Creative Writing: Conclusion – 3 Years in 18 Minutes

By Francesca Duong

The Gangneung water was radiating blue with leftover heat from the summer, and people were enjoying stamping footprints in the sand before winter took over the country. From the fifth floor of a café, I could see a family resting on the beach and groups of students taking photos together. However, between the sips of the café’s signature coffee, my gaze kept drifting down to the bottom right corner of my view.

There it stood. A bright, yellow tent with “보트 타는 것” plastered in large, handwritten font – A place to ride boats. Rows of red chairs were neatly aligned in front of the tent, filled with waiting passengers decorated with orange life jackets.

The bittersweet coffee clung onto its last life in the cup as I watched the boat return from its trip. New passengers sprang out of their chairs eager to taste the experience of exploring the waves. The boat departed at incredible speed, leaving behind a trail of water that shot high into the air and fell back into its home. It sped out of sight faster than the way my time in Korea had vanished.

After exiting the café, I found myself being pushed by the ocean breeze salted with curiosity towards the yellow tent. It was strange, this magnetic pull. While I had come to Gangneung three years before, I did not recall seeing this structure.

Yet, the version of myself three years ago would have never dared. The version of myself three years ago was someone who had barely dipped her toes into Korea. The version of myself three years ago was someone who stayed safely within the lines and held on too tightly to predictability.

And yet, time can redraw a person so thoroughly that even their past self feels like a rumor. Like a before-and-after picture, I can only grasp at the memories of what the “before” used to be.

* * * * *

I did not know how I was supposed to start the article that punctuated the sudden conclusion of my time in South Korea. There were so many possibilities I could talk about, but choosing one to etch into ink seemed like an impossible task. How can someone boil three years into one piece? How can someone capture the joys, the hardships, and the growth that one experiences in just two pages?

There was a phrase that my friends and I loathed hearing when we first arrived in 2023: “It depends on the person.”

This statement, while spoken with good intentions, was recycled endlessly. As people who had just stepped foot into the country, we wanted to grip tightly onto tidbits of information that could help provide a semblance of predictability. Yet, every time we heard those five words, it felt like a betrayal.

It took me three years to understand the nuance to those words.

Each person arrives in Korea with a different background. Each person comes with their own skills, experience, and baggage. There is no cookie-cutter path that can be predicted from how living in a foreign country can change us. Perhaps the greatest lesson I have taken from these years is how to live with uncertainty. There is a quiet charm in surrendering to the ride.

* * * * *

I strongly believe in honesty. And honestly, one or two tears trickled down my face, glamorously reflecting the sunlight as I gripped onto the rails of the boat. We moved at the mercy of the calm waters. As it tipped a few centimeters to the right, my heart lunged a few meters in the same direction as well.

However, in this overimaginative panic, a steady excitement was building. As someone who trembled at the sight of a roller coaster growing up, the sudden courage came with a surge of pride. The driver cranked the engine, causing our bodies to slam forward. My hands were wrapped around the cold metal bar, and my forearms burned from the strength poured into my grip.

It felt dangerous. And it felt free.

As we drove farther and farther away from the shore, I loosened my clenched grip and twisted my face over my shoulder. The dock and yellow tent grew smaller and smaller as it faded into the haze of water kicked up by the motor. My heart was buzzing with adrenaline as we hopped over waves and zoomed deep into the ocean.

After countless twists and turns, the boat’s speed slowed and the sounds of reality started to overpower the sounds of the motor. It was now the end of the journey. As we returned back to the calm shores, the man next to me glanced at the clock on his phone and made a comment. We had been on the boat ride for a full eighteen minutes.

Oh…

Eighteen minutes. Three years. It seems like time has slipped past me again.

Cover Photo: Moments after returning from the trip, sitting in the boat, staring back at the calm shore and yellow tent. (Francesca Duong)