Wandering Lights

Life in the Pacific Northwest

recent posts

about

  • From Seotaiji to Bangtan

    I have an unni (언니), older sister. Growing up, she was the cool girl that I looked up to. I listened to the music she listened to. I loved Seotaiji because she did. We obsessed over Seotaiji together for years.

    (image from IMDB)

    I discovered Jpop and Utada Hikaru because she was into it. She was the cool DJ on her Winamp Internet radio show. I listened to whatever she put on her computer speaker in the small apartment we shared as college students.

    After I left Korea as a 20-something, I finally started developing my own taste in music. I started loving old school jazz. John Coltrane and Bill Evans. Michel Petrucciani and Ahmad Jamal. My 2025 Spotify age was 82. Unni went down a completely different route. She enjoyed the newest Kpop music. Le Sserafim and New Jeans. And her most consistent bias in the past decade, BTS. Her 2025 Spotify age? 20.

    Life has not been the easiest for her. She runs her own business that comes with million risks and uncertainties. She raised her baby into a rebelling teenager graduating high school soon. She is the main caretaker of said teenager, her dad, and her grandparents all living in a tight condo together. Listening to her talk, I sometimes worry that she has nothing fun to look forward to. When I go back to Korea to visit, I pull her out of her home and ask her to stay with me. It doesn’t matter if it’s a nice hotel or a dingy room with just two beds. This is my way of gifting her a few days to be herself. Not someone’s mother, wife, or daughter-in-law. Well, she has to be my unni, but I don’t think she minds that occasional role too much.

    Over the years, she often talked about how Bangtan (방탄소년단, a.k.a. BTS) inspired her to keep going. Their lyrics comforted her. When her life closed in around her, BTS kept her sane. I could see it in her eyes when she talked about them. They let her breathe. They gave her joy. I was grateful. Every time they put out new music, she sent me links to their music videos, little YouTube shows, and their albums. Her boys were back. Give it a listen for her sake. It was cute. I’d listen to it for a bit. If it was upbeat (like Dynamite), I added it to my running playlist. But I never ‘got into’ it like I did before. I was 82-years old on Spotify after all.

    (image from Bighit Music)

    When BTS came back this year after their long, inevitable military service hiatus, I was happy for my sister. And then they announced their world tour including many cities in the States. I knew unni gave up on the idea of going to a live show. It seemed impossible to win the internet ticketing war. Resell tickets were illegal in Korea. And, she had too many responsibilities to prioritize over making a BTS live happen.

    Her birthday came around. I was writing her, my favorite summer girl, a card. I was due to be back in Seoul this fall. I tried to sound cheerful about the upcoming visit. But it felt too far. Her birthday was now. Dangling something that was still months away didn’t feel right. I knew what was going to make her happy now. Her ‘boys’ were back and they were touring. Nothing would make her happier than being able to see them live.

    Then I remembered. Back in 2008, unni got me a ticket to see Seotaiji live for the first time. I was visiting her and her new baby in Seoul. I was in grad school at the time, not entirely broke, but pretty close. She knew it was a rare overlap, my being in Korea and Seotaiji doing a tour. Unni couldn’t go because of her newborn, but she got me in. That was my only time seeing Seotaiji live. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was. Maybe this is how I could pay her back.

    I did a quick search. BTS had upcoming shows in LA. I could get tickets on reseller sites. There was a cheap direct flight from Incheon to LA. I could fly her out. I texted my brother-in-law.

    “Can you spare her for a few days? You give her a vacation. I’ll give her this concert. “

    As soon as he said yes, I put things in motion. I grabbed the tickets first. Then I booked the flight in her name. This was happening. Then I pulled the birthday card back out of the envelop and added. Let’s be happy now, not later. I love you.

    A week before the concert, I put the Arirang World Tour set list on repeat. I had no hope of learning all the lyrics, but at least I wanted to learn the songs. Surely, I was a clueless Muggle about to be surrounded by BTS Army, including my sister. I grew to love the melodies, lyrics, the beats over the course of that week. When I first listened to the sampling of Arirang in their song months back, I thought it was tacky. But now I was hummed along, anticipating the ‘I need the whole stadium to jump’ part that followed.

