- a sizzling summer in America ⛱
★ ★ ★
Just somewhere super ᯓ ✈︎ ⋆ ☁︎ far
I couldn’t fall asleep right before leaving, so I ended up filming something on a sudden burst of feeling—looking back, it’s pretty funny, honestly.
It literally is super far away—physically, and somehow emotionally too. For reasons I still can’t quite explain, America always felt like a place with a strange kind of distance. I never once imagined that I’d be going there anytime soon…
I had actually applied to a school in New Zealand—the place I’d dreamed of visiting—pouring everything I knew about the country into my application with a fluttering heart. But because of some changes on the school’s side, the plan suddenly shifted, and just like that, everything was rerouted to the United States.
Looking back, though, I think being able to see this country up close—whether in its better moments or its worse ones—was something I’m grateful for.
After sneaking off to Shanghai at twenty, this was my second solo trip—and my very first long-haul flight. The experience was basically: doze off, wake up, eat whatever they handed me… drift back to sleep, wake up, eat again… repeat three or four times, and suddenly the flight was over.
The immigration checkpoint I’d been so nervous about? Cleared without a hitch ☑️. Got on the airport train, made it safely into the city ☑️. But then I walked up to someone to ask for subway directions but—
umm? They stared at me like I was some kind of insect, for a few seconds, then just turned and walked away. That was my first attempt at speaking to a stranger here, and at the same time, my first face-to-face brush with racism. Haha. Oddly enough, it didn’t leave me angry or wounded. It was more like—“So this is what it feels like…”—as if something had smacked me in the head and kept going.
I shrugged it off, acted like nothing had happened, and wandered on in whatever direction seemed right.
I somehow found the subway, rode into the city, and got off—only to discover that every exit was stairs. So there I was, swearing under my breath as I dragged my suitcase up step after step. By the time I finally stood on the streets of New York for the first time, the excitement I’d carried here had already drained away, leaving me with a scowl. And that’s when a man on a bike rode past and called out:
“Hey! Welcome to New York! You’re gonna be fine!”
With that, all the little bits of negativity I’d been holding onto began to wash away, and from that moment on, I honestly felt like I could start fresh and try again. It really is true—sometimes all it takes is a single kind word.
★ ★ ★
New York
The thrill of being so far from home would suddenly hit me—equal parts excitement, fear, and novelty—only for me to turn smug after a short walk with a map in hand, thinking, “Well, people live the same everywhere, don’t they?” I’d known in theory, but actually being dropped into the chaos and grime of this city—both its positives and negatives—left me unsure of what exactly I was supposed to be seeing or feeling.
One thing that made me laugh at myself was how my feet kept drifting toward Koreatown without me realizing it, haha. Before coming, I’d sworn: This is it. For a whole month I won’t even think about Korean food, and I’ll barely see any Koreans. But once I was alone in a completely unfamiliar environment, instinct pulled me toward even the smallest traces of familiarity.
Though the wail of sirens often broke the night, exhaustion piled up enough that I still slept soundly. And the next morning, I crossed into Brooklyn.
…And I fell in love at first sight.
It was just one bridge away from Manhattan, but the impression was completely different. Maybe because it was a weekday, it felt so much cleaner and calmer. Thirsty, I wandered in circles looking for something to drink, which only gave me more chances to admire the neighborhood’s charm. When I finally stepped into Brooklyn Bridge Park, the sight of the bridge, the river, and the skyline stretching before me was something I never want to forget.
But what truly made me feel like I’d fallen in love was crossing the bridge itself ♫—with the perfect weather, an impossibly painted sky, and my favorite songs in my ears, I walked back from Brooklyn into Manhattan. And with each step, I felt myself forming a new impression of New York, one very different from the day before.
This city reminded me of something I already knew but somehow felt more clearly here: there are so many different kinds of lives in the world, each carrying struggles we don’t see, yet all managing to live side by side. That simple fact, felt on my skin this time, was oddly comforting to someone who often feels uneasy just being.
