry anymore.

I felt sad. I felt angry. And somehow, despite all that, I also felt empty.

A few years ago, I’d come up with a story about a 27-year-old failed painter who was teaching at a space research institution. He had dedicated his life to pursuing his passion, instead of living in the moment. This hadn’t born him fruit. He hadn’t managed to fulfil his dream.

One day, he met an astronaut-in-training that he was instantly drawn to. They shared a short yet intense period together, during which they traveled abroad. This period was full of hesitation and miscommunication. They liked each other so much, and doubted the reciprocity of their emotions, that they were afraid to drive the other away.

“We stare into each other’s eyes,” I’d written, not knowing I would live to do the same. “We utter not a single word.”

On their last day together, after a workshop in which everyone tore the painter’s art apart, the astronaut revealed her upcoming space mission. The painter was just beginning to feel something for the first time in his life, when it became apparent that soon, they would have to say goodbye.

He broke into tears. They were out on a street at night. And he cried and cried, while her face remained dry.

She touches my chest, and my heart hammers. She does not let go. Our eyes lock; I become almost nauseous from all these emotions.

Her hand grows sticky against my shirt. After a minute or so, the beating in my ears mellows, and I place my hand over hers. I am calm.

We stay like this for another minute or an hour. I can’t tell. My mind is racing, overtaking my heart as I realize that, at the very least, boring is the last adjective I can use to describe this moment. Frustrating, perhaps – the fact that I have finally found someone I like, who likes me, and they will soon leave to cross vacuum. Maddening, too. Upsetting and depressing and revolting and – who am I kidding? – exhilarating.

She gives me a bear hug, long and snug, before we go our separate ways. I walk into the starry night, cradling my rejected painting in my arms. I am alive.

This was how this period in his life ended. He shambled back to his accommodation (he was on a trip, away from home), crying and laughing at the sky. From here on, he was a different person.

They would meet again in the future. Their reunion wouldn’t go well.

As I recalled this story in the afternoon, I became very anxious and upset. For a different reason, however.

My bank account.

It was official. I would have a big, round zero in my account before my three months in Japan would be over.

I thought I’d been frugal in Korea, yet a staggering amount of spending that hadn’t been billed already was still pending. How I’d spent so much money despite couch-surfing for five weeks and volunteering at a hostel for a month was beyond me. Even with skipping half of my meals and cooking instead of going out.

My host had been in the exact same boat before, while traveling Europe. Her credit card had stopped working at some point. So she’d hitchhiked and couch-surfed and drawn pictures of people for a small fee, and lived to tell the tale.

Having worked since high school instead of traveling and going out a lot, I’d never been in that situation. I’d always had a lot of savings in my account. A lot. For years, all I’d done was stay home and write.

My siblings, who had done the opposite, owed me quite a lot of money – money that would give me at least another month – but they weren’t going to give it back. I knew better than to bring it up now, because we’d talked about it in the past, and it wasn’t going to happen.

After sending couch-surfing requests to the meagre number of hosts in Tohoku, I wondered what I’d done today to count as a highlight. I’d had some pretty rough days in the past six months, yet always managed to find at least one silver lining. Something good to highlight and focus on instead. Today, there was none.

A Small Respite

At night, my host returned to work in her studio. She’d seen me upset and downcast whenever she’d popped by throughout the day. (Or rather, this past week.) Every time she’d come back, I was in a worse mood.

Now, she brought me leftovers of her shrimp pizza – a combination that astounded and delighted me. I’d never heard of it before, let alone tasted such fresh and roasted shrimp on a pizza with cheese and olives.

“This is better than pizza in the west,” I exclaimed between bites.

“Pizza in Italy? Next to this? Nah,” she said in dismissal.

I told her about my habit of thinking about every day on my trip and trying to find at least one good moment to highlight. Thanks to her, I had one for today.

The rest of the evening went to researching SIM cards in Japan. My first time there, I’d bought the only option for tourists that had included a phone number. Now, I’d have to settle for a prepaid, data-only card.

