Epilogue: What Stayed With Me

Two months ago, I got on a plane to South Korea with a suitcase that was definitely too full and expectations that were… probably even fuller.

I told myself this trip would be about learning Korean, exploring the country and somewhere along the way figuring out what sets my soul on fire.

Now I’m back home and the funny thing is: I don’t feel like I’ve “finished” anything.

If anything, it feels like I’ve just opened something up.

Because when I think back on these two months, it’s not just the big moments that come to mind. Of course, they’re there: the start of my language course, travelling across the country, figuring out how to survive (and thrive) in a completely different environment. But what really stayed with me are the smaller, quieter moments.

Like walking through Seoul and slowly realising I didn’t feel like a complete outsider anymore. That I had favourite places. That I knew which side of the escalator to stand on and where to position myself on the platform without thinking. That ordering food in Korean went from mildly terrifying to… actually kind of fun.

Or that day at the National Museum, where I wandered around for hours, taking it all in at my own pace. No rush, no pressure, just me, being present.

And then there was the quiet kindness that stayed with me throughout my time in South Korea. Small everyday gestures from people I didn’t know, helping me when I looked confused, being patient with my Korean, or simply showing warmth in passing moments. It made the city feel less foreign over time, more like a place where I was gently welcomed in. Along the way, I also discovered hidden gems, small cafés, quiet streets, unexpected corners of Seoul that never made it into any plan, but somehow became the places I returned to again and again.

And somewhere in the street near my hotel, the Greeting Man became a quiet kind of beacon for me. Passing it on my way back to Ocloud Hotel, I started to associate it with return, arriving back “home” in a city that felt unfamiliar at first. A silent figure with one arm raised, almost like a reminder that you can always come back to yourself, no matter how far you’ve wandered.

And then there are the memories that didn’t go exactly as expected, but ended up being perfect anyway. Like Arthur’s birthday dinner in Gangnam, where we accidentally ended up in the wrong restaurant. Not Mandujip, but Mukjeon. At the time it felt like a mistake… and now it’s one of those stories I’ll probably tell forever.

And then there was Student Night on my very last day of lessons.

We went out with a big group of students to our usual spot, the bar “I Love Pub,” celebrating the end of our course together. At some point in the evening, something unexpected happened, my hair accidentally caught fire.

It was over in seconds and thanks to the people around me it was quickly put out. But what stayed with me was not the shock of the moment, but the way everyone reacted. Friends immediately checking if I was okay, helping me calm down, staying close.

A group of the girls even gave me their little bottles of perfume afterwards so I could cover the smell of burned hair. One of them was so upset she cried her eyes out, even though I was already fine.

It was chaotic, a bit surreal, but also strangely tender. Because in that moment, I wasn’t alone for a single second.

Before I realised it, something else happened that I didn’t expect at all.

My friends in Seoul turned my name into a verb.

“Doing the Bianca,” they called it.

And to be clear, it didn’t mean having everything under control.

It meant missing a subway transfer. Ending up on the wrong side of the city. Calling my friends because I had absolutely no idea where I was and needed them to guide me step by step to where they were.

Basically… being a little lost.

But never really lost.

And maybe that night was part of that too, not because something went wrong, but because I realised how quickly people show up for you when it matters.

Because what I also discovered is that I have a way of connecting with people of all ages. Younger, older, it didn’t seem to matter.

And it wasn’t just from my point of view.

People genuinely enjoyed spending time with me, just as much as I enjoyed being with them. Whether it was sharing meals, studying together, or simply figuring things out as time passed, those connections felt easy, natural and real.

And maybe that’s the other side of “doing the Bianca.”

Yes