It feels like the world's dirty little secret. Strange, magical, wonderful and awful.

South Korea felt like the world’s dirty little secret—strange, magical, wonderful, and at times, quietly unsettling. Beneath the neon glow and mirrored glass, I found moments of deep humanity—elders sweeping storefronts at sunrise, kids lost in play beside concrete monoliths, lovers brushing hands on crowded subways.
It’s a place where tradition hums beneath modern noise, and softness survives inside structure. I wandered without expectation, camera in hand, drawn to the quiet tension between image and essence. In South Korea, beauty isn’t always obvious. But once you see it, you can’t unsee it.