I was risking many difficulties – past experiences in the Japanese countryside had taught me the importance of being able to make phone calls and rent a bike – yet I had no choice. My Tokyo friend’s voice-included SIM card was cheaper than anything a prepaid card for tourists could offer, but for residents only.

Laying in bed at 2:00, it dawned on me that, the two times in my life when I’d experienced the most chemistry with someone, I’d ruined. The first, by being afraid; the second, by being a baby. Perhaps there was a 1% chance for me to find the Miitaka guy upon my return to Japan. But the Korean student, I knew I would never get to see again.

Today’s highlight: shrimp pizza.

1 August 2023

• 15:20-16:20 Sanggye elementary school to Changgyeonggung palace bus number 102
• Changdeokgung palace (1h)
• 18:38-18:42 Hyehwa station to Dongdaemun history and culture park station metro, 18:48-18:49 transfer to Cheonggu station
• Dinner in Shindangdong
• 10-minute ride to the metro
• 22:00-22:20 Dongdaemun History and culture park to Nowon station metro

I stayed in bed until late today, with no desire to leave it.

Changdeok-gung Palace

In the afternoon, I took the bus to Changdeokgung palace. Ever since my two weeks in Seoul in May, I’d made up my mind to finish my trip in Korea with a return to Changdeokgung’s government complex, my favorite place in Seoul.

A week ago, I’d imagined taking the Korean student there. But not anymore.

I donned my white hanbok for the occasion, because I hadn’t worn it once since buying it in Jeonju. Today would be my last opportunity to wear it. In Japan, I would go back to my jinbei.

Also, the hanbok granted me a free entry.

Returning to the palace was a bit emotional. It made me think of everything that had happened since that day in early May, and how much had changed.

The government complex was as labyrinthian and tranquil as I’d remembered, with a quiet atmosphere. Crows, cicadas, traditional houses in the background, and an unexpected sighting of N Seoul tower.

I was alone at the complex most of the time. Getting lost inside the maze of pavilions. Engulfed by dancheong, the painting style that I adored so much. Sitting down and listening to the silence between the screeching of cicadas. Leaves rustling in a breeze. The sun shining between thin openings, illuminating parts of the buildings. Dark corners and liminal spaces. Gravel and greenery.

My white shirt was damp with sweat. I rested and thought how stupid it was of me to open up to people who soon forgot about me. Why did I let myself be vulnerable in front of them?

I sounded like a broken record. But sitting under a pavilion in this tranquil and solitary moment, I realized once more how I was alone in the world.

I’d always resisted this notion. Always a small voice whispering, “You’re not.” But I was. And it became yet another memory I would never forget. A serene, perfect scene, that made me wonder if life was worth living.

The palace closed soon after, at 17:30, so I rushed to the exit. If only I could stay in the same corner until morning, sleeping on wood like in the mountain shelter…

I didn’t need a mattress. I didn’t need a fixed dwelling. I needed money. And a friend.

As I left the palace, I turned back toward the government complex: one last look.

“Welcome to Seoul,” a Korean guy told me enthusiastically as I stared at the complex and wrote the last sentence. “Where are you from?”

After we talked, I walked twenty humid minutes through Seoul national university hospital to the city wall, but stopped near Hyehwa station at Olive Young to buy some creams (in Japan they’d be more expensive). I used up all my remaining cash for this trip, when I received a text with an invitation for dinner.

Shindang-dong

The Hanok guesthouse owner, who I’d had dinner with on July 13. He’d wanted to take me to Shindangdong, Seoul’s tteokbokki village, ever since we’d eaten tteokbokki the next day.

I was about to watch the sunset over Seoul from the city wall, but didn’t want to let him down. I knew what it felt like.

So the lonely last night I’d planned for me in Korea took a turn.

We met at a restaurant he’d picked, because it allowed customers to cook their own dish. He’d treated me to an enormous hot pot full of tteokbokki, different types of noodles (including a fried tempura version), and thin fish cakes.

It was spicy as hell, and just as delicious. I could barely finish. I was struggling so much at some point that he ordered peach nectar, a well-known ailment for spiciness in Korea.

Since both of us wore white, we both put on aprons. I couldn’t recall seeing restaurants with aprons in any country I’d visited before.

