Everything else on this site is a guide — where to eat, what to watch, how to get from the airport to your hotel without crying. This page is the opposite. It's just me, drawn as a small white bun with three hairs, living a completely unremarkable Korean life on the other side of the world. No advice. No rankings. Just the things that happen when you grew up in Korea and now keep a suspicious number of kimchi jars in an Australian fridge.
A few ground rules for the diary: the face never changes (that's the joke), every story is at least 80% true, and nobody in it has a real name — not me, not the friend, not the cashier. If you recognise yourself in any of these, hello. You're probably Korean, or you've lived with one.
"subtitles"
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- Movie night. Friend: "You're Korean! Let's watch this K-drama with NO subtitles. Teach me!" (confidence: hers · dread: mine)
- On screen, characters argue at 2x human speed. Subtitles: OFF. Same face. (minutes survived: 4)
- *click* — subtitles: ON. Friend's eyes go round. (no words were exchanged)
- Friend: "Wait... you too?" Me, finally relaxed: "Subtitles on. Always. Even in my language." (mumbling exists in every country) (friendship: deepened)
Need something to (sub)watch tonight? The K-Drama MBTI Match will pick your next drama by personality — subtitles encouraged.
"the rice cooker"
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- Moving day, new country. Hugging one box like a baby: 밥솥 (rice cooker), FRAGILE. (boxes: 14 · held like a baby: 1)
- 10 minutes after arriving. Boxes everywhere, one open. Plugging in the rice cooker first. (boxes opened: 1 · priorities: clear)
- 30 minutes after arriving. The cooker sings its little melody; dinner on a cardboard box. (it sings when the rice is done. of course it does.) (dinner: perfect · furniture: none)
- That night. Asleep under the blanket next to the glowing cooker. "Home." (unpacking: tomorrow) (priorities: correct)
Curious what comes out of that cooker? Everything in my Korean food guides starts with a bowl of rice — the singing is non-negotiable.
"the diagnosis"
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- Tuesday, 11 PM. On the sofa, medical drama on. "...intense." (patient: fictional. stress: real.)
- Wednesday, 7 AM. Looking at my own arm. Thought bubble: "...my arm feels weird." (arm: fine. probably.)
- Wednesday, 7:10 AM. Phone: "arm feels weird" — about 127,000,000 results. (search time: 40 min)
- Wednesday, 7:50 AM. Under the blanket, relieved. "Rest. Doctor's orders." (doctor: the one on TV) (diagnosis: too much drama)
Want the dramas that did this to me? Start with the best Korean medical dramas — ranked, with where to watch each one.
"the kimchi situation"
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- Sunday. Fridge open. One kimchi jar, a quarter full. (status: critical)
- Thought bubble: "3 days." One drop of sweat. (calculation time: 0.2 sec)
- Asian mart, 20 min later. Six jars on the counter. Cashier: "Just one?" Me: "...six."
- Sunday, 6 PM. Fridge: eleven jars of kimchi, nothing else. "Safe now." (crisis: averted) (space for other food: none)
Curious what's actually in the jar? Start with Is kimchi vegan (and is it halal)? — the most-asked kimchi question I get.
"just one episode"
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- 10:00 PM. On the sofa, blanket on, phone up. "One episode." (blanket: deployed)
- On screen: "The real heir is—" TO BE CONTINUED. Same face. One drop of sweat. "..."
- 3:12 AM. Dark room, phone glow, eye bags. "...one more." (face: unchanged)
- Next morning. Friend: "Rough night?" Me, with coffee: "I regret nothing." (coffee: third one)
Want to lose a night of your own? Here's where to start with K-dramas — I take no responsibility for 3 AM.
About the character
She's me, more or less: a Korean who has lived abroad for a long time, runs on coffee and kimchi, and has exactly one facial expression for all occasions. The three hairs are important — that's how you tell her apart from the friend (curly line), the shop customer (one tall strand) and everyone else who wanders in. Reactions are done with sweat drops, eye bags and posture, never the face. I find this very relatable.
The diary has no schedule; an episode appears when a small true thing happens that's worth four panels. If you'd like them delivered, the Seoul Mate newsletter below gets the new ones first, along with the week's watch-and-eat picks. And if you're a pinner, every episode is drawn at pin size on purpose — go ahead.
Lived-in-Korea moments, "my Korean friend does this" moments, "I married one and now our fridge looks like that" moments — send them over. Real names never appear; ridiculous situations always welcome.