He who plucks a friend out from his heart hath lost a treasured thing dear as his own dear life.

Sophocles, “Oedipus”

I have reached a point where I don’t mind sharing more and more stories here. In Japan, I wouldn’t have included most of the details I am about to.

This comes at the risk of sounding like an infant. Yet hiding this side of me might be even more immature than letting it out. I can only hope to learn from this, and become a better person.

24 July 2023

• 16:07-16:20 Nowon station to Myeonmok station metro, 16:30-16:37 bus 227 to the Yongsan park
• Yongsan Park (1h)
• Dinner at Costco
• 22:30-22:45 Sangbong station to Nowon station metro

This morning, my host, “working” at the local Starbucks (AKA drinking coffee and procrastinating), invited me to follow suit. I grabbed my laptop and didn’t do as much as I wanted. Instead, we designed business cards for me: an idea I’d wanted to carry out ever since she’d handed me her own card in May.

For the backside, she drew me wearing my hanbok and mandarin hat, out and about on a trip. The printing company didn’t accept foreign cards, though; this had been happening too often in Korea. I paid my host back with cash. Couldn’t recall such a hindrance ever happening in Japan.

She left at some point, and I stayed at Starbucks, scouring Google for an internet cafe in Tokyo, to nap during the day. It hit me that I would fly to Japan next WEEK. And, landing at 1:00 in Haneda airport, I would probably need a place to crash during the day.

Yongsan Park

In the afternoon, I met the Korean student at Myeonmok station. He was waiting for me with soft drinks for the both of us. Seeing him again stretched an inexhaustible smile on my face.

Hugging him again spread warmth through my chest.

We set out to explore an abandoned theme park. The Dutch volunteer had already visited it, after I’d told her about it, and had drawn up a map for me. Apparently, Naver had led her to the wrong entrance.

It wasn’t abandoned.

There was a ticket office. 10,000 won, cash only.

Shame. After two abandoned sex museums, I wanted a third experience like that.

The park was tiny, but we took our time exploring it, not really focused on it anyway.

It was as creepy as I’d wanted it to be, with tons of cats roaming between our feet. So hot, that we were dripping sweat. We were the only visitors there.

In the exit, the auntie in the ticket office gave us complimentary ice-cold bottles of water and wet wipes. The latter, perhaps to clean up.

The Perfect Dinner

After a magical evening together, we went to a late dinner.

“I want to take you to my favorite restaurant,” he said.

My wallet shuddered. Another extravagant restaurant with a lavish view?

No. He took me to the food court in Costco.

His favorite place in the world. Greasy, disgusting fast food, with dirty tables and wholesale groceries galore.

Heaven.

By now, however, I was in pain. A new, unfamiliar twinge that made it hard for me to move and stand. Walking to Costco was torture. Standing in line to order was torture. I picked the only dish without meat in went to find a seat. Sitting down assuaged me.

I found myself paying for us both. Yet again. Drinks at the drag bar, on the night we met. I could barely afford one for myself. But I just wanted to treat him.

My order consisted of a ricotta salad with nuts, apple, mango, lettuce – fresh fruit and vegetables, in the far east! – as well as a mango sorbet.

I ate the crust of his pizza. So trashy and delicious. It had been months since my last pizza.

“Going to Costco always makes my day,” he said.

I smiled at him. The whole time.

“My day was already made.”

I contemplated him while eating.

“What?” he asked. “Don’t look at my plate.” (Because there was meat in it.)

“I’m trying not to cry,” I said, blinking faster and faster by the minute.

“Because it’s so good?” he asked, pointing at the salad. I was savoring the rarity of fresh fruit and leaves.

“No,” I said. “Because you are.”

I stared into his eyes for a long time. It was like Lupin’s fixed gaze at Sirius for 52 lines in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Nothing existed in my world at that moment, apart from his pupils.

“I would like you a lot more if we were in the same location,” he said. “If we lived in the same city or country.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to get hurt.”

We would both leave Korea next week. This already hurt.

“You don’t want to become attached,” I said.

“Exactly.”

Without thinking, I blurted: “I already am.”

At 22:00, Costco closed. We finished eating fast and sat on the street outside the store with my melting mango sorbet. Talking, and talking, and talking.

“We had a perfect day,” he remarked at some point, “didn’t we?”