    We finally met in LA. The California sun was merciless on my wimpy Pacific Northwest skin. But everything was purple-tinted and unni was excited. That’s what mattered. We went to an In-N-Out near LAX to watch the planes fly overhead. We walked around the Venice Beach and Santa Monica Pier aimlessly. So much energy in the ocean. The pacific ocean touched both shores. Donghae of Korea, where we both grew up on. And the west coast of the States, where I now lived. Watching that ocean lapping on the sand, changing its color from turquoise to gold to gray was calming. We lived thousands of miles apart, but we shared this ocean. This was the water that closed the gap between us.

    First day of September, we joined the wave of excited ARMY at SoFi stadium. I did not know what to expect. After reading on Reddit that we had to get there many hours before the show to buy merch (we needed the light sticks!) and get in line, we got there around noon just to be safe. We wore the matching purple t-shirt unni got us from Seoul. It said Korea Army in the back. This shirt was indeed made for that branch of Korean military, but it was purple, it said Army, so it became our BTS concert uniform.

    I was worried that we were there either too early or too late, it was neither. Even though the concert wasn’t scheduled to begin for another 8-hours, the stadium grounds were in full festival mode. Many fans were already there, fully dressed up in their special concert outfits themed around Arirang (the album), Korean culture, the signature colors, and the songs in the new album. We busied ourselves reading the witty signs and t-shirts.

    Everyone was smiling and cheering at each other. People came up to us and shared free gifts, often containing keychains, candies, and confettis even though we had nothing to give in return. We sat under a tree shade and watched this happy hubbub, sucking on our freebie See’s candy lollipops. After hours of sitting under the tree, standing in lines, and chatting with other fans, we eventually settled in our seats at the stadium.

    And finally, the show…the show. At first, I was just happy to see my sister taking in the whole atmosphere. I was busy taking photos and videos of her singing along, waving her ARMY bomb. She was fully absorbed in the moment to bother with recording herself. It was my job to produce some proof that she was indeed here! And then, the beautiful voices and fantastic performances, filled with the boiling energy of all 7 members took my breath away, too. By the time they were singing the last song, Into the Sun, I too wanted to follow these 7 boys, walk into the sun and beyond surrounded by the golden lights of ARMY bombs beautifully dotting the whole stadium. I wanted that golden light to last forever.

    So here I am, again, filling my playlists with the music that my sister poured into me. From Seotaiji to now Bangtan, her impeccable taste still connecting us, influencing the beats I match my steps to.

    I’m hopeful that my Spotify age this year would be a little closer to my actual age.

  • What do you take photos of?

    What do you take photos of?

    I got this question a few times this month. I paused. I didn’t have a quick answer to that.

    I started photography in college with a Russian film camera, LOMO LC-A. What I enjoyed most was how holding a camera in my hand changed the way I noticed colors. Because my camera loved vivid colors drenched in light, I noticed those more. I loved capturing beautifully designed ‘things’ everywhere. Sometimes it was colorful pencils at a stationary store, and other times it was a building with steel beams drawing geometric shapes. I never thought of myself as a certain type of photographer. I was an omnivore then, and I still am. Here are some of my favorite photos over the years.

    Gusty wind on the mountain pushed snow around to make these lines.

    Larch hunting at North Cascades National Park.

    Bianca Lake, Washington.

    Wheat field in eastern Washington.

    Early morning, Gyeongju, Korea

    White Sands National Park, New Mexico.

    Snowy day in Parkdale, Mt. Hood

    Noticing colors in Bolzano, Italy

    Autumn on the ground, Seattle.

    Coffee in the winter sun, Seattle

    Perpetually fascinated by backlit natural features. Petals, leaves, jellies (?)…

    Repeating shapes, text, colors.

    Side-lit is pretty, too.

    And then, these two. Of course.

    All photos in this post were taken with Leica Q2.

  • Making new friends as adults

    Making new friends is hard. The level of uncertainty is uncomfortable. I feel exposed and vulnerable. We suss each other out asking endless questions. Do I like how they approach important things in life such as work, play, politics, or relationships? Do they prioritize what I prioritize? Do they like what I like? More importantly, do they hate what I hate? Even if everything else lines up, are we in similar enough places in life to schedule our joint time often? Compatibility doesn’t come easily.

    For me, the important question is ‘can we nod our heads knowingly at each others’ stories?’ It tells me how much of ‘explaining myself’ I’d have to do with this person. Yesterday, my new friends (M & S) told us a story of what they went through at the airport security on their way home. My friend’s father packs vacuum-sealed blocks of pâté and homemade Polish sausages in her suitcase. The TSA folks are not impressed with the cargo, and they pull her aside.

    “What are these?”

    “That’s homemade pâté.”

    “Umm…what is that?”

    My friend describes what pâté is. The agent is not sure. He needs to speak to his supervisor. Another round of explanation. Then another person even higher-up, is called in. My friend painstakingly repeats her Polish food culture lesson for the officers. In the meantime, she’s thinking, if you bastards are going to confiscate it, at least take it home and eat it. After a moment of uncomfortable pause, the highest ranking officer announces the first agent should decide what to do and leaves. With his supervisors gone, the agent says, “Oh well, Merry Christmas!” and lets her go.

    As I hear this story, it takes me only four words — father, homemade, pâté, and TSA — to find myself exactly where she was. Her pâté and sausages is my kimchi and garetteok. I did my share of explaining at the customs. My mom always stuffs my check-in luggage with homemade Korean food until it reaches exactly 50-pounds. She vacuum-seals it, Saran-wraps it, and double, triple bags it in zipped pouches. I say yes to one too many bag of spicy squid banchan, because I see my mother literally deflate when I say no. When the customs’ officer carelessly pokes and prods at her perfectly sealed food bags with English labels in her round, polite handwriting (clearly meant for situations like this), I feel the urge to stop those violating hands. My mom packed that bag until 3am on the day of my departure. She poured her love, grief, worry all into that bag and carefully sealed it shut, hoping the smell of her food wafting into my kitchen in Seattle would close the ocean-wide gap and bring her daughter back to her table in Pusan. If that bag doesn’t cross the border with me, I won’t have the heart to tell her that it didn’t. And yes, I would be thinking exactly the same thought. If you are going to take that away from me, at least take it home and eat it, you bastards. These are the experiences that turn two strangers to inseparable friends. Our shared sense of unease at these borders only we immigrants are acutely aware of. It’s different from getting some jamón I bought in Spain confiscated at the customs. That bag of banchan or pâté represents the love that made us who we are. Explaining that bag of food is defending your mom, dad, heritage, culture, and your home. It is proving once again that your food, your smell, your presence deserves to cross this border and exist in this country.

    We had a wonderful night, drinking one bottle of Merlot from Washington, where three of us had lived at some point, and one bottle of Pinot Grigio from New Zealand, where one of us had immigrated from. Four hours of conversations sweeping through so many topics; travel, hiking, AI bleats, tech industry gripes, politics, religion, parents, and their plentiful refrigerators, wine, film photography, and our furry friends.

    I’m glad I ventured out of my little bubble to attend the writers’ conference and exchanged emails with at least this one person. I did not feel I belonged there at all, but I still might have made a friend.

    *disclaimer: I like em dashes. I do not let LLMs do my thinking nor writing.

  • Estate sales

    I went to an estate sale. Looking into someone else’s past obsession was fascinating. Brushing my fingers on the beautifully designed objects from the past takes my breath away.

    After I pass, what would my estate sale look like?

    It would feature many mechanical keyboards mostly from early 2010s, several film cameras in various working conditions from 1970s to 2000s, several digital cameras in different sizes and statures, many expired film rolls, a full 21-book set of 토지 (To-Ji) written by Park Kyung Li (surely this will be a jackpot for someone), a lot of outdated books on how to build usable technologies, a collection of dictionary and thesaurus, a big pile of stickers, many books on a wide variety of all my hobbies, photography, running, water color, typography, Japanese vocabulary, sewing…the list goes on.

    Who would be the people who end up staying for hours, meticulously thumbing through pieces of my aspirations, obsessions, fascinations, and hopes?

    Analogue souls who appreciate the way a pen glides and pauses on the cool surface of a good, heavy paper. People who would patiently observe at the way ink soaks the paper in awe. Followers of ASMRs consisted of sounds of clunky sound of mechanical camera shutters. Surely those will be my people.

    If I could reach over the block of time to tap their shoulders and say hi. Even though we would still be complete strangers, instead of meaningless small talks, we could bond over our mutual love of all things analogue. It would be a shame that I didn’t find these people while I was still around.

  • World Cup

    (Ricoh GR IV, cinema G)

    Portland prides itself for being the Soccer City, USA. We got tickets to the watch party at Providence Park earlier this week.

    It’s been a fun month of football, and made me think of what it was like to be in Seoul during the 2002 World Cup. I wish I kept more photos of that crazy month, going to watch parties on the streets of Gwanghwamun (광화문), city hall square (시청광장), and Shinchon (신촌). Everyone had a red ‘Be the Reds’ shirt on and took to the streets to watch and celebrate with each other.

    The only photographic evidence of 2002 world cup in my possession, taken with LOMO LC-A on Seoul metro line 1.

  • LinkedIn

    For a few weeks, I was distracted with the thought of going back to the daily grind. I opened LinkedIn. The past, corporate me and its cobweb of loose connections came into light, full of dust, stared back at me. My past self positioned her torso about 30 degrees away from the camera. She had a bright smile and sparkly eyes soaked in artificial confidence and empty ambition.

    “You have no idea what’s about to hit you, do you?” I thought to myself.

    I dreaded the thought of needing to update it. Bad enough to ask LLMs to rewrite some of the already cringeworthy descriptions into something even more wince-inducing. My feed was inundated with heartfelt advice on how to frame yourself as AI-forward in this golden era we are in. Everyone had their 2-cents. Why doesn’t someone collect everyone’s 2-cents and turn it into a buck? Wait, there’s probably an AI agent already doing that.

    I applied for one role. The appeal of this particular one was the location. I could bike there under 20 minutes. But after going through the excruciating process of applying for one, it was too easy to get distracted with more. The allure of a regular cadence of life that someone else established for you (or forced upon you) was hard to resist.

    It’s been a month, and there’s nothing to show for, as expected. Nonetheless, it was a good exercise to put myself through. Because I realized it no longer gave me panic attacks to dig through the memories of my 6 years at that wild place.

    Maybe, I’m finally ready to write about it.

  • Summer evening light

    Ricoh GR IV

  • Portlandia

    I’m such a homebody, but on Wednesdays, I get out to get lost in words and smell the books.

    Ricoh GR IV

  • Instagram, huh?

    Yesterday was my 5th Write Around Portland workshop session at Powell’s. A few of us were missing, so it was a small group. After we wrapped our 2-hour session, someone asked how everyone found out about this workshop.

    “Instagram ad got me.”

    “What? Me, too!”

    Turned out, all of us, including the facilitator, got connected to Write Around PDX after seeing something on Instagram. Pretty incredible (and telling) given how wide our (assumed) age range is, 20s to 60s. All the cool kids use something else, but everyone at least has an account.

    I love my weekly pilgrimage to Powell’s.

    Ricoh GR IV, cinema green

  • Double exposure with Ricoh

    I recently discovered I can do a multiple exposure shot on my Ricoh GR4. Experimenting with stacking different patterns, directionalities, and textures has been fun.

    Ricoh GR4

    #ricohgr