Trying to recreate the dialogue of our 2.5-hour dinner was not something I even dared. He was wise and happy, always focused on the bright side. With him, the glass was never half empty. Every hardship, he took with stride. Every struggle I shared with him, he smiled and said to accept it.

“Yes, it hurts,” he said. “But this is part of life.”

I told him how angry I’d felt at that moment.

“This is good,” he smiled. “If there is anger, there is love.”

He didn’t dismiss my problems – he simply advised me how to handle them. Clearly, he’d been through so much (and boy did he tell me some stories), that he’d reached a point in his life where he didn’t let things affect him the way I’d let them.

I learned more and more from him about Korea, Japan, so many countries in the world. Politics, culture, cuisine, customs, economics, conventions. Mentalities. He wasn’t the first, nor the second, person to complain about the Japanese veneer. Everything was polite and surface level with them; they didn’t let outsiders in. When conflict arose, even with 17-year-old friendships, they simply faded out, until they reverted into being strangers.

I’d heard of this phenomenon before, but felt that, with some Japanese people, I’d managed to go below the surface. Perhaps it was the language barrier.

“I never stay here so long,” the Hanok owner said at the end of our meal, “I always just eat and go.”

At 21:45, he gave me a ride on his motorcycle to a metro station with a direct line to Nowon. Helmet, wind, skyscrapers, his torso the only thing keeping me from falling. I enjoyed how my final dinner in Korea ended.

When I got back at night, my host was so happy to see me, after going through a hard day, that she said: “Remember what you said about finding one good moment yesterday? Seeing you now is mine for today.”

We talked and talked, until, near midnight, I said I would miss hanging out in her studio and just chatting with her the most.

She and the Hanok owner, who both wanted to spend time with me before I left, made my last night in this country better than expected.

Today’s highlights: the colorful, meditative maze of pavilions inside the palace; tteokbokki with the Hanok owner; another motorcycle ride in Seoul at night; a heartfelt conversation with my host.

2 August 2023

Farewell to Korea

Last night, I barely slept. Busy with thoughts and last-minute preparations. I woke a zombie today, and returned to the soy sauce tteokbokki buffet with my host for breakfast (lunch for her).

I still had the frozen kimchee dumplings from a few days ago. Yet she refused for my final meal in Korea to go this way. So she treated me again to the buffet.

The food being unlimited, I could’ve gorged myself until I was full – yet I didn’t have much appetite.

While packing, I came across a poem I’d written last week to the Korean student.

I marked the end of the Korean leg of my trip with my favourite Korean song: Waiting by Younha. The original version was fantastic (I’d been listening to it for weeks on repeat), but it was the acoustic version that I heard first, while feeling lonely in Jeju Island, that captured my feelings.

I took the bus back to my hostel, where I ate my pastries for dinner. The staff was throwing their daily, lively dinner party. A sad Korean song was playing. I looked up a translation of the lyrics to English. It was about an unrequited love. I wondered if I’d experience it someday.

“A Blue Day” (May 26)

This was what I had written in my Jeju Island post. The unofficial English translation I had found online was so poignant, that I had decided, back then, to make it my last song.

How did I fall in love with you
How can it hurt like this
I have never wanted anyone like this
I miss you about a thousand times
If I tell you, will it reach me?
If I cry and throw a tantrum, will you know how I feel

Should I hate that name 10,000 times?
Should I just count the disappointing things?
Already My love has grown so much
Because you are not me
You can't feel the same as me
That's right, I liked you more

Even if my heart gets hurt nine times
Once I like smiling
Because I'm happy when I'm by your side
I never even made an unpleasant face
I never felt comfortable
I felt like I would do anything if you said it

Even the long wait that felt like a thousand years
Seeing you I like it
A day, a month, a year like that
Knowing you won't come
And tossing and turning endlessly
Waiting, waiting, falling asleep

What didn’t go as planned, however, was the song gaining a new meaning for me. A couple of lines from the lyrics – I felt them now. I would like to understand the original version someday.

Today’s highlight: soy sauce tteokbokki.