I couldn’t control it anymore. Tears forced their way out of my body.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

It took me a while to respond. I was looking away, looking at him, looking away again as I was blinking back tears. Wondering if I should say what was on my lips.

“I really like you.”

I explained that I wasn’t used to meeting someone who stood out as he had. Who made it feel out of the ordinary.

“You can say it’s extraordinary,” he said.

“You don’t have to use ‘it,’” I said. “You can say ‘me.’”

Silence. My tears were soft and quiet. Not hot or violent. They were many, yet slow and subdued.

“It’s a good thing we both leave in August,” he said. “No one will be sad and alone.”

I almost replied that I would.

He hadn’t said “I like you” back. I hoped that he was simply holding himself back, out of the fear he’d mentioned. A few days after I would leave Korea, he would fly back to the States, and transfer from Columbia to Cornell. His life was there now.

“Well, maybe we’ll meet again someday,” he said, “and by then you’ll have fifty more guys, and you’ll be married –”

I scoffed. What an absurd thought.

Soon enough, it was time to walk to the metro. The pain that made it excruciating for me to stand returned to prick me.

When sitting down and talking to the Korean student, I felt no pain. When standing and walking, I could barely move, and found myself cramping. Only in retrospect did I realize the irony of this. My body refused to get going and progress toward tomorrow. Better to sit down with him forever.

Standing outside Sangbong station, it was difficult to pick a moment to say goodbye. I knew we’d see each other again before I left. But I already felt the finality of the situation.

A Just Cause for Depression

I cried on the metro back to Nowon. Walked fast, sniffing with every stride, breathing hard.

Back at my host’s studio, I called Horizon. She was the first person I wanted to talk to about today.

Last night, we’d talked about her growing bond with her Korean date, and her qualms surrounding long distance relationships.

Growing too close to someone you would soon be thousands of kilometers away from was not a trouble that had ever plagued me. No, scratch that. Even growing too close to someone who lived in the same area as me sounded bizarre. I’d never been in a relationship. I’d never met someone who had made me want a relationship. So I couldn’t know for sure if some precious time together was worth an eternity apart.

Yesterday, during our phone call, I’d told Horizon that heartbreak, to me, seemed worth it: better to have something, even something sad, than nothing. Yet I might have been in the wrong. Perhaps the pain of separation was too great a burden.

After her bringing up this topic last night, and my day with the Korean student, I needed to talk to her.

She was with her Korean date. What an absolute joy for the three of us to catch up and video chat.

“I miss you,” he said again and again, even though we’d only hung out for one night. “You’re the best guy I’ve ever met.”

I was already crying, telling them about my day, but now, seeing them again after weeks, hearing their voice and how much they appreciated me – I cried some more, happy tears, sad tears, pining for a return to Busan.

“Don’t cry,” they said.

“No,” I said, “these are happy tears. This is good. I’m happy. It’s worth the tears.”

If I could afford it, I would have taken the KTX to Busan on Friday, and returned to my hostel for a night.

When I told Horizon about the “I don’t want to get hurt” line – she wasn’t surprised. She knew how it felt to get hurt. I didn’t. Maybe I had a lot more to learn.

She would visit Fukuoka in late August; I would be on the other side of Japan. Seeing her again would hopefully happen someday in Israel. But if I come back to Korea, I’d 100% go back to Busan, and reunite with her Korean date.

Before going to bed, I realized I might have cried too much in the Korean student’s presence. My reaction had probably seemed excessive. He hadn’t seemed emotional at all, while I was being a baby. A 28-year-old baby. Not unlike my time in Tokyo with the British student.

Except this time, it felt completely different. The vibe between us was different.

I hoped that the future would differ as well. The British student and I weren’t speaking anymore. The Korean student had already communicated to me his intention to stay in touch.

I went to bed sad that I’d met him near the end of my time in Korea, and happy for this experience. Grateful, even.

What a just cause for an inevitable depression.

Today’s highlights: designing my first business card; the creepiness of the “abandoned” theme park; staring into the Korean student’s eyes; a guilty pleasure, Western meal at Costco; the walk back to my host’s studio, full of ache; video calling Horizon and her date.

25 July 2023

The Ebb After the Flow

The only thing I did today was sit on the floor of my host’s kitchen and write. I barely ate. I barely drank. But I finally caught up with my trip in Korea.

I hadn’t expected to have so much to document. Nor had I assumed I would share it on this blog. In Japan, I’d omitted most of my intimate stories.

