Dear Readers,

It has come to my attention that my time is running out. Not only as Editor of the Herald, but also at KAIST, and along with that, in Korea. It might seem an inconsistent conclusion; after all, this nation’s borders are far broader than the limits of our campus, so why should graduation mean exile? But that is also precisely the reason — without KAIST, there’s no place for me here. It’s been a sad realization. 

Haven’t you ever wondered why all the internationals want to leave? It seems pretty obvious. The story is the same amongst all your friends. They feel overworked and under-appreciated, discriminated against, and unable to make close relationships. They’ve been stared at in public one too many times, talked about as if they are stupid, and simultaneously judged for every “waegukin” mistake. They are aliens, with the registration cards to prove it.

The shocking outpouring of discrimination against minorities following the recent Itaewon cluster of virus cases has merely been the latest example of the underlying current of xenophobia in Korean society, ready to surface at any provocation. Being an area best known for its multicultural atmosphere and popularity amongst international residents, Itaewon was just about the worst possible location for an outbreak. In the past few weeks, foreign residents have been forced out of their jobs, harassed about their whereabouts, and stigmatized as irresponsible. New signs have been hung in the windows of businesses that cheerfully decree “No foreigners!” in cute handwriting. The prejudices of the homogeneous population have been laid bare. 

And yet, to be honest, despite everything, I want to stay. There are so many things that I love about Korea, even while despising others. The bustle of the markets, the smell of the humid air after a summer downpour, the golden glory of the ginkgo trees in autumn. I’m still only just learning how to live here, and I have so many places left to explore. And my favorite people will be here for the foreseeable future — I want to be able to build a life with them by my side.

But I can’t. The outside world is unforgiving; without perfect Korean, my job prospects are limited to hagwon English teacher, and even that is a luxury afforded by dint of my native British citizenship. As much as we (rightly) complain about the lack of resources for international students within KAIST, we are, for the most part, cushioned against society, not needing to pay bills, or organize taxes, or even speak Korean. I once imagined that I would become fluent within my four years living here, but after arriving I could quickly see what a fallacious dream it was for a KAIST student. And anyway, the bitter truth is, no level of grammar perfection can disguise a name that doesn’t fit inside the small box on bank documents, or a face that stands out in a crowd. I will always be an alien.

As I mature, I see more of the inequalities of society, and am less willing to meekly accept them. I want to live here, but not under the circumstances and conditions that pre-evaluate my worth based upon my otherness. I will always long for a community that accepts and celebrates differences; perhaps one day, far in the future, I will be able to return to a changed Korea and find my place.

Ada Carpenter

Editor-in-Chief