Beauty is truly subjective.
One day, two friends were walking down the back streets of a small South Korean island town. They were on their way to a pool, which was consistently the color of Chrysanthemum tea, yellow with flowery pee.
Oh, so you like Korea? I’m here to prove you wrong.
Two men in a spotlight, eyes closed, fingers dancing in vibrato, and faces churning with the music.
I was at a kimbap jip in Yeomni-dong–a little hood in Seoul where I was living during the duration of my year there.
I have successfully branded my childhood memories with Thought Catalog.
The journal begins with Hyun-sil’s decision to join the United Korean Organization, or UKO, to avenge his foster parents’ murders in late December 1939.
The ammonia-overload instantly hit the senses, released a little more intensely with each chew of the rubbery meat. But what was interesting was how it felt like an entire new way of experiencing food.
His eyes were awake now and sunk into mine, his grin thirsty and familiar. I gripped my shirt to my body as I rolled over and inaudibly mumbled “yeah right.”
One television commentator who gulped down bowls of Fukushima vegetables on TV as part of the campaign resigned after he was diagnosed with leukemia. That might have been just bad luck.