“Was it not I, was it not I who just declared that the enthusiasm of the younger generation is as pure and bright as it ever was, and that it is perishing only for being mistaken about the forms of the beautiful? Is that not enough for you? And if you take it that this was proclaimed by a crushed, insulted father, how then – oh, you short ones – how then is it possible to stand higher in impartiality and tranquility of vision? … Ungrateful… unjust… why, why do you not want to make peace! …”

And he suddenly burst into hysterical sobs. He wiped away the flood of tears with his fingers. His shoulders and chest were shaking with sobs… he forgot everything in the world.

Fyodor Dostoevsky, “Demons”

Updated list of the people from the hostel:

• Owner – owner of the hostel, 41yo guy. Originally from Cananda, he seemed (and acted) way younger. Fond of drinking and talking about being horny.
• C.H. – one of the staff members, 28yo guy. Bespectacled, served in the navy, intensely shy.
• Nacho – Korean-American female staff member in her early thirties, originally from L.A., in charge of the volunteers. Bespectacled, hilarious, and plump, with a BTS haircut and a crazy sleep routine.
• Chica – Spanish volunteer / actress from Madrid, 34yo girl. Short, perky, petite, with long, straight hair and freckles.
• Painter – Brazilian volunteer, guy in his late thirties. Been here for around five months. Half of the time, he painted the hostel instead of cleaning.
• Horizon – Israeli volunteer, 22yo girl. Half Turkish, half Indian, sensitive yet tough.
• Ryu – German volunteer, 22yo girl. Platinum-dyed hair, straight, black eyebrows. Fluent in Japanese, having spent senior year of high school in Osaka. Also, intermediate in Korean.
• Q – Spanish volunteer from Barcelona, 20yo girl. Thin glasses, curly hair like a poodle’s (her own description).
• Cosima – Romanian volunteer now living in the island of Sardinia, 27yo girl. With glasses, a bob cut, and a sharp nose, she possessed deep knowledge of Korea (and delicious ability of cooking Korean food). I picked Cosima, the feminine version of Cosmo, due to her cosmopolitan nature.
• Angel – 27yo French girl with long curly hair, black glasses, and an olive skin, staying at the hostel for a month, studying Korean in Busan. Her long term residency and bubbly personality made her an instant addition to the volunteer group.
• Twenty – Brazilian volunteer, girl in mid-twenties (no correlation with her alias). Round glasses, long, delicate hair, quite bookish, with a thick Portuguese accent, and good knowledge of Korean.
• Kaela – Argentinian volunteer, girl in mid-twenties. Extremely petite, extremely pleasant, with dark hair, sharp features, and thin glasses, she’d moved to Copenhagen during the pandemic.
• D’arc – French volunteer, girl in mid-twenties, Blonde, blue eyed, petite, with fair features and a fair voice, she’d been spending three months in Korea again and again for a few years now.
• Ray – French-German volunteer, 26yo girl. Yellow-black dyed BTS hair and old-school frames. An almost British accent, and insightful artistry that wasn’t apparent to me at first.
• B.V. and G.V. – French volunteer couple in their early thirties, both volunteered in in Busan in the past, and in Hiroshima for a year. The girl: dark-haired, tough, and plump, the type of French woman who’d seen some things in her life. The guy: long, curly hair, usually under a fedora. Both with a thick accent and a recent attempt to get into Japanese tourism.

24 June 2023

• 13:05-13:20 Boemnaegol station to Toseong station metro (exit 6), 13:25-13:30 Busan University Medical Center stop to Gamcheon Cultore Village stop minibus Seogu 2
• Gamcheon culture village (1.5h)
• 15:10-15:20 bus stop at the finish spot on the map whose name I didn’t catch to Toseong station stop bus number 1-1, 15:25-15:40 Toseong station to Boemnaegol station metro
• Resting in hostel
• 18:50-19:25 Seomyeon to Gwangali beach stop bus number 83
• 20:00-20:10 Gwangali beach drone show
• 20:40-21:00 Gwangali station to Seomyeon station metro
• Clubbing at night

I woke at 10:00 after a decent night’s sleep. I preferred sleeping in a tent than in a dormitory.

