Notes from Korea

 It literally means “eye measure,” but really it’s about having social awareness - the subtle art of reading the room, listening between the lines, and sensing how others feel. It’s been around since the 17th century (originally written as 眼勢, meaning “eye power”), and it shapes almost every social interaction in Korea. If I think in Western terms, nunchi is a lot like emotional intelligence, but it runs deeper - it’s less about expressing emotion and more about perceiving it, especially within hierarchy. In a high-context culture like Korea, communication depends heavily on what’s unsaid . People often express things indirectly to maintain harmony and protect everyone’s kibun — a person’s mood, dignity, and emotional balance. Having good nunchi means you can pick up on these unspoken cues — tone, silence, body language, even who speaks first. It’s how you keep relationships smooth and respectful. Someone who has nunchi (눈치 있다 or 눈치 빠르다) can read a situation quickly and res...

In Korean culture, social bonds are often strengthened through a concept called 정 (jeong) , which captures emotional attachment, affection, and loyalty within a group. Unlike casual friendship, jeong represents a deep, enduring connection that develops through shared experiences and mutual care. One of the most visible expressions of jeong is through shared activities . Eating together, sharing meals, and drinking together are not just social habits they are rituals of bonding that build trust and emotional closeness. People also strengthen these connections by going out of their way to help friends, classmates, or colleagues, creating a sense of mutual support that reinforces group loyalty. Jeong is closely linked to other Korean cultural values like 우리 (woori) , the sense of collective belonging, and 체면 (chaemyŏn) , the awareness of social dignity. These bonds thrive in groups where harmony and respect are maintained, making jeong a subtle but powerful force in classrooms, work...

In Korean culture, two core concepts  우리 (woori) and 체면 (chaemyŏn)  shape how people see themselves and relate to others. Woori , meaning “we” or “our,” conveys a deep sense of collective belonging. It is used even for personal things, such as 우리 엄마 (“our mom”) or 우리 집 (“our house”), reflecting how identity is woven into the community. Rather than emphasizing the individual, woori centers the group, where harmony and shared responsibility are valued more than personal independence. Non-ethnic Koreans or outsiders are often not automatically included in woori , highlighting the importance of in- and out-group dynamics. Woori also encourages people to go out of their way to help friends or close associates, and it can create subtle forms of favoritism within groups. Chaemyŏn , often translated as “face” or “dignity,” refers to the social honor and respect one maintains in the eyes of others. Preserving chaemyŏn involves avoiding public embarrassment, showing modesty, and a...

I currently don’t really like Korea, and I think, to some extent, it has to do with my expectations before I arrived. I expected to make Korean friends somewhat easily and to connect with this part of my heritage, but I feel very out of place here. This has made me realize that shared DNA doesn’t mean shared culture, language, or ways of behaving. I also expected the culture to be welcoming to foreigners, which, to me, it isn’t really. It’s welcoming to tourists, but only to an extent they often seem to be treated more as cash cows than as people. In most countries I’ve visited, I’m used to being greeted, whereas here I feel very isolated, like an invisible person. Beneath my “I don’t like Korea” feeling, I realize that I don’t like feeling invisible or disconnected from others. I think this experience has amplified some loneliness I might have already been feeling in the States, and it has made me feel as though there aren’t many countries that would be truly welcoming to foreigners. ...

Sometimes I catch myself thinking, “I feel so broke.” Rent is expensive, transcations pile up, etc. In the U.S., this seems normal. We all feel stretched thin, constantly comparing ourselves to people who seem to have it all together like influencers or Ivy League students. And yet, when I step back, I realize how skewed that perspective really is. Compared to most of the world, my life is extremely privileged. I have access to safety, education, mobility, and opportunities in terms of my career that millions maybe billions will never experience. My country is the most economically powerful, my basic needs are met, and my future is full of options. It’s strange to hold both feelings at once: the day-to-day stress of feeling “broke” relatively and the broader awareness of just how lucky I am. I’m learning to sit with that tension, to acknowledge both and to let it guide me toward gratitude and conscious choices without guilt consuming the joy of living. In Florida, 35.8% of adults hol...

In my Korean class at Sogang KLEC (Level 2), there are students from China, Japan, Thailand, France, Germany, and even someone from Puerto Rico. Out of all the students, I get along best with the person from Puerto Rico, the people from France, and the Thai students. The students from Japan are nice as well, though. My first month here was rough. I was super reserved and honestly not putting in as much effort as I should have to study Korean. I was in over my head, and with ADHD and anxiety, I wasn’t making the time to review my flashcards. I’m probably one of the weaker students in the class, especially because many of the other students have already been in Korea for 3–6 months, giving them an edge in natural exposure to the language. Transitioning from my English bubble into full Korean mode was a huge shock, even after the intensive summer workshop I did. I remember not wanting to come on this trip last month, and I’m still battling feelings of homesickness and being out of place...