In June, ten of us put our American lives on hold, leaving behind the comforts of home, leaving behind our research, leaving behind friends and family that we care about. We came to the land of the morning calm with uncertainty, not knowing what we would find. Standing on the California shore last December, shortly after submitting my application to come here, I remember thinking how the stormy Pacific Ocean seemed to stretch out infinitely far; the distance it spanned was so impossibly immense that it was easy to forget we live on a round planet. Many of us, like me, had never crossed those waters before. They represented an awe-inspiring boundary that contained the civilization and culture of which we were a part; a vast blue line that created the horizon against a cloudy gray sky. But a horizon is nothing except the limit of our sight. And the limit of our sight was expanded though the Korean Summer Institute program, with special thanks to NSF (National Science Foundation) and KOSEF (Korea Science and Engineering Foundation) which gave us a chance to cross the boundary of the Pacific Ocean.

During our first days in Seoul, some of us felt overwhelmed by the differences we confronted. Neon signs flashed and screamed out to our eyes in a language we could not read. People acted and related to each other according to customs that we did not understand. All of it was so confusing, but then, we knew that was why we were here. Of course, at times, there were frustrations, inconveniences, misunderstandings and feelings of homesickness. Of course, every experience of Korea was not a perfect one. And in retrospect, we are very fortunate for that. We came to Korea to get an honest and truthful picture; a full and complete conception of the country and its people. The symbolism and harmony present in the Korean Taegukki, prominently displaying the Yin-Yang as its centerpiece, served to remind us of how to look upon our time here. There is wisdom in the idea that one can only appreciate the Yin when also seeing the Yang. One cannot exist without the other.

Thanks to the generosity of KOSEF, the comforts of home were exceeded by the lavish arrangements during the Korean orientation week. We traveled comfortably in a tour bus, feasted at charming restaurants, stayed in dreamlike hotels. The orientation week seemed to be woven from a fairy-tale, while at the same time exposing us to the very best of Korean civilization: its history, its architecture, its infrastructure, its nightlife, its people and its future- the numerous troops of children who excitedly yelled “hello” when they saw us.

But if the Hyundai and Tower hotels are the Yang, the living conditions many of us experienced when we returned to the real world were definitely the Yin. Dilapidated, grimy, and often uncomfortably hot, these small dormitories and apartments were to be called home for the next two months. However, I believe we learned to see the Yang in it as well. First of all, our hot and muggy dormitory rooms made us appreciate time spent researching in air-conditioned laboratories. It compelled us to enjoy our time in the breezy outdoors exploring what have to be the most exceedingly beautiful campuses in the world. Because many of our places were relatively inexpensive, we had funds to travel Korea and experience some of the most exquisite national treasures on the peninsula and the world, such as Soraksan and Jeju Island. We also had the opportunity to visit darker places such as the demilitarized zone, certainly one of the most sobering and terrifying places on the planet. Many of us were thankful for a place that served as a constant reminder that we were in the real world. Fairy-tales are great, but the real world is what leaves more lasting and memorable impressions. Living in the real world gave us the opportunity to experience more of the Yin and Yang of Korea.

Most of all, we were exceedingly grateful to have been placed in laboratories and to have had the opportunity to work shoulder to shoulder with such friendly and wonderful people. We discovered that laboratories are much closer and tightly-knit in Korea than in the United States. Members of the lab viewed us as they would a family member; we were cordially welcomed and immediately included in all the group activities. Our families here went out of their way to see to it that we were made as comfortable as possible, even to the point where we sometimes felt uncomfortable for the amount of heartwarming attention we received. In America, we are just not used to such outpourings of generosity, and we know it is not possible to say “komapsumnida” enough to express our gratitude in making our visit to Korea as pleasurable as possible.

It is through the friends we met in our laboratories that we came to find that the ocean was not a substantial cultural boundary after all. First of all, many elements of western culture were ubiquitous here, so ubiquitous, in fact, that some of us have been asked questions such as “do you have shopping malls like this in America?” Likewise, many elements of Eastern culture could easily be found back home- some here, for example, were surprised that we knew how to use chopsticks. Of course, in this modern world, some mixing of cultures is inevitable. But when I say that there is not a substantial cultural boundary, I am really referring to something a lot deeper than shopping malls and chopsticks. It is amazing that the language barrier was no barrier at all in the discussions we have had with our friends here about the things that really matter in life--those elements of a common human culture--generosity, friendship, love, and the hope of a brighter future for the world.

We will truly miss Korea and the close friends we have all made here. Our gracious hosts were often keen to point out that two months is not much time to spend in Korea. And they could not be more correct if they are referring to doing truly ground breaking work in scientific or engineering research. On the other hand, it is perhaps the perfect amount of time. Two months is enough time to get adjusted and comfortable in Korea; two months is enough time to understand how research is conducted here; two months is enough time to feel like a part of a family and to form the beginnings of life-long friendships. In other words, it is just enough time to discover here all those things that we thought we had left behind back in America. This parting is therefore bittersweet, for now we feel we have two places to call home, and we are leaving one to go back to the other. In August, ten of us put our Korean lives on hold, leaving behind the comforts of home, leaving behind our research, leaving behind friends and family that we care about. The Yin-Yang cycles again.

In parting, I am drawn to the words of the poet Han Yong’un, whose words I think are a comforting way to say goodbye.