I thought my first time in Korea would be a kind of homecoming. Part of a myth I’d concocted where the trace metals in my blood would recognize its origins in the soil. I expected to experience a fundamental kinship. Thought people would teach me phrases and laugh at my pronunciation, some Crayola-rendered egocentric fantasy I must have cooked up as a kid. But this place is just a city. I’m about as special here as any wackjob rolling up to a New Yorker on the subway expecting an enthusiastic reception.
