‘You get a strange feeling when you’re about to leave a place, I told him, like you’ll not only miss the people you love but you’ll miss the person you are now at this time and this place, because you’ll never be this way ever again.”
I read this quote some time ago and tossed it to the back of my mind. Only now, as my time here in South Korea is drawing to an end, has its real meaning become apparent.
Before I arrived in Korea, almost four years ago, my knowledge of one of Asia’s most affluent nations was limited to Seoul and Gangnam Style.
After two years in Australia I was no stranger to living in a foreign place, but Korea was dramatically different. The promise of secure employment and a decent wage as a teacher after a short stint at home in Ireland was enough to convince me.
The metropolis of Daegu, where I live, is considered one of the most conservative cities in Korea. The culture shock, as I had anticipated, was intense. I was dazzled by the blinding neon signs, the vast crowds scurrying in organised chaos and the constant reminders that I was an outsider here.
I got some good advice soon after moving here: live where you are living. Welcome change and get over your xenophobia. I learned Hangeul (the Korean alphabet), attempted some martial arts, knocked back soju – a spirit made from rice – and stuffed myself with kimchi, the national dish of spicy pickled cabbage.
Irish of Asia
I learned to enjoy the comical sides of Korea, too. At some schools the parents choose English names for their children to use during role play. It’s not often you get the chance to teach kids who have been “christened” Fried Chicken, Angry Bird or Iron Man. I currently have the entire cast of the Disney film Frozen in my classroom.
Despite the obvious cultural gaps between here and Ireland, there are also some striking resemblances. Koreans are often called the Irish of Asia, and although this has most to do with their fondness for drink, there are other similarities.
The country’s history has echoes of Ireland’s, as Koreans were seen for too long as inferior to their powerful neighbours. They too have been segregated by civil war.
They share the same kind of pride in their country as we Irish do, and are perhaps even more friendly and welcoming. My landlady regularly leaves fruit at my doorstep, for no other reason other than she thinks of me.
Every other Sunday the larger supermarkets close, to boost business for the traditional markets. The latter gesture is an example of Korea’s social consciousness, which is especially admirable in a society so consumed with modernity, innovation and the latest technological development.
With just six weeks left here I have mixed emotions. Preparing to become an expatriate is one thing; doing the reverse is quite another. In some ways it feels as though time has stood still since I arrived. It was difficult to know when, exactly, it was time to move on.
But I always knew I would eventually go home. So I want to do it now, before I’ll have been away too long and Ireland, not Korea, becomes a memory. It seems as if everyone I know is getting hitched, having babies and building houses, and all I have is some good memories. I have yet to plant any real roots anywhere.
We emigrants are often greeted with apathy about our lives abroad. This is understandable, as if it can be difficult for people who have never left to comprehend what emigration entails.
Really, I have been leading a double life. I have my Irish life and my Korean life. I have two sets of friends: the friends I have met along the way and others who have always known me. How lucky I am.
Going back to Ireland is daunting. I will be starting from scratch again, and that is terrifying as well as incredibly exciting.
This article appears in Weekend Review today.
