There is something strangely beautiful about being somewhere that should feel familiar but doesn’t.
I’ve been spending time in Korea recently, walking through streets that I had heard about for years but never truly knew for myself. Before arriving, Korea existed mostly through stories told by family members, old photographs, and memories that felt increasingly distant with time. Being here now feels less like returning to a place and more like meeting it for the first time.
What surprises me most is how quickly the extraordinary becomes ordinary. The crowded subway stations, the convenience stores glowing late into the night, the quiet neighborhoods tucked between busy roads—these are not the moments that appear in travel brochures, yet they are the moments that stay with me. They reveal what a place feels like when nobody is trying to impress you.
Perhaps that is why I enjoy carrying a camera. It encourages me to slow down long enough to notice the details that would otherwise disappear into the background. A place is rarely remembered because of a landmark alone. More often, it is remembered because of a feeling, a small moment, or an ordinary scene that somehow became meaningful.
And lately, Korea has been giving me plenty of those moments.