In the evening, my host treated me to a mint chocolate chip milkshake at the local Starbucks. It closed too early, at 21:00. We roamed the streets of Nowon afterwards, confessing endlessly about relationships and love. Instead of returning to her apartment, we picked more and more detours, just to continue our conversation.

A similar scene from my time in Tokyo came to mind. Walking with my Tokyo friend at night, in the empty streets of his residential area. He’d taken a picture of the full moon on his phone.

“月がきれい,” he’d explained to me, was how the uber-shy Japanese people said ‘I love you.’ (“The moon is beautiful.”) All thanks to a translation by Natsume Soseki.

At night, I texted the Korean student. We barely exchanged a sentence. I realized my quiet tears might have driven him away. He hadn’t wanted to get too involved – and I was already crying, because I had done so.

I hadn’t thought it possible, but somehow, today ended with me even sadder than yesterday.

Today’s highlights: wrapping up my writing mission; mint chocolate chip milkshake; a deep conversation with my host in the empty streets of Nowon.

26 July 2023

• 14:35-15:05 Nowon station to Gangnam-gu office station metro, 15:10-15:15 transfer to Seoul Forest station
• Picnic in Seoul Forest, sunset in Han River
• 21:50-21:55 Ttukseom station to Konkuk university station metro, 22:00-22:25 transfer to Nowon station

Seoul Forest

The Korean student hadn’t answered my text. I’d driven him away.

After planning my trip to Japan on the computer for a few hours, I met the Japanese guy from Itaewon in the afternoon for a convenience store picnic in Seoul Forest. He’d suggested it based on his lack of money. No complaints here.

Exact same age. Exact same boat.

The forest was an underwhelming park I’d already visited with my second host back in May. But I didn’t care about sightseeing anymore. I’d crossed Nami Island and Boryeong Mud Festival off my list. They were far from Seoul, and very expensive day trips. I preferred to spend time with the people I liked.

I had precisely one week left here. And I couldn’t have been sadder about it.

If it were up to me, I would’ve spent every single day with the Korean student. But I guessed he didn’t want to grow too close. He didn’t want to get hurt.

This only hurt me more.

As I sat with the Japanese guy at the park and tried to converse against the deafening noise of mating cicadas, a couple of his friends joined us. A British guy from Durham, and a Scottish girl from Glasgow. Both teaching English in Seoul.

It was my first time in six days around a non-Korean person. Since making it to the shelter on top of mount Seoraksan.

The two friends were hilarious to be around, because it was my first time since leaving the UK hearing such northern accents, and UK-only words. Shite, shag, phone (instead of “call”), me (instead of mine), love as a term of endearment at the end of a sentence. A surreal déjà vu to my time in Norwich.

The guy was witty and snarky, with a quick and biting sense of humor. One of his funniest bits was adding a British “love” at the end of every sentence he’d uttered in middle-grade Japanese (with a British accent). He’d spent a year in Japan when I was in the UK.  

He was also in possession of some insane adventure stories – escapades, flings, illegal mischiefs. Sex, drugs, and rock’n’roll.

“I’ve lived twenty lifetimes,” he said at some point.

It wasn’t a hyperbole. He was 23 years old.

Han River

In the evening, we snuck into an off-limits crossing to Han River, the only way to get there from the forest. It was closed due to recent floodings; and indeed, we trudged in mud, which now covered half of my shoes.

We strolled along the river. A beautiful sunset was illuminating the faraway skyscrapers. One, to the left of Lotte Tower, looked like it had molten gold on it.

All of a sudden, it started pouring. At least it cleaned some of our mud.

Dinner was inside CU. We were all broke. It was actually my first time sitting with people inside a convenience store. Everything we ate was gross. But the vibe felt good.

At the train station, the girl returned home, while the guys decided to go out to Itaewon (even though today was Wednesday). The Japanese guy would spend the next seven days with his family, who were coming tomorrow for a visit. I realized we wouldn’t be able to meet again. So this was farewell.

Back in Nowon, I spotted a non-Korean person. For the first time in this station.

(My host always joked: “It’s called ‘Nowon’ because no one comes here.” True – a Korean-only residential area, devoid of tourists.)

She was from the Ukraine, and moved to Seoul ten months ago to learn Korean, due to the war. I invited her to my farewell dinner on Sunday with my host and the British guy we’d met back in May, at the grocery store in front of my host’s studio.

Today’s highlights: a proper British outgoing; the molten gold sunset building; a convenience store dinner.

27 July 2023

• 16:05-16:20 Nowon station to Gireum station metro
• Visit to a clinic
• 17:10-17:25 Gireum station to Nowon station metro

Today was tough. I’d dozed off last night before managing to even shower and brush my teeth. Woke a bit more refreshed, and got to work.

Work, as in, freaking out over my upcoming trip to Japan. Going to the Tohoku countryside at the height of summer vacation and the Obon holiday period was a decision that would cost me. A lot.

There weren’t affordable accommodations in the region to begin with, being a non-touristy place – even Japanese people didn’t tend to travel there – and the high season meant that they were all taken.

Multiple festivals would take place in multiple locations almost every day. Fireworks, Buddhist ceremonies, celebrations.

Not a good idea, to plan such as a trip at the last minute.

This, and the Korean student’s minimal communication, put me in an anxious and dismal mood. I barely ate. I barely drank. I had a few precious days left here – and I couldn’t spend them with him.

Flashbacks to Breakups

I recalled two incidents from my past.

The first surrounded my former best friend from the UK. He was American: a quarter white, a quarter black, and half North Korean descent. His family had escaped a few decades ago to the US.

We’d studied together in the same program. I’d never forget laying eyes on him on the first day and thinking, before he’d even opened his mouth, “that’s who I want to befriend.”

And I had. From fall 2019 to spring 2020. Then, COVID had happened.

On March 26, 2020, he’d texted me that he would leave the UK tomorrow, and go back to his family.

On March 27, I’d gone back to his accommodation on campus, to bid him farewell.

Those final moments with him – standing at the entrance to one of the buildings, him leaning against a wall, me admitting in a low voice how much I’d miss him – I’d grown visibly sad. He hadn’t. That final hug, full of hesitation, at the height of lockdown – I might’ve embraced him more than he had in return.

I’d walked an hour back to my studio in the city, instead of taking the bus. It was a perfect day: cool weather, clear sky. A rarity in the UK.

The streets were vacant. Everyone was quarantining at home.

I’d never forget that walk back. Just thinking and feeling. Crossing suburbs and pastoral roads, listening to bird chirps, after saying goodbye for the first time in my life to someone I wouldn’t be able to see again.

Now, three years later, I re-read my journal entry from that day. I hadn’t shed a single tear. Instead, I’d written about all my friendship breakups since elementary school, and how this one had differed.

“His behavior in the last few weeks – bailing on us, minimal texting – doesn’t convince me he’s good at staying in touch, so I think this is it.”

I was wrong. Thanks to technology, we’d stayed in touch. He’d confessed that I was his first friend. That before me, he hadn’t had friends.

As I’d lost touch with more and more friends from the program, he was the only one who’d remained. He’d promised he wouldn’t do the same. That we’d always be friends.

Two years after graduating, he’d ghosted me. Not for the first time. But this one was final.

When I’d texted him that I’d be going to South Korea for three months, his only reply was: “Good luck!”

We hadn’t spoken since.

(Incidentally, one of the friends in our group I’d lost touch with – he was teaching English now in Guri-si, a city near Seoul. I’d texted him the day I landed in Korea. We hadn’t met in my three months here.)

The second incident that came to mind surrounded the British student from Tokyo. We’d met two weeks before I’d left Japan. Just like the Korean student and I had met two weeks before I’d leave Korea.

After several unforgettable days together, the British student and I had said goodbye.

“You’ll be back in August?” he’d asked in our final moments. “Okay. I’ll wait for you. Three months.”

We’d stopped talking after I’d come to Korea.

Now, I recalled the Korean student telling me, at the end of our third day together: “We’ll see each other again. We’ll stay in touch.”

So, what could I say?

At this point, what could I think?

By now, who could I trust.

I lost the desire to sightsee. Everything on my list, I ignored. No money, nor mood.

In the afternoon, I returned to the free clinic from two weeks ago for another test. A flash flood caught me on my way there. It occurred to me that maybe, after all my mixed emotions, the time to leave this country had come. In Korea, I’d gone from bad times, to good times, to sad times. Might as well just get it over with.

At the clinic, I grew nervous while waiting for the result. But it was okay.

