Before I moved to South Korea, almost everyone had something negative to say about being Black abroad, especially in Asia. I heard the horror stories, the warnings, the “be carefuls”, and the “I don’t know if I would go if I were you”. But something in me still wanted to see it for myself. I was in my early 20s, ready for a change, and honestly tired of feeling out of place and unhappy in my own country. So, I packed my life into three suitcases (in hindsight, I should’ve packed lighter!) and flew across the world, hoping for the best. Little did I know, South Korea would give me the best experience of my life, one I now miss every single day. My very first morning in Korea, I woke up before the sun. Jet lag had my sleep schedule doing backflips, but the excitement of being somewhere new kept me energized. My roommate, Zoyaa, and I decided to take a walk around the neighborhood we would call home for the next month, Unseo. The streets were quiet, clean, and calm in a way that felt unfamiliar but comforting. Eventually our stomachs started yelling at us to find food. We wandered around searching for a breakfast spot, but nothing opened until around 9 or 10AM. Just when we were about to give up, a man stepped out of a small restaurant with a giant picture of a pig on the sign. In English, he called out to us and suggested we come inside. The problem? Neither of us eats pork. We awkwardly declined and kept walking, pretending we’d magically stumble upon another place, but we didn’t. So there we were, two hungry foreigners walking back with our heads held low, silently admitting defeat. When we returned, he welcomed us without hesitation. He helped us look through the menu and assured us he could make bibimbap, basically the only non-pork thing available. That’s how I met Mr. Choi. Or, as he later asked us to call him, Jay. His restaurant, Bu Tu Mak, became our little home away from home. Each visit felt like being fed by Korean family. Jay would put on English music or BTS for us, hover to make sure we liked our food, and clown me constantly because I couldn't eat tofu. Every time he teased me, though, he would quietly make sure the tofu never ended up in my soup again. One afternoon, I ate there alone, and that’s when our friendship really began. He sat with me for a long while, telling me his story, how he learned English way back in 1996, how he used to live in Houston, and how he swore he spoke English better when he was drunk because it “made his brain soft.” I couldn’t stop laughing. He gave me real advice, too. Advice about teaching in Korea, the cities that were best for foreigners, and how he would act as my “Korean representative” if I ever needed help. The way he said it was funny, but the sincerity behind it touched me. Before I left that day, he even turned on a Florida news channel because he knew a hurricane was headed to where I lived back home. It was such a small gesture, but it meant everything. Our last visit to Bu Tu Mak was emotional. When I told him it was our final meal there, he threw his hands up dramatically and said, “Oh no! Why would you do this to me, just when we became friends?” We laughed, but there was a heaviness behind it. Before I left, he asked for my number so we could stay in touch. I knew he wasn’t just saying that, he meant it. This is one of many heartwarming stories from my time in South Korea, but the first that made Korea feel like home. Living in South Korea taught me something I could have never learned from online stories or other people’s warnings. I learned that not every Korean person is “anti-foreigner,” cold, or distant. I learned that sometimes the people you least expect, people you’ve known for only a short period, can make you feel seen, protected, and encouraged in ways that stay with you. Jay told me he believed I’d make a great teacher. He said he could tell I communicate well and that I would care for the children I work with. That meant so much more than he probably realized. Something I held close to my heart while living in Korea. On my very first morning, in a completely different country, Jay stepped out of his restaurant and welcomed me, not just as a customer, but as a person. He became my first Korean friend, and even now, back in the U.S., I think about him and Korea every day. I miss it more than I can explain. And I know that if I return, Bu Tu Mak will be the first place I go.
