I was waiting until the sentimental feelings would come. They never did.
For almost 6 months now, I’ve known that it would be the end of my time in Korea. Five years on the dot I spent here.
I came to Korea in 2018 as a chaotic, aimless child, and grew into a slightly less chaotic, slightly more aimed adult. I became a moving part of a bustling city as I had always dreamed of as a kid. I fell in love and fell out of love and fell back in love while I was here.
And almost abruptly, I was leaving. Leaving to start a new chapter of my life with my girlfriend in Australia.
But no feelings came. Just a bit of the stress of moving, and the general annoyance of unaware sidewalk bystanders.
We had several farewell parties with friends, packed a metric shit ton of stuff into boxes, and I sat in the empty apartment I had lived in for nearly five years.
Still not much. Flipped through social media. Read a book.
Then my last night came. Jihyun (my girlfriend) was busy shopping for last-minute things and spending time with her sister, so I was alone to spend my final hours.
I tossed stuff into trash bags and watched the Lakers lose another brutally comedic game to the Celtics. I nursed another 30-year-old hangover.
Around 6, I stepped outside into the chilly air to take a walk and get some work done at my favorite cafe where I served so many clients from. Where I developed an entirely new career seemingly out of the air.
The sun was setting just behind the buildings, leaving a pink tinge on the blue sky. I plugged in my AirPods and a song that got me through rough times flipped on by chance.
And it finally hit me like a ton of bricks.
My home. My city. I was leaving this beautiful country full of beautiful people that housed some of the most significant moments of my life.
I felt like someone had suddenly put their entire hand around my heart and started squeezing like a stress ball.
How do you say goodbye? How do you say goodbye to a city that literally raised you, groomed you, taught you some of the hardest lessons of life?
Concrete that tears were spilled on. Concrete that held me as I rolled around gasping for air from laughing. Concrete that transported an incoherent drunk to the safety of his bed at 5 in the morning.
This concrete.
I wouldn’t be the man I am today without this concrete. My life would be significantly different without this concrete and the others that I shared this concrete with.
I took this concrete for granted.
Like clockwork…
I have these big life changes, and I feel a burning in my head and eyes and chest. I retreat to my keyboard to write something deep that I’m feeling that makes others nod their heads in agreement.
But it’s always the same. I say that I won’t take it for granted again.
And like clockwork…
I take it for granted again.
I guess it’s just inevitable. Even if you focus every cell in your body on appreciating something, your family, your car, the roof over your head — something slips through the cracks.
“Ah,” you say.
“Ah. I forgot about that.”
The daily cycle of working yourself to the bone to create a life for yourself and your loved ones. The repetition of routines that lead you to the same coffee pot, the same route to work, the same outlet of stress, the same too-strong cocktail, the same pillow we rest our weary heads on.
Our appreciation muscles get weak.
Even living in a completely foreign country on the other side of the world — you’d think it might happen less to me. But it’s no different. My muscles grew weak as well.
Here I am again, writing a piece to express something that can be properly summed up with a single word:
damn.
I look at this city that built me, and all I can say is,
damn.
We had our problems. Our relationship wasn’t always the best.
But I love you Korea.
Sorry I didn’t appreciate you as I should have until the last few hours I was here.
I’ll never forget the way this concrete felt on the soles of my feet.
Thank you.