Traveling is a Microcosmos for Life

In the evening, I continued to look for accommodation in Japan. Tohoku region, being an aging population’s countryside, was practically devoid of couch-surfing hosts. None of my Japanese friends knew anyone who lived there. My sister half-joked that I should just rent a tent and camp throughout Obon.

“Not a bad idea,” I thought. Except renting a tent for one person and paying for a campground amounted to a hostel.

Later on, I caught up on the phone with a wise Australian friend I’d made in Japan.

“Everything is more intense when traveling,” she said, after hearing about my last week. “So many things happen so fast. It’s like a microcosmos for life.”

After several days apart, my host, busier than ever, finally returned at some point. I’d grown so lonely, that spending time with her again cheered me up.

The arrival of my business cards by post added to my reprieve. They looked clean and polished, minimal and crisp. My host gifted me a fancy, traditional case she’d gotten from her city, after collaborating with them on the mural I’d seen last week. The case was colorful and shiny, its decorations made out of real shell.

We went grocery shopping. I bought tofu, eggs, and instant rice for my last six days, and ate a combined lunch and dinner at night. A hotteok-like pastry for dessert.

She was too busy to hang out with me longer than that, tonight or over the next few days. The free outdoor concert on a bridge that had been on my list since forever for Friday evening got cancelled. Q, who had returned to Seoul from Busan, was sick. She couldn’t go with me to a drag show on Saturday night I’d been looking forward to for the past two weeks. The Korean student and I were supposed to go out in our final weekend here; but he was busy now.

I cried myself to sleep. If memory served me right, the last time this happened, I was 19.

Today’s highlights: receiving my first business cards; eating my first proper meal in three days; hotteok for dessert.

28 July 2023

Fed Up with Korea

I woke groggy, doleful, nervous. Anxious by the prospect of paying for peak season accommodation and daily shinkansen trains for my Tohoku trip.

Thinking about my tears last night only issued fresh ones, before I even had something to drink. How had I gone from not being able to shed a single tear for years, to crying too much on a daily basis?

All my life, I was used to crying when writing or visualizing my fears. Not when thinking about a particular human being.

People could never make me cry. They weren’t worth the tears. Going through friendship breakups, I felt angry. Not sad.

“If this is how they act,” I’d thought, “it’s for the best.”

So friends hadn’t managed to bring me to tears. Family, neither. People had always joked I’d had no feelings.

If anything, I felt grateful at present for my new, excessive crying. I was overreacting. But at least I was reacting. At least I had proof: someone can bring out something in me.

Then Korean student and I made plans to meet each other on Monday. Three days from now. I’d wait for as long as necessary.

After planning my Japan trip for hours, my host invited me to a late lunch at a local tteokbokki restaurant. It wasn’t the soy sauce variant I’d been itching to taste again. She warned me it would be spicy.

To both our surprise, I didn’t find it too hot. My mouth wasn’t aflame. More like atingle.

I enjoyed what was possibly my last bites of tteokbokki. Also, plastic Korean cheese, fried tempura squid, and fried tempura glass noodles and seaweed.

In the afternoon, she worked, while I continued to plan Japan. I had too many things on my list to accommodate sleep in my first three weeks.

After recreating last night’s “I have no money” dinner (the addition of bean sprouts today made it conspicuously cheap), I had an impromptu, four-hour video call with the Mongolian student I’d met in Seoul Pride. We’d been texting ever since.

Talking to him between 20:30-0:30 was so easy – so fun and funny – that, when it got late, neither of us wanted to hang up.

We shared a lot in common, despite our difference in background and age. Our conversation ranged from jokes and memes, love and Taylor Swift, to depression, trauma, and heartbreak. We both lamented the fact that he lived in Daejeon, and that we wouldn’t be able to see each other again before I left. I promised, if I came back to Korea, to swing by his city. It was between Busan and Seoul anyway, not too far from Jeonju.

In the end of our conversation, when he’d got to know some of my recent hardships, I thanked him for making my day.

After my successful trip to the east coast, the last thing I’d expected was to come back to Seoul, and lose the will to travel. The Korean student; my lack of budget; the difficulty in finding accommodation in Japan during Obon, and the frighteningly expensive three weeks in Tohoku I was about to have. I felt that, in a matter of days, I’d gone from new heights to new lows.

Indeed, it was time to leave this country.

Today’s highlights: enjoying a spicy tteokbokki lunch for once; video calling the Mongolian student.