…and this is me in almost the same spot, in 2008…

…and here I am again, on my last trip in 2011:

Over the course of seven years, this part of the palace hasn’t changed. For the most part, my physical appearance hasn’t changed. Yet so much has changed with me and my relationship with Korea during that time.

During these seven years, my mother died, both of my siblings got married, and my father remarried. I worked at four different jobs and was about to start a fifth during the last trip. I lived at five different addresses in Korea, Alabama, and New York.

My life has changed in dramatic and sweeping ways, and yet the palace and I still look the same.

At the time of the first picture (2004), I struggled mightily with both the Korean language and my identity as a Korean. I had met dozens of relatives for the first time and could not reconcile the closeness of blood relations with the profound sense of alienation I felt from them due to language and culture gaps. At the time of my second picture (2008), I struggled less with the language and basic conversation with relatives, but still couldn’t fit myself into the larger context of The Korean People as I had just come off a rough year and a half working in a Korean-American community organization where I just did not fit in.

By the time of the last picture (2011), I had mostly come to terms with the fact that I would never feel like I truly belonged in any context that could be called “Korean,” be it in Korea or in the United States. Korea, Korean culture, and my relatives in Korea are only parts of my identity; however, they do not define my identity.

My sense of identity and comfort with it have grown tremendously, and yet the palace and I still look the same.

I find it oddly fitting that, in spite of all this change, and in spite of my feelings of Korea as a foreign land, this place, Gyeongbokgung Palace, acts as something of an anchor. It may be weird, and I may not be totally comfortable with it, but it’s not likely to go anywhere anytime soon. It’s been around for hundreds of years, was there on my last three trips, and will be there for my next three trips.

More to the point, though, it’s a reminder of the permanence of some things that persist in spite of incredible amounts of change in our lives. Fundamentally, I’m the same person I was in 2004 that I was in 2008 that I am in 2011. That person was shaped by forces hundreds if not thousands of years in the making. No amount of job changes or Korean language classes can change that.

The next time I return to Seoul, I hope to return to this spot and take another picture similar to these three. I hope I can use that as another occasion to take stock of my life: what’s changed and what hasn’t changed. I can only hope that I can say the same thing then that I can now: that with each additional picture, I found myself in a better place in my life than in the previous picture.

And this is also Japan, in late April:

This may be hitting the point a little over the head, but it’s worth making: the earthquake, tsunami, and accompanying nuclear crisis are all really big deals and do of course amount to a national crisis. But Japan is a big country, and hundreds of miles from the disaster zone, in places like Fukuoka, day-to-day life was and remains largely unaffected.

This is really hard for a lot of people to understand. While this is more understandable for Americans or others without a good working knowledge of the East Asia region, it’s less understandable for Koreans. Friends and family expressed both general concern about the ongoing situation in Japan and specific concern for my safety. One friend living in Seoul was told not to go out in the rain out of fear of radiation. Many relatives thought it was a bad idea for me to go to Japan, in spite of my insisting that it was perfectly safe, and in spite of any expression of concern from my dad, who is a nuclear engineer and probably knows a thing or two about the dangers of radiation.

Part of me wants to write this off as a “Korean thing.” Rumor and misinformation seems to hold special sway in that country (see also the “fan death” urban legend). But this sort of misreading, irrational fear. and distrust of Japanese official reports are hardly limited to the residents of South Korea. People worldwide have reacted similarly. Nevertheless, any rational investigation of the facts should lead anyone to the logical conclusion that there are large swaths of Japan that are perfectly safe to visit, and it is still disappointing that so many people are casting blanket assumptions on Japan because of the nuclear crisis. This hurts tourism, which hurts the Japanese economy.

So, in an effort to do my part to help with the Japanese recovery, I’d like to combat this misinformation with what little influence I wield on the internet.

Let me repeat, there are large swaths of Japan that are perfectly safe to visit. Do your research if you were planning on visiting but were having second thoughts. The Japanese economy needs all the help it can get through tourism, which has been hit badly in recent months.

