I told Chat GPT to rewrite my Seoul post, in the style of my old Hyperwest blog/voice circa 2000-2010. And look at this beauty. Way better than my actual post right?!
We stayed above a subway station named after a bridge we didn’t know was famous. People kept taking photos on it. Once, a small crew set up lights in the middle of the day, like they were filming something no one had told us about. I liked that it stayed unnamed for most of our trip. I liked that the bridge just got to be a bridge.
The apartment was larger than we expected—two floors, rooftop access, more space than we knew what to do with. For two weeks it held us, gave our mornings shape. I spent the first few days trying to memorize the view from the windows, like that would help me understand the city better. It didn’t.
Seoul was quieter than I’d expected. Or maybe it was just us who were quiet. We’d go out for hours and come back sore, scattered, slightly too full. The streets moved fast but weren’t overwhelming. The subway made sense only after it didn’t. The brown line was empty, which made it feel like a secret.
I kept waiting for the city to announce itself—to hand over the version I’d imagined from years of music videos and overstudied aesthetics. But it never did. What it gave instead were fragments: A woman on the train holding a cake box with gold ribbon. A man alone at a cafe, typing with one hand, eating pasta with the other. A convenience store glowing like a portal at 3 a.m.
We were turned away from a K-pop club for being too old. “Only born after 1995,” the doorman said. I didn’t argue. It felt fair. Maybe even deserved. We walked back in silence, laughing, later.
There wasn’t as much K-pop as I thought there would be. Or maybe it was there, but not for me. The fantasy version of Seoul—loud, neon, choreographed—hovered somewhere just out of reach. The real one felt sturdier. People here weren’t performing anything. They were just living. That felt better somehow.
Somewhere near the river, we sat and watched couples take photos of each other. The air was crisp. The sky wide and pale. I didn’t say anything for a while. Just watched someone read a book on a blanket, feet bare, headphones in. It didn’t look remarkable. It looked like a life.
Next time I go back, I won’t expect anything. I’ll bring fewer plans. Maybe stay longer. Maybe just stay still.