Crystal blue waters, white sand beaches, and a wide, wide sky over the rolling green South Korean countryside…when most people talk about Jeju Island, they conjure up an idyllic, peaceful scene like this, the kind that only exists in vacation pamphlets and stock images. I lived surrounded by these sights on Jeju for two years, but it took a long time for me to think of the island as a place of rest.
My experience attending boarding school on Jeju Island was the first time I had ever been away from my parents and my hometown, and I remember walking out onto the campus field for the first time, dressed in my 7th grade finest for the admissions interview, and looking up at a cloudless twilight sky so wide it filled up my whole vision. Without any trees or buildings tall enough to imply depth, it was like a solid wall of pink – close enough to crush me. I suppose I should have felt freer with all the open air, but I didn’t.
Years later, I find myself looking down at that same sky from the window of a plane and wondering when it started to become beautiful.
I focused hard on academics while I was in school, adhering to the stringent rules of the dorms and never letting my eyes stray further up than the one-inch margins of my schoolwork. Even though Jeju Island is only an hour’s plane ride away from the thrumming heart of Seoul, going there feels like traveling. It should be strange that I am so relaxed coming back to a place where I spent so much time stressed, but for some reason it enhances the experience like a spice. I’m a champion resting on my laurels, seeing my old friends, clearing my mind of everyday pressures by looking at familiar island scenery and reminiscing about the battles I fought there with an emptied heart. Maybe this sky was always beautiful.
Today I have returned to Jeju for a school friend’s birthday. I leave the city and fall back into my old rhythms. Back home in Seoul, I would be free to wander through endless blocks of restaurants and stores, but there is a different kind of freedom here. I am greeted by a blast of humid summer heat and my friends as I leave the airport, and we walk through familiar footpaths of vibrant scenery, pointing out small changes since I last visited and talking about inconsequential things.
Jeju is littered with many beautiful restaurants and cafes, not dissimilar to the cafe I frequented in the boarding school’s dorm town (a two-story shack made of blanched wood, right on the beach with open floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the transparent water below. It’s a nostalgic gathering place for us, and because it is the only one, there is a steady stream of old friends and acquaintances stopping by to say hello.) Today we mix ourselves in with the river of tourists and pick a lovely streetside spot. We sit outside under a parasol, lounging in the salty breeze and waiting for our shaved ice and chilled drinks. Street cats pass under our table, and I surreptitiously feed them parts of my entreé.
How’s the new school, my friends ask, and I tell them the truth. Seoul is great and it’s good to be living with my family again. My new school is smaller than the one on Jeju, so it’s much easier to get a hold of my teachers than before. We all laugh at that. I miss them even as we sit across the table from each other, and I remember how easy it used to be to hear that sound, to call them out from their dorms in the middle of the night to go walk around on the beach in the dark.
Together we take a picture with the sea in the background. We light the birthday cake, sing Happy Birthday, and then the party is over.
My friends walk me back to my hotel, chatting amongst themselves. When I look up, the sunset sky is the color of Jeju hallabong tangerines, rougher and sweeter than any other. To my left, groups of students are rolling out a net to play volleyball in the campus field.
The Jeju Island that I am nostalgic for, that was witness to my effort and tears in the turning point of my life, only exists in a time that is quickly passing by. However I am finding now that I don’t dislike the Jeju I am coming to know. It is a mix of new appreciation and of reminiscence, like slipping into an old favorite novel made new by more experienced eyes.
The feeling of reflectiveness remains and settles in me as I board my flight back. I can’t stay here; I will soon return to my schoolwork, my house in the city, and the lively streets of Seoul, but it brings me peace to know that this place is only an hour away. An island that is proof of my ability to succeed, an idyllic vacation spot to all but me and my comrades who fought here, and maybe in the future, a place that will see my return as a more much older woman, and witness me settle into the quiet, languid life I’ve always dreamed of in a house by the sea.
Yumin is a high school junior in Seoul, South Korea, serving as the Editor-in-Chief of the Scholars Times newspaper. As a passionate writer, she contributes articles on school events, designs monthly layouts, and peer-edits other journalists’ articles for publication on her school’s website and social media platforms. Beyond this, she aims to write at least one writing piece whenever she travels, capturing new perspectives and experiences to share with readers. Her personal interests include environmental studies, family, and Greek cuisine.