At 11:30, I joined almost all of the volunteers for a photo booth, per Chica’s request. She’d asked for one last photo with all her friends before her departure.

Everyone was coughing. The germs (from Ryu?) had spread to every bed in the girls’ dormitory. And to me.

“Yesterday night, before I went to sleep, it was like a concert,” Cosima quipped.

The photo booth was great fun. Then we returned to the hostel. It was my last day off, and I’d made plans with Angel to visit Gamcheon Cultural Village. I’d postponed it again and again, just to go with her.

When the time came, she texted me that she was still with her Korean date.

“Have fun!” I replied, and left by myself.

Gamcheon Culture Village

I got off at the village and beheld hundreds of colorful old houses on a dense hill. It was a sunny Saturday, and I feared the place would be swarming with tourists.

It was actually okay in that sense. Many alleys were empty, and there was often barely any noise from people or cars.

Ghibli and The Little Prince murals and merch everywhere. I hadn’t known Koreans were this fond of them.

I followed the trail on the map to some of the popular spots. I bet the locals hated the throngs around these. And I bet they even hated more the one skyscraper in town, right in the middle of everything, blocking the view to the sea.

Not to mention the huge hilltop building being built even on the weekend.

I met a couple of girls from Tokyo and a British guy who was traveling with his mom while on vacation from Kai Japanese language school in Shinjuku. I’d almost attended this school myself, having contacted them exactly one year ago.

Overall, Gamcheon was nice, but like previous attractions in Busan, didn’t really speak to me.

Gwangali Beach’s Drone Show

In the afternoon, Q taught Horizon and me a bit of Hangul. I left in the middle of the lesson to journal about yesterday instead in the basement.

Then came the time to visit Gwangali beach for the first time and watch the famous drone show, held every Saturday, with the volunteers.

We placed mats on the beach and watched the sunset. The sky turned a breathtaking shade of pink. I saw the iconic bridge and fireworks from a ship.

The beach was swarming with people. Apparently, it was like this every Saturday.

Then the drone show started. Tonight’s theme was the Korean War.

It was chilling, and not because of the theme or wind. The fact that this technology existed and that the drones were perfectly aligned. The other volunteers agreed it was scary.

The show lasted ten short minutes. Both disturbing and impressive.

On the way back from the beach, the new Italian volunteer, who wanted to go out tonight for the first time in Korea, asked me about the local scene. Comparing it to other countries, we accumulated some information.

• In Japan, IDs were not always necessary. People smoked out in the street. And girls who wanted to maintain a pure reputation did not go clubbing.
• In Korea, bars and clubs reeked of cigarette and e-cigarette smoke. IDs were mandatory everywhere (no photos of passports allowed). People sometimes wore sunglasses indoors. 18-year-old Koreans could enter because they were 19, according to the local counting system. (Well, until one month ago, when it was officially scrapped.) One time, a guy in Hongdae offered me drugs.
• In Italy, they used a lot of hand gestures, even when dancing.
• In the Netherlands, everyone wore sunglasses, because red eyes meant no entry.

Back in the hostel, I saw Angel in the kitchen.

“How was your day?” I asked.

“It was actually 24 hours, and it was perfect.”

She didn’t want to go out with me tonight.

I took a shower and made instant noodles for dinner. I wanted to check out the only gay club in Busan at 23:00, and continue to the only drag club at 0:30, for the drag show at 1:00.

Horizon really wanted everyone to drink together in the common area and then go out to Seomyeon. She was visibly offended when I told her I would be going to Beomil instead.

We’d been talking about going to the drag show together for three weeks now. Ever since my first time there. This being my final weekend, she’d promised to come with me tonight. I had dedicated last Saturday to her.

So I was a bit confused by her offense. But no matter. I was used to going out by myself.

