Pray Eat Slay

It hits me sometimes out of nowhere. When I’m driving through quiet streets, or standing in the grocery store staring at bland instant noodles, and suddenly, I miss Daegu, South Korea with a kind of ache I didn’t expect. It’s more than just nostalgia. It’s a feeling that a part of me is still walking the bustling streets of Seomun Market, still sipping kiwi ade or an iced americanos on a hot day in Suseong Lake Park, still hearing the melody of a city that never really slows down.

Daegu wasn’t just a place I lived. It was a place that lived with me. The energy, the food, the kindness of strangers who became friends. It all got under my skin in the best way.

The food alone is enough to make me emotional. I miss walking into tiny mom-and-pop restaurants where I couldn’t read the menu, but it didn’t matter because everything was good. I miss jjimdak, tteokbokki, samgyeopsal nights with sizzling platters and endless laughter. Even the convenience store food in Korea had more flavor and love than half the restaurants I can find near me now.

I miss the rhythm of the city, how everything seemed to function with this chaotic harmony. The sound of city buses, shopkeepers calling out promotions, K-pop playing from storefronts. It was sensory overload in the most comforting way. Here, everything feels quieter and sometimes too quiet.

And the people? Kind, generous, always willing to help even when we barely shared a language. There’s something special about the way South Korea welcomes you, especially when you open yourself up to learning the culture, the language, even a little bit. I miss that mutual respect, the sense of community that wrapped around me like a warm blanket, even on the coldest winter mornings.

Even the small, seemingly mundane things feel irreplaceable now. Like late-night walks to the corner store, street food adventures, city lights glowing against the mountains, or chatting with a barista who remembered my order and always added a smile.

Living in a place like Daegu changes you. It opens your heart, your palate, your sense of adventure. And when you leave, you don’t just leave a city, you leave a piece of yourself behind.

So yeah, I miss Daegu. More than I can explain in words. And I carry it with me every day in the way I cook, in the music I listen to, in the memories that sneak up on me and remind me: you were really there, and it really mattered.