I also remembered a phrase I once heard and quietly kept in my mind:
“Because you are nothing, you can become anything.”
Amid the chaos, the mess, and the sheer variety of it all, I realized maybe I wasn’t as important as I thought—certainly not important enough to tremble with so much anxiety. And instead of feeling powerless, that thought actually encouraged me. If I wasn’t that important, then maybe life could feel lighter, even more enjoyable. If I was nothing, then I could really become anything. And in this city, it felt like whatever I became would somehow be accepted. That’s the strange, romantic sense New York gave me.
★
On the morning I was set to leave New York for the countryside, I wondered how I might ease the regret of parting. Then I came up with something spontaneous, something that fit the spirit of this city perfectly:
Walk straight ahead, as far as my feet would take me, and then just come back!
Because New York’s streets are laid out in neat blocks, I could walk for a long while, turn back whenever it felt right, and end up exactly where I’d started—no need to remember the way, no risk of getting lost.
So at some point, when instinct told me I’d gone far enough, I simply turned around.
Like in any big city, it was a walk full of things to take in: people rushing off somewhere even in the early morning, outfits that hinted at their professions, and a stream of small details that kept my eyes and mind busy until the very end.
★ ★ ★
Newark, Delaware
The town where I would spend the next month was small, lined with houses that to Korean eyes looked like oversized, beautiful toys. If I went out early enough in the morning, I could even greet deer along the way.
What struck me most was how strangers on the street smiled and said hello, and how drivers—even from a distance, and sometimes even at a red light—would stop to let pedestrians cross. To me, it felt overly polite but deeply appreciated.
★
That day I finally unpacked my things and met several other students, but I was surprised to realize I wasn’t enjoying myself as much as I expected.
“Wait… what’s going on? I thought I loved being away anywhere. I thought I was the kind of girl who could quickly adapt and build a sense of belonging wherever I went… So why does this sudden emptiness hit me now? Why do I find myself thinking about going home, and why can’t I accept that?”
It was a feeling I hadn’t anticipated.
So I decided to lift myself up by taking in the new surroundings more carefully.
After a few walks, the streets started to feel familiar, and soon I was heading out again with my headphones—haha. I realized something: wherever I go, pulling out my headphones is like a personal signal of adaptation. At first, I’m too busy with maps, directions, and scanning my surroundings to even remember that I’m someone who can’t walk without music. But once I’ve figured out the area and I feel settled, I suddenly go, “Oh right, my old friend 🎧!” and it feels like a reunion—time to flood myself with songs and walk until I’m exhausted.
Still, I know it’s something I should fix. I should be able to listen to the sounds of nature and the people around me too. Remember how it was different when you were a kid. Imagine what it’s like from your ears’ perspective. Don’t they deserve some consideration? It can’t always be just about what you want, right?
★
One day I went to a nearby, slightly larger town—wandered past grand houses and visited the Delaware Art Museum. There I learned a story that stayed with me:
“If your work is rejected from a competition? Then host your own exhibition!”
⬆️ These were the painters who, because they depicted not the bright and elegant but the dark, everyday realities of ordinary people, were excluded from the mainstream and pushed aside. So they held their own protest show.
It was a success, earning nearly $4,000 at the time. From then on they were known as ‘The Eight’. Although they never exhibited together again, their act gave courage to other artists to keep painting what they believed in and to organize independent shows of their own.
What struck me most here was the reminder that, across eras, there have always been people who deliberately, stubbornly chose to look at the overlooked, to speak words that seemed destined not to be heard, and to keep thinking even when it was tiring or lonely. It made me reflect—about humanity, about myself, and about the future.
Because the truth is, I don’t yet have the courage to do that myself. And yet, even if some of their ideas are different from mine, I know I’ve grown up benefiting from the things those people challenged, created, or changed. Things that were never guaranteed, but that I’ve been able to take for granted.
-ˋˏ✄┈ to be continued ˎˊ˗ .ᐟ