I arrived in Korea with the intention of touching something- anything that could prove I belonged to my own roots. This particular sensation could only be extracted in moments of looking at the color of fruit stacked in buckets on the sidewalk or smelling the dark herbal bath in the mokyoktang when the sun was not out. Peeling off the skin of an over ripe persimmon and sitting with its subtle sweet taste is my thesis for this feeling. Everything I ever needed was always in plain sight, it turns out.
