I stepped on Korean soil technically the nice, waxed floors of Incheon airport for the first time in eight years. After having gone to Australia at the age of seven with my mum and my brother, here I stood, eight huge years later, back on home soil. Or was this truly home? After all, I had lived more than half my life in a foreign country. Had Korea become a foreign country to me? Was I returning to Korea or was I visiting it? Before I could savour this poetic moment however, a familiar face came into view. Wow, you were cute when you went, now you are uglier than ever! my uncle joked well I hoped he was joking and gave me and my brother a customary headlock. My aunt and mum decided to play the game of who can blurt out the most amount of gossip in the shortest amount of time during the car ride back home and I could see that nothing had changed. But as we got closer and closer to where my grandparents lived, I gradually became more and more fascinated.
The traffic was hectic even though it was well past midnight, and the ridiculous abundance of neon lights gave an illusion of an alien city. Stop acting like a rube and unglue your face from the window, my uncle said, Im telling you, this is what a rustic country does to kids. Until then, I have never thought of Australia as rustic.