In Waves: How Korea Taught Me Its Beauty [Photo Essay Contest]
The Korea JoongAng Daily hosted its first photo essay contest for elementary, middle and high school students on the theme: “Promote the beauty of Korea to foreign countries." The contest ran from October to November. Photos containing scenes of traditional culture, family love, places to see and tasty treats in Korea were submitted for the contest.
Ian Cho from Hunter College High School won the grand prize in the high school category for this photo essay.
When you think of Korea, your mind is probably filled with various forms of media from popular culture, whether that be K-pop, the food, the wonderful magic of bidets in toilets, or anything in between. But divert your eyes from those; I found that same magic in surfing. In the summer of 2022, I went to Yangyang-gun, a coastal province, and was fortunate enough to experience the joy for the first time.
2022 was an interesting year. It was the first time since 2020 that my family could freely travel, so we immediately renewed our previously annual summer ritual of going back to Korea. This summer was different though. In those 3 years, I had confidently grown out of what I called my “childhood”, and I questioned whether my fondness for Korea was the product of nostalgia. We departed, and I was filled mostly with an intense anxiety; would I come to the realization that my colorful memories of Korea were nothing more than rose-tinted film?
So, when my dad asked me on a particularly slow day, “wanna try surfing?”, I jumped at the chance. I wanted to try something new and exciting. I’d never gone surfing before, so I wanted to immortalize this new experience by enveloping it in the magic that Korea spins onto everything. So, just one week after my dad asked, we got in the car and drove.
I knew that we were approaching the sea when I opened the window and smelled the strong, salty air billowing past the car. It was fresh, distinctly natural, unmistakably powerful. At this point, we had been driving for long enough that the sun was setting, and the sky was getting dark—the kind of dark where you couldn’t see anything without headlights—and the ocean mirrored it; the world was inky dark, and the car ride became an experience of only sound and smell.
We eventually drove our way up a hill to a hotel, where we checked in and promptly went to sleep. It was a long car ride, and we had no shortage of physical activity due the day after. My dad woke me up in the morning and urged me to the window so that I could see what was previously concealed by the cloak of nighttime darkness; I was greeted by the astonishing sight of the morning sun, fiery red and burning bright, ascending over the shockingly endless sea. The sun painted the canvas of the sky with a beautifully vivid palette of red and orange, backdropped by dazzling blue. The tiredness in my eyes dissipated. I was ready to chase the day.
When afternoon came, we walked down a road that ran along the beach. There was a quaint, cute building with an open front that had all manner of boards and swimming equipment on display. My dad moved towards the building, and I motioned to do the same. We were met with athletic, friendly instructors. They showed us a short instructional video, and we wasted no time in walking over to the beach.
I felt the bright sand rolling in between my toes as we walked. It was hot, having absorbed the summertime from the sun. I looked at the vast blue and found familiarity in it. I’ve seen this sea before. I’ve seen its face from different angles, but it’s a sea I’ve seen before. But from Korea, it was astonishing like nowhere else. It sparkled like crystal, gleaming like it never did before. And I’m lucky enough to swim in it, to harness it through surfing.
Surfing wasn’t what I expected it to be. Looking back, my expectations were naive—I thought that you’d just somehow stand on it and all would be well, but it isn’t that easy. For starters, standing up is difficult. The instructor directed me a few paces into the water and had me lying on the board, belly down. When the wave came from behind me, I would have to carefully balance, stand up and let it carry me.
I fell. A lot. And every time that I did, my nose would be filled with water, my mouth with salt. The instructor was supremely patient and accommodated my barebones understanding of Korean by communicating in English. My falls were not painful, and I found support coming from him. But that salt wasn’t painful; it felt like I was working towards something. Korea, up until now, had been a source of joy because of the nostalgia it involved in me, but now, I found myself appreciating something much more concrete. I found myself taken aback by the physical beauty of a country that I had never really bothered to explore past the homes of my grandparents.
I didn’t really get the hang of surfing, and I wouldn’t say that I know the slightest thing about surfing. But even though Korea couldn’t teach me how to surf in a day, it was a patient teacher. I went to marvel at Korea’s beauty, cement the experience as a part of that beauty, and fall in love with it all over again. This small coastal town was the best teacher that I could ask for.
By Ian Cho, Hunter College High School
with the Korea JoongAng Daily
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