When I left to study in South Korea over the summer, I was indifferent to how much I would enjoy the experience. All I kept thinking was the dread of the 13-hour flight and the jet lag from the time-zone change. What would I even gain from this? Will there even be people I can be friends with? Is it even worth it to leave what I have right now for this new experience?

Upon arriving, though, I felt that there was a new part of me that was awakened. I learned about how to connect with my culture, and how it truly was in my homeland. In just a few weeks, I felt that I was a real Korean citizen, if only for a little bit. One of my relatives even exclaimed over dinner once, “You've got the spirit of a true Seoulite now!” Our shared laughter echoed through the whole house, creating bonds that went beyond the culture and language. After all, I knew the language in advance, had basically assimilated into the society, and fell in love with the idea of living in the nation. Unfortunately, I had to go back home way too quickly to be able to enjoy this new-found connection with my background.

To make things worse, I was hit with an unexpected surprise in the form of the worst cultural adjustment when I arrived back in America. Mom greeted me at the airport. “How was Korea?” she asked. “It was like stepping into a different world, Mom. Now, I feel like a stranger back home,” I admitted nervously. Similarly to when I first saw the environment of Korea, it was like a culture shock when I came back to the everyday life I used to live–except it was for my own home. I never realized the importance of one summer in relation to a teen’s social life. As I was making friends with the people I met in Korea, my American friends were strengthening their bonds, completely without me. As I was going to bed at 12 AM in Korea, my American friends were just getting their mornings started. As I was consuming Korean media, my American friends were listening to the new albums that I did not have access to at the time. And as I was online shopping in complete solitude, they were making their daily group trips to the mall. All in all, it felt as if they had changed, and I was the only one who had remained the same–but it was definitely not the case.

At first, it was just like the usual everyday procedure that I followed right before I went on the trip abroad–wake up, go to school, and go to sleep, with some fun in between. However, I found myself falling out of this routine. Things like remembering what times the bus would arrive at my station became difficult. I would often have to take the late bus, which would create a risk of being tardy. “Running a bit late today again, huh?” the bus driver would teasingly say. “Don't worry, it happens to the best of us. Hop on, and we'll get you to school in no time.” Sometimes his friendly tone would be the only thing that would help me get through the long day.

I would also have trouble choosing what to wear: since uniforms are such a norm in Korea, picking my clothes every day took longer than usual. Despite all the efforts, my Adidas sweatpants, Nike hoodie, and hand-me-down Uggs slippers were still out of place, causing me to be an outlier in my otherwise well-adjusted group of friends. In other words, in my mismatched attire, struggling with American casualness after months of Korean uniformity, I felt like a puzzle piece forced into the wrong picture. The clash between my old self and the person shaped by Korea left me questioning where I truly belonged.

These sudden malfunctions didn’t just stop at procedural tasks. I would more often than not speak Korean and give bows when I would greet American people–customs only held in the collectivist Korean culture. This contrasted with the very individualistic but outgoing nature of American culture. One of my friends, Edward, raised an eyebrow at my bow: “Dude, what's up with the bowing?” I chuckled nervously, “It's a Korean thing, you know?” His laughter mixed with confusion, added to the ever-growing pile of my social reintegration struggles. Similarly, when I was in New York City, people who would often approach me openly for a chat caught me off guard because I wasn’t used to it anymore. For example, I got really freaked out when a parking lot attendant tried to strike up a casual conversation with my dad. “Hey there! Nice day! How's it going, sir?” he said with a friendly smile. “Dad, what are you doing? This is not normal.” I whispered nervously. I truly thought that my dad was putting himself in some kind of danger if he was thinking of getting engaged in small talk back with him.

Another problem that appeared was a huge disruption in my social life caused by my three-month absence. I did not realize that until I saw it for myself. Cliques would form, and suddenly I was forgotten by my former friends. Personally, I was taken aback by how much one summer could make a difference. Followers would skyrocket for everyone else on social media platforms as they attended pre-colleges, summer enrichment programs, and had free time to meet new people. And here I was, twelve hours away from them, in a country that doesn’t even speak the language I was raised with, unable to keep up.

So now, I’m at a standby. What could my problem be? Why am I so disconnected from everyone else?

I thought about it for a while. Firstly, I noticed that it wasn’t like my friends hated me. It was just that I became rather distant from them compared to other people. When I would ask my friends to get on FaceTime or check their schedules to see when we could hang out, they would oblige and follow through with their commitment to spend time together. However, I saw that they would post Instagram stories of them getting dinner, going to the mall, and singing karaoke without me all the time. It was hard to interpret their social cues. Were they leaving me out on purpose? Did they not have enough space in their reservations? Did they just forget to contact me?

My insecurities would continue to cripple my interactions with my friends at school. Their jokes, which were usually supposed to be light-hearted, felt like passive-aggressive jabs at my character. I would feel imaginary glares from my classmates and teachers. All of this just made me want to be more isolated than I already was. Sitting alone on the bus became a normal routine while dwelling in a world with only myself.

What should I do, I thought to myself. Staring at my reflection, I whispered, “Who am I now?” The mirror reflected my uncertainty, underscoring the clash between the Korean me and the person longing for familiarity in America. Oh, how I wish I could just switch bodies with someone else!

Eventually, I decided to consult my parents. Could they have possibly gone through a similar problem in their own childhoods?

“If you believe there’s a problem,” my mother commented, “you could invite them to one of the Korean restaurants in town. You said that they would accept the invites you gave them, right? Let them know about our culture–you all could bond over that.”

“Yeah, and I’ll pay for the meal you and your friends order,” my father added. “Whether you are fighting or not shouldn’t matter if they get free food!” He smirked.

“Thanks so much!” I exclaimed. “I won’t let your money go to waste, Dad!”

The following Friday, I sent everyone in the group chat a text. Filled with nervousness, I asked: Does anyone want to get Korean barbeque tonight? It’s on me today! As I expected, every member of the friend group had tagged along. Perfect, I thought to myself. This is my chance to make my school life not awkward again!

Despite my initial uncertainty, the dinner was a success. As we were munching on the delicious galbi, I decided to open up about my struggles of adjusting back to American life after coming back from summer vacation in Korea. At first, everybody was puzzled. “What do you mean ‘your struggles’?” my friends inquired. I couldn’t believe that they didn’t even notice that I was going through this social reclusion! Strangely enough, they were just as caught up in their own problems as I was in mine. As I started to tell them about my Korean experiences, they asked many questions trying to understand the details of my culture and the adventures abroad. And then it dawned on me that I wasn’t an outsider at all; we were all outsiders in our own ways. What finally brought us together was the meaningful communication about our internal struggles and the ultimate understanding that our differences should unite rather than divide us.