Busan, South Korea: The sea, the self, and connection
28. August – 6. September
South Korea was not on our original list. We thought we’d spend this year in Southeast Asia, but then people recommended it — and curiosity won. A country of K-pop, beauty, and skincare, but also one of the fastest economic growth stories in the world, was too tempting not to explore with our children, aka the future.
We landed in Busan and stayed until September 6. Our first apartment was on the 8th floor, with beautiful views of the distinctive Korean mountain peaks, where suddenly skyscrapers rise between the ridges. It’s a funny sight, and very beautiful. And for the first time on our journey — the sea was within walking distance. The kids were beyond excited. After a month of sweating through 40-degree city heat, finally we could swim!
On the very first day we packed our beach bag and went down to the beach. It was heavenly. The waves were big — thrilling and a little scary. The kids, not used to such powerful seas, both had dramatic moments where they felt the ocean’s strength. They were shaken, but I was glad. Nature should show itself. It teaches respect. You cannot believe you are stronger than it. Together we learned how to stand so we wouldn’t be knocked down, how to dive through the waves, how to float with them. They got the hang of it and learned to be careful and take wiser decisions. Hannes spent a long time alone at the shore, talking with the sea. Later he told us: “You’ve misunderstood — the sea is a boy, and we’re playing together.” It touched me deeply.
Beauty, perfection — and me
After 3 days, we moved to our own little house, closer to the center of Busan. (I will write more about this in the next post.)
Being here, I became more observant of myself. In South Korea, beauty and perfection are everywhere: faces, slim bodies, perfect skin, flawless style. The women and men are stunning, and I couldn’t take my eyes off them. I admired them, but after a few days I realized something was happening inside me. I began to dislike myself, to feel old-ish and faded. And of course — I got sunburned for the first time on the trip. A big no-no here, where pale, even skin is the ideal.
All of this mirrored something old but still alive in me — my own struggles with self-image. I finally talked about it with Bjarne and the kids. Living so close, they feel it when something is weighing on me. It was liberating to say it out loud. The kids immediately said: “We love you. You look exactly like a mom should and we have the most beautiful mom in the universe - we dont want you to look like anyone else.” It went straight to my heart.
South Korea is known as the world’s “plastic surgery capital.” Nearly 1 in 3 women in Seoul between 19–29 has had a procedure. The pressure is intense, and beauty is tied to success in studies, jobs, and even dating. Add to that a work culture with some of the longest hours in the OECD, and it becomes clear why many women delay or avoid starting families. The country has the lowest birth rate in the world. Children are often raised by grandparents while parents work, and many young people live at home until their late 20s or early 30s, focusing on careers and appearance.
When I need a mirror of happiness, I look at my family first. My kids. My Mother, My partner who also is my best friend and our home we have made together. I remembered: my freckles, my scars and flat chest, my soft belly, my laughter lines, the wrinkles on my for-head from facing life’s challenges — they tell my story. I am proud of it all. I won’t let an ideal take that away.
This is me and I am beautiful.
A shift of view
After we spoke about it, something changed. Suddenly we no longer saw only “perfect” women. We noticed how people carefully posed for beach photos, then ran back under their parasols. They where laughing of it too. We saw mothers and fathers, korean women in bikinis, with softer bellies and no make-up. Men without shoulder pads. Large groups of friends playing in the waves. People became people again. And it felt good to finally see ourselves reflected in them.
And in the end, I realized: we only ever see what we are. These women were never separate from me — they were mirrors of my own inner process. Their beauty was also mine, because I am beautiful too. When that separation healed, when I stopped seeing “them” and “me,” love appeared. Not admiration mixed with longing, but a warm recognition of the same life flowing through us all.
Being in Busan also taught us something about our own family dynamics. Living on top of each other means we notice every mood shift. We are learning to listen more, to adjust, to respect each other’s processes. We realize more and more that we are everything to each other, filling many roles. It brings more patience, more respect.
This became a very personal post from me. Busan gave us both outer and inner waves — and gifts we will carry with us. Now the journey continues to Seoul.