I asked her if we could drink in the common area at 22:00. The time came, and the girls were still in the shower.

While waiting, I talked to the B.V. and G.V., the French volunteer couple, about their one year of volunteering in Japan. They were trying to become independent travel guides there. Just like me.

G.V. took me to the convenience store to try mugicha, Japanese barley tea. It was delicious. Apparently, I would find it all over Japan during summer.

“I never say this to people,” G.V. said. “But this is my favorite shrine in Hiroshima…”

It was already marked on my map.

We watched with Nacho the CCTV recording of Angel bringing her Korean date to her room late last night. She’d made him wait in the hall while frantically organizing her room. It was quite entertaining to watch. Nacho didn’t care that he wasn’t a guest.

Naturally, he looked like a model.

The girls came down at 23:45. I left a few minutes later, much to Horizon’s immense shock. I felt bad for allegedly ditching her, when in actuality, she was the one breaking their promise to me.

Before leaving, I parted with Chica, who would be gone early tomorrow morning.

“Te amo,” I told her, as we embraced. It was yet another sad farewell.

Someday, when I’d set foot in Madrid, I would contact her and the student I’d met at the Hongdae hostel.

Beomil… Again

I walked south straight to the drag club; it was already past twelve.

At the bar, while waiting for my drink, my favorite queen came to greet me.

“You remember me?” I asked, incredulous.

“Of course!”

Maybe because I was the only foreigner tonight.

“Are you alone?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Why?”

I shrugged. It seemed like everyone had shown up with someone.

Going out alone in Korea was uncommon. The only other person solo tonight was a Korean guy I’d approached on my first time here. He hadn’t wanted to dance with me. The entire night, he’d kept to a corner in the back, just drinking, smoking, and checking his phone. With his black, oversized clothes and quiet demeanor, he’d struck me as both mysterious and reserved.

Tonight, he was doing the same.

Per the drag queen’s suggestion, I stood in line to get neon painted. (Tonight was neon night at the club.) Perhaps inspired by my penis whistle, I got a matching drawing on each cheek.

Being the only foreigner, I didn’t approach anyone. I’d lost the energy to. I drank something called Sour Bitch, and danced on my own.

Half of the guys in the club were shirtless and buff, with neon drawings on their torso.

I showed the owner drag queen my penis whistle and told her the story behind it. Then, right before the show, I noticed two Irish sisters here on vacation. They were crazy over K-pop and gay culture.

“SLAY!” one of them screamed every five seconds.

The show began. Drag queens performed to a T. The Irish girl was jumping and screaming, her drink spilling on me.

“I LOVE GAY CULTURE!” she shouted in my ear.

“I THINK YOU LIKE IT MORE THAN I DO!” I yelled back.

The show was fun, and I let out shouts of enjoyment.

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When it was over, I thanked my favorite queen, told her goodbye, and danced for a while.

“I don’t wanna be somebody,” a K-pop girl group sang, “I just wanna be me.”

I looked up this song at once. “Wannabe” by ITZY. At that moment, I couldn’t relate to the lyrics.

It seemed as if all the Koreans at the club knew each other. Either I’d lost my already low confidence, or the events of this week had drained me; but at 2:00, fifteen minutes after the show had ended, I left.

A Couple of Queer Outcasts in a Straight World

When I reached the hostel, I sat on the road outside it, reclined against a wall, and took out my notepad, when I noticed Q already sitting like this directly in front of me.

I joined her. She’d left the group early, unable to afford the second club in Seomyeon they’d continued to.

Earlier today, she’d told me how limited her budget had become. For the next two months, she could barely afford food, let alone transportation and entrance fees to attractions.

She had wanted to join me tonight for the drag show, rather than go out to Seomyeon. She had tired of it for the same heteronormative reasons as me. But the drag show had cost an entrance fee.

Now, she asked me how my night was.

“The show was fun,” I said, my low voice slow and breaking. “But it felt like everyone there knew each other. Korea is very influenced by the United States. If you don’t look a certain way…”

She understood completely. Six months in Korea, and she’d been going through the same thing.