It’s a nice place. You should check it out.

It was a joyous, raucous occasion, one that made me long for a big, close-knit family structure back in the states, where I live a life largely independent of any family in New York. That of course isn’t possible, so the best that I can do is make the most out of rare opportunities like these. It’s good motivation to keep my Korean language skills in shape and even improve them. Hopefully I’ll start to make it a habit of coming out every few years to see them and build on these relationships. And hopefully they–or more likely, their kids–will make some visits to the US.

One of my relatives put it best: “blood is thicker than water.” In this case, even thicker than the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean.

These women are dancing in a traffic circle for a candidate for some sort of elected office.

I think it’s pretty safe to say that troupes of middle aged women dancers are not commonly used in American political campaigns, but that apparently is not the case here.

Changwon is located all the way in the southern tip of Korea, approximately 300 kilometers from the country’s economic, political, and cultural capital, Seoul. For our 3 day trip there, we opted for the KTX high speed train. Traveling at up to 300 km/h and costing about $100 for a round trip ticket, it’s a fantastic way to get around and represents the best of Korean infrastructure. No traffic, no security checks, just buy a ticket and hop on.

As an added bonus, it’s a great way to see the beautiful Korean countryside. Between the crowded urban centers that define modern Korean life lie pastoral farmland and mountains.

As the countryside rolled by, I couldn’t help but think of the various obstacles to high speed rail in the US. NIMBY(Not In My Backyard)ism, conflicting jurisdictions, conservative politicians fearing a crypto-socialist conspiracy…the list goes on and on.

Meanwhile, as Congress debates over nickels and dimes and Americans choke on congested roads and airports, the KTX roars on.

Apparently, this is where you go to get colorful fabric for hanboks (traditional Korean robes, typically worn for ceremonial purposes):

Finally, after winding our way through seemingly endless fabric shops, we came across what can only be described as Korean street food heaven:

The smell of oil on batter and the sound of old men arguing after their 3 pm drinking sessions filled the air. Soon we found our little piece of the action and feasted on some spectacular bindaeduk (why didn’t I take a picture? Too busy eating, I suppose).

This is why I love cities: the often chaotic, sometimes messy, never orderly gathering of so many people in tight spaces creates an energy that you just don’t find anywhere without the density that cities create.

I’ll take this over a shopping mall food court any day. Even if it means dodging the occasional motorcycle (Yes, they drive motorcycles through the narrow aisles).

Don’t get me wrong, though. This combination cable car and elevator ride up the mountain and tower are totally worth it to go; it’s a hot tourist attraction for a good reason. Like Gyeongbokgung, no trip to Seoul is complete without it. It’s best to go on a clear day or night, but even on a cloudy morning, it’s still an impressive sight.

Pro tip: if you’re at the front of the line, you get first dibs on prime window space for the cable ride up. Perfect for taking videos like this:

Once you’re at the top, you have to cough up more cash for a ticket up the tower, but again, totally worth it:

But like most places in Korea, they could use some help with their English. Any idea what this cryptic phrase written on steps leading up to a window mean?

Once again, I found something new here. The grounds are expansive–not as expansive as those of Changdeokgung with its Secret Garden, but still large enough to get lost and not cover entirely in one visit. This beautiful pavilion was my major discovery this time around:

As an added bonus, they also do historical costume shows with some frequency to give foreign tourists a good taste of that old-timey Korean royal style. I saw a smaller version of the elaborate ceremony I stumbled upon 3 years ago (you can see pictures of it here). This time around, the sight was still impressive:

And as always, the stark contrast between Korea’s medieval past and ultramodern present was on full display here.

Beneath the skyscrapers and LCD billboards, the Joseon spirit lives on.

Changdeokgung is one of several royal palaces in Seoul; this one’s major claim to fame is its Secret Garden. It’s a huge natural space smack in the middle of Seoul, so big that you forget you’re in one of the largest cities in the world while enjoying the trees, flowers, and ponds that the Joseon monarchs built for their own enjoyment hundreds of years ago.

Simply spectacular: