Korea to Stay Connected

I’d love to hear from you.

In this episode,
 I talk about one of my favorite Korean grammar patterns: 아/어 버렸어요.

One of the beautiful things about Korean is that small endings added to a verb can carry feeling, emotion, and the speaker’s point of view.

아/어 버리다 is one of those expressions.

It is often used when something has come to an end, and the speaker wants to express not just the fact that it ended, but also the feeling that comes with that ending — regret, disappointment, or sometimes even relief.

For example, there is a difference between:

버스가 갔어요. and 버스가 가 버렸어요.

Both can be translated similarly, but the second one carries a stronger sense that
 it is already gone, and cannot come back.

That is what I find so beautiful about learning a language.

A translator may give you the same result, but someone who has studied the language, can hear the deeper feeling inside it.

In this episode, I also share a personal memory from my time in Finland, when my mother stayed with me for two weeks and then returned to Korea.

After she left, I found myself saying: 엄마가 가 버렸어. 나는 다시 혼자가 되어 버렸어.

That small grammar pattern held all the loneliness I felt at that moment.

This episode is about how Korean can hold the temperature of the heart in just a few extra syllables.

🎧 Take this episode slowly, and listen for the feeling hidden at the end of the sentence.

Teacher Profile:

https://www.italki.com/ko/teacher/7545999?lv=1

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In this episode,
 I talk about my hometown — and what it feels like to return there in spring.

Last weekend, I took a 4.5-hour bus ride from Seoul back to my hometown.

In just a few hours, the crowded city slowly disappears,
 and a quieter place appears — with fewer people, more nature, and a different kind of air.

There’s something about hometowns that can’t be fully explained in words —
 a familiar atmosphere, a certain scent, and a feeling of warmth.

For me,
 that warmth comes from
 my parents’ smiles — the same place, the same love, waiting for me every time I return.

Spring has arrived both in Seoul and in my hometown.

But they feel different.

Spring in Seoul brings me excitement and the feeling of a new beginning.

Spring in my hometown brings me comfort — a quiet sense of warmth and belonging.

Has spring arrived
 in your hometown too?

🎧 Take this episode slowly,
 and think about
 the place that feels like home to you.

Teacher Profile

: https://www.italki.com/ko/teacher/7545999?lv=1

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In this episode, I talk about the Korean expression “산 넘어 산” —  which means mountain after mountain.

It’s a phrase we use when one challenge ends, only to find another waiting ahead.

Lately, this expression has stayed with me.

I thought once I got over this one hill, things would finally become easier. That maybe a flat, peaceful path would follow.

But instead, another mountain appeared.

There were moments when I felt tired, and moments when I lost my motivation.

But along the way, there were also small, quiet things — a clear stream, a gentle breeze, warm sunlight.

And somehow, those moments gave me the strength to keep walking.

So these days, I’ve been thinking:

Maybe life isn’t about reaching the end of the mountains,
 but about walking through them.

Not just the destination, but the people we meet, the strength we build,
 and the small warmth we feel along the way.

It’s April now in Korea — the beginning of spring.

Today, I changed my wardrobe.
 I put away my heavy winter clothes
 and filled my closet with lighter, brighter spring pieces.

And somehow, my heart felt a little lighter too.

What does the beginning of April feel like for you?

If you feel like you’re going through
 “mountain after mountain,”

there is someone here feeling the same way.

Let’s keep going,
 slowly, together.

🎧 Take this episode gently.
 Even this path is already part of your life.

Teacher Profile

: https://www.italki.com/ko/teacher/7545999?lv=1

I’d love to hear from you.

In this first episode of March, I talk about the quiet signs of spring in Seoul.

The weather has suddenly become warmer.
 Heavy winter coats are folded away, and lighter coats take their place.
 Even the small layers we wore to protect ourselves from the cold are no longer necessary.

But what feels lighter is not only the coat.

As spring approaches, there is a sense of beginning again.
 And somehow, as the air grows warmer, the heart feels a little warmer too.

March in Korea is a special month — a time of new semesters, new starts, and gentle anticipation.

In this episode, I reflect on how seasonal changes can quietly change the weight we carry, inside and out.

I hope this March brings you small joys, light steps, and a soft breeze of happiness.

🌸 Let’s welcome spring together.

I’d love to hear from you.

In this episode,
 I talk about 정월 대보름 — the biggest full moon of the lunar year in Korea.

In Korea, we traditionally use two calendars: the solar calendar (양력), which follows the sun, and the lunar calendar (음력), which follows the moon’s cycle.
Because the lunar calendar is based on the moon, the date of 정월 대보름 changes slightly every year. Sometimes it falls in February, and sometimes, like this year, in March.

On this night, people look up at the biggest full moon of the year and make a wish.
 In Korean, we say “소원을 빌다” — to quietly hope or pray for something while looking at the moon.

This year, the moon was especially big — and it was also my birthday.

As a child, I simply thought the moon was beautiful.
But now, when I look at it, I feel something deeper.

Somehow, knowing that people around the world might be looking at the same moon from different places and different times feels comforting and quietly connecting.

In this episode,I reflect on wishes, shared skies,
 and the warmth of being connected under one moon.

🌕 Wherever you are,
 I hope the moon you see tonight
 carries your wishes gently.

I’d love to hear from you.

In this episode, I reflect on what it means to feel twenty again —
not in age, but in direction.

In Korea, turning twenty is often the beginning of adulthood.
It is the time when many people start asking:
Who am I? What do I want to do with my life?

Now in my thirties,
after studying and living in different countries
and returning once again to Seoul,
I find myself asking those same questions.

Sometimes it feels confusing.
Sometimes it feels uncertain.
But I also believe that having the chance
to rethink my path is a quiet kind of blessing.

This is my “second twenty.” A season of rethinking,
 restarting, and slowly choosing a new direction.

If you are also standing at a crossroads, wondering where to go next,
I hope this episode feels close to you.

We are still on our way. 화이팅!

I’d love to hear from you.

In this episode,
I talk about the feeling of “초라하다” —
a Korean word that describes feeling small, inadequate,
or not good enough.

There are days when I feel especially small —
when I fail to do something well,
when I compare myself to others,
or when I cannot give enough
to the people I love.

Sometimes, the hardest part
is wanting to give more —
to family, to friends —
but not being able to.

This episode is a quiet reflection on love, self-doubt,
and the hope that even small gestures can carry deep meaning.

If you have ever felt small
because you care deeply,
this episode is for you.

🎧 Listen slowly,
 and be gentle with yourself today.

I’d love to hear from you.

Every semester, I meet new students.
 And at the end of the semester,
 I say goodbye.

During the term,
 I often see my students more than my own family or friends.
 We share hours together in the classroom —
 learning, laughing, struggling, and growing.

On the last day of class,
 I always feel a small wave of emotion.
 Even after ten years of teaching,
 there is still a moment when my voice almost shakes
 while saying goodbye.

This episode is about those short but meaningful connections,
 about the classroom as a space where dreams begin,
 and about how the length of time matters —
but the depth of time matters even more.

Some people pass through our lives only briefly,
 yet leave behind warm memories
 that quietly give us strength.

🎧 If you have ever experienced a meaningful goodbye,
 I hope this episode feels familiar to you.

I’d love to hear from you.

In this episode,
 I reflect on the different roles I live each day —
 as a teacher, a daughter, and a friend.

When we are young,
 our role feels simple.
 But as we grow older,
 more versions of ourselves begin to appear.

Sometimes,
 trying to do well in every role
 can feel overwhelming.
 And in the middle of being everything for everyone,
 we may lose the version of ourselves
 that has no role at all.

As a university Korean language teacher,
 I am currently on winter break.
 Without my “teacher” role for a while,
 I am learning how to simply be myself again.

This episode is about balance,
 identity,
 and the quiet hope
 that we can carry all our roles
 without losing who we are.

🎧 If you are living many roles today,
 I hope this episode reminds you
 that you are already doing enough.

I’d love to hear from you.

In this episode,
 I talk about February —
 a short month that feels quietly special.

January often begins with excitement and big energy,
 but February feels different.
 It is calmer, more settled,
 yet still filled with a gentle sense of anticipation
 as we remain in the early part of the year.

In Korea, the new school year starts in March,
 so February feels like the last chapter of winter
 and a moment just before spring and new beginnings arrive.

Because it is shorter,
 February feels more precious —
 a time that will not return once it passes.

In this episode,
 I reflect on how I want to spend this February:
 not rushing forward,
 but slowing down,
 quietly closing winter,
 and preparing my heart for what comes next.

What kind of month will February be for you?

🎧 Listen slowly,
 and spend this short month
 in a way that feels gentle and meaningful to you.