Being the only two queers among the volunteers, I told her about yesterday, with KN1 and Chica’s endless stories.

“He asked for my number because he was interested in another volunteer,” I said.

“A guy?”

I shook my head.

“I won’t tell you who,” I said. This piece of information would do no good. “He thought I was into him, and still used me to fuck a girl.”

Actually, it was three girls.

We sat quietly on the road in mutual understanding. Tears were streaming down my face.

“A few days ago, I told Nacho I was sad about leaving. Now, I am happy my time here is over,” I said. “I can’t do this anymore.”

I couldn’t tell this to Horizon, who I’d grown the closest to. She wouldn’t understand.

She’d been sad all week about my leaving. “What would I do without you?” she’d repeated. Revealing to her my desire to go away would hurt her feelings.

D’arc, a newish French volunteer, showed up with a young Korean girl who couldn’t speak a word in English. She’d just met her in the street; the girl was in desperate need to pee.

The latter needed her boyfriend for the passcode to their accommodation in Busan, only he was working at a bar in Seomyeon until the morning. She didn’t want to bother him at work. So she decided to wait outside the accommodation until morning.

“I think no one has ever said something nice to her,” D’arc said. “I told her to take care of herself and not feel bad about her needs, and she almost cried. She doesn’t want to bother anyone and be a… I don’t know, weight on someone’s shoulders. But it’s her boyfriend, and he’s only ten minutes away? I can’t believe she was just going to wait until 7 am.”

After offering her the hostel’s restroom, D’arc encouraged the Korean girl to go to her boyfriend in Seomyeon.

The street grew empty again. Q and I continued to share our frustration with clubbing, especially in heteronormative spaces.

She’d never been to a lesbian bar. My first gay bar was in Japan.

“You need to go to a lesbian bar in Busan, and stop going to Seomyeon,” I said. She’d been mentioning a lesbian area here to me for quite some time now.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “At some point, you lose hope.”

“That’s what happened to me yesterday,” I said. “I always try to hit on people when I go out. But today I didn’t even try.”

I told her about the uncountable times when I’d been attracted to someone who hadn’t even glanced at me. And the countable times where someone was into me, while I wasn’t into them.

“The only time when I wanted someone 100%, and they wanted me 100% in return, I was too afraid to ask for their number.”

I sounded way past a broken record by now – more like a malfunctioning VHS in want of a kick – but I still wanted to look for him.

“That’s why people think we’re desperate,” Q said. “When we find someone, we hold on to them so much, because it’s so rare.”

We were surrounded by straight people. They were everywhere.

With the amount of travelers we’d been meeting at this eight-story hostel, you’d figure there would be some diversity. But no.

I’d formed countless connection on this trip. Especially during the past month, while volunteering at this hostel. In that sense, I was lucky. I was never alone.

But the friends I’d made were nearly all straight.

Why was this the reality I lived in? Why did I have to come into this world?

I loathed the fact that I was different, that I was sensitive, that I was hopeful. After so many failures, it would’ve been easier to expect nothing at all.

“I don’t even know why I try anymore,” I said. “I’m going back to Seoul specifically for Pride. As if something’s gonna happen.”

Pride was one of the things on the top of her Korean bucket list. Her “special friend” (direct quote) would attend it; she might be able to sleep for free at the hostel she had volunteered in. Yet the bus ride, out of budget for her, had killed that hope.

It was clear that the prospect of missing Pride saddened her as much as my time in Busan.

“If you find a way to pay for one way,” I said, “I’ll pay for the return ticket.”

“What? No.”

She objected. Again and again. But I insisted.

I knew exactly what she was going through. And so was she, when it came to me.

“I think you need to go back to Japan,” she said in the end. “I like Korea better than you.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “Korea can be fun, but it’s not the place for me.”

She apologized for not making time to sightsee Busan with me. Our interaction was limited to the hostel.

I didn’t mind that. Sometimes, a good conversation was all I sought.

“Te amo,” I said.

“Me too.”

We embraced. I went upstairs at 3:00 to camp on the roof, where I wrote all this, until my eyelids fell and forced me to quit.

Today’s highlights: sunset at Gwangali beach; drinking mugicha; my second drag show; sitting with Q on the street in the dead of night.

25 June 2023

• 13:20-15:05 sheets

Last Day in the Hostel

Horizon recounted last night to me at breakfast. After clubbing with the girls, she’d spent the night with the not-so-new Korean guy.

He had been acting like Prince Charming to her ever since they’d met. All her stories about him, the things he’d done for her, the way he’d been treating her, the respect and understanding he’d shown her – the lack of pushiness, the complete opposite of the average Korean guy his age – It was as enviable as Angel and her guy.

I felt happy for both girls, especially because they liked me enough to keep me posted on every small development. But it was yet another story I hadn’t experienced myself.

Horizon told me more stories about other people. I was already in the loop.

“I hear too many details here,” I said. “Drunk, anonymous sex in the common area bathroom… finger up the ass…”

Horizon stopped in her tracks. “Finger up the ass?“

I wasn’t boasting. I’d grown tired of listening to this.

Then I recalled the stories I’d been hearing in the past two months about schizophrenia, suicide, bipolar disorder, and depression. Not everything sounded pink.

During my last shift, the new Italian volunteer stripped the beds while making every possible mistake, even though I had taught her in the last two days. It was the first time the team putting on sheets had outpaced the one stripping.

We also ran out of dorm sheets, and resorted to queen bed sheets for the dormitories. Two laundry volunteers had left. Nacho was still insisting that we were at full capacity until September.

The Italian girl said that her first night clubbing was boring. The clubs in Seomyeon had played the same songs again and again (true). A middle-aged Korean man grabbed her (believable). She said the atmosphere wasn’t as crazy as in Europe.

In the afternoon, I ate lunch in the lobby and ran some last-minute errands – laundry, planning my departure tomorrow… Then Ryu left to Seoul for her day off. So with her, it was time to say farewell.

“恋しい,” I said as we embraced.

She’d return to Seoul in a week from now for her flight to Thailand. I told her I’d be there as well. But she couldn’t promise we’d reunite, even if briefly, during that timeframe. I understood this was our final exchange.

“Hey!” I called, as she turned toward the door. “You’re special.”

“あなたも,” she said, and left.

I stayed in the common area until dinner time. An Israeli guest checked in: blonde, bright, chatty. Looked as though she’d grown up at a kibbutz. She immediately struck up conversation with everyone, and said I was the first Israeli she’d met in Korea.

Apparently, Korea had been quite lonely for her. She was extremely nice and easy to talk to. I could sense that she wanted to join us for dinner. At some point, she (and this was her own description) plucked up the courage and asked if she could come. But I wanted tonight to be just my close friends. I understood why P.V., in my first weekend in the hostel, didn’t invite Horizon to go clubbing.

My Farewell Feast

In attendance: Horizon, Angel, Ray, Twenty, G.V, and B.V. (Q couldn’t afford it.)

The restaurant I had moved from Wednesday to today, where I’d eaten in my first few days in Busan, was a thirty-minute walk from the hostel. Nothing too hard on the legs. Except it started to rain cats and dogs at 19:00. Practically a flash flood. My shoes became fabric filled with puddles.

The volunteers were a bit angry at me for making them walk all this way in this pouring rain. It was my first time seeing such a downpour in Korea – no, on this trip, because Japan had been drizzling for me on rare occasions. The rainy season now began.

At 19:50, after an endless, deluged walk, we made it to the restaurant.

The only two diners had just left. It was empty, like in my first time.

The aunties rushed us in. We had an hour before closing. Yet last order was right now.

“Quick! Sit! What do you want! How many dishes! Choose from the menu!”

She fired all this at us in Korean; Angel translated, ordering quickly and deftly for everyone.

Soon enough, the aunties served us dozens of side dishes on gigantic silver platters.

“Go go go! Quick quick quick!” they said, motioning us to take the side dishes off the platters. “Eat eat eat! Everyone do a good job!”

They rushed us so much, that it was like in the army. I was in hysterics.

When our main dishes arrived, we dug in.

Delicious. Cheap. Traditional. Empty. I knew coming back here would pay off. The volunteers agreed: it was worth getting wet.

After a sweet, refreshing, cold rice drink for dessert, we braved the downpour again, bellies full and bodies tired.

Ray, having joined us separately, had no umbrella. I shared with her mine. Since my walking outpaced everyone else’s (a fact people had been continually mentioning, or rather complaining about to me), Ray and I led the way, running at pedestrian crossings to make it to green lights.

“I love running with a stomach full of food!” I yelled through the rain.

I got soaking wet while protecting her with my umbrella. It was an instantly memorable moment.

Back at the hostel, D’arc’s Korean boyfriend remarked that my hanbok looked sexy. That was funny as well. People had been complimenting this outfit most of the time I’d worn it in the past month and a half, but “sexy” was a first.

Then it was time to say goodbye to Ray.

“I’ll miss arguing with you,” I said.

“Me too,” she said. “Arguing with you about art was fun.”

She recalled how she hadn’t shown me her poetry yet. She’d mentioned it in a passing a few days ago. Now, she showed me the first poem she’d written.

It immediately brought tears to my face.

I could not believe what I was reading. This fun, sassy, tough K-pop stan, with her orange-blonde BTS haircut, had written a poem so eloquent, so lyrical, so sad, that it left me speechless.

Staring at her, much to her discomfort, I suddenly saw her in a new light. The things she’d written about – the emotions and battles with her identity and past self – revealed a fragile, poetic side, full of melancholy, introspection, and depression.

I wanted to talk to her to no end. Yet she was about to go to bed. Now was the time to say goodbye.

Someday, I would go to Freiburg, Germany, to say hi.

A Queer Triumph

I was wiping my cheeks when Q joined us at the table. She’d found a way to pay for a bus to Seoul for Pride. Also among her discoveries: an ad for a pride party at her favorite club in Hongdae. She would introduce me to her queer friends from the hostel in Hogndae she’d volunteered it, and we would all go out together to celebrate Pride.

Her joy was pure and infectious. She could not stop cheering and laughing. Neither could I.

In Tokyo Pride, I’d had the pleasure of meeting the British student the night before, and walking the parade with him. After this week in Busan, however, I grew convinced that I would be alone at Seoul Pride.

I helped Q book the bus. We exclaimed jovially and hugged all the while.

“GAY RIGHTS!” I yelled.

It was a liberating moment.

I knew were being loud and annoying. It was just a party and a parade. But it was also more than that.

“When I booked my first flight to Korea a few years ago, I had this exact moment,” D’arc said. “It was like freedom. So I can understand why you’re like this. It’s a safe space for you.”

I made changes to my reservation in Jeonju on the spot. No hesitation or thinking about it. The pride party on Thursday night would be worth losing a day in Jeonju. I’d return for one night to my favorite hostel in Seoul, the one in Hongdae, and then meet Q at hers (it was dirtier and more expensive than mine).

Owner joined us at the table with alcohol. He’d dared me to drink plenty of soju mixed with green tea, to celebrate my departure. I chugged way more than he told me to.

I said goodbye to the French couple. There was a strong chance I’d see them again in Japan. D’arc as well.

The new Israeli guest really wanted to chat. I enjoyed her company, but I was tired, and the soju was starting to affect me. We exchanged details in the hope of having more time in Seoul.

Outside, it was still raining. Nonstop. Unable to camp, I slept in the now-empty male volunteer room on the roof floor.

I grew sad about parting with all those people. It felt like the end of a special period in my life.

Today’s highlights: dinner at my favorite Busan restaurant; running in the rain with Ray; reading her poetry; making plans for Pride with Q; and drinking green tea soju.