I have been interested in Korean culture since I was in third grade, but I never imagined I would actually live in Seoul, even for a month. When I joined this study abroad program, I was the only UW Bothell student in a UW Seattle cohort. It felt like I was crossing more than one border between two campuses, two cultures, and the version of myself who played life safely. I had never traveled internationally alone before, but for the first time, I wanted to see what would happen if I didn’t hold myself back. Visiting places like Yonsei University that I always see in K-dramas with my Korean friends.
The first days felt like stepping into a city that was always moving. I remember standing inside Jamsil Station, holding my bags, refreshing Naver Maps repeatedly and hoping I wouldn’t exit on the wrong side of the street. I learned fast that Google Maps is basically decorative in Korea, KakaoTalk is a survival tool, and choosing the wrong subway exit number adds 20 minutes to your life unexpectedly. But those little challenges became part of the everyday rhythm, and soon I stopped feeling like a visitor and more like someone who belonged there.
One of my favorite memories happened after a Han River drone show, where the sky lit up with animations over the water. Our group sat on mats near the riverbanks everyone eating instant ramen (vegetarian life) while I sipped peach iced tea and we talked about school, childhood, and life in ways that felt honest and unforced. Growing up, I didn’t always have spaces where I fit naturally, and even in college I often moved through my days alone. That night by the river felt warm, familiar, and a reminder that connection can arrive quietly. Not everything was peaceful Seoul has its comedy arcs too. In Hongdae, I somehow lost my credit card while shopping. I was just trying to buy photocard sleeves, and suddenly, the card vanished. To make it more dramatic, I had an early train to Busan the next morning. So there I was walking back and forth through Hongdae, bags in hand, trying to retrace my steps the whole night and also accepting that maybe the city had claimed my card forever. Somehow, I still made it to the train tired but laughing. Travel requires patience, problem-solving, and sometimes just letting the plot twist be the plot twist.
One of the moments that changed me most happened at Gyeongbokgung Palace. I had rented a hanbok, and I was walking through the courtyard alone, surrounded by groups taking pictures together. A part of me felt the sting of being by myself in such a beautiful place. But I gathered a bit of courage and asked a group of tourists from Thailand if they could take a photo for me. Not only did they take the photos they started talking with me, jokingly calling me their “daughter” and teaching me a few Thai words. What began as a moment of loneliness ended as a moment of connection. I learned that being alone doesn’t mean you have to feel alone.
Busan became another chapter entirely. Our place was right in front of Haeundae Beach, and I would walk along the shoreline at night with headphones in, sandals in one hand, stepping into the water as waves came in. The city lights reflected off the ocean, the air was warm, and for the first time I felt like the main character not because of anything dramatic, but because I felt present in my own life.
As a vegetarian, finding food in Korea became its own adventure. Typing “vegetarian” into Naver Maps often led me to vegan Buddhist restaurants hidden down small alleyways or cafés I never would have discovered on my own. One of my favorite finds was a Bali-inspired café in Hannam, where I finally tried shakshuka a dish I’d been curious about for months. That meal felt like a small victory, and each food search led me into neighborhoods I would have otherwise missed.
Talking with Korean students also changed how I think about education. Many of them took gap years, studied abroad, or explored different interests before settling on a path. Unlike in the U.S., where graduating “on time” is treated like a fixed timeline, learning in Korea felt flexible, layered, and personal. Hearing that shifted how I view my own future. I no longer feel pressured to rush everything. Growth doesn’t have to be fast to be meaningful.
Studying abroad didn’t turn me into someone new it helped me meet parts of myself I hadn’t given space to before. I didn’t arrive confident; I became confident through navigating unfamiliar streets, asking strangers for help, getting lost, learning small routines in a new city, and allowing myself to try. If you’re thinking about studying abroad and feel unsure, I hope you allow yourself to go anyway. You don’t have to feel ready. You learn as you move. You grow because you go. At nineteen, I made one of my childhood dreams real. Now I know I can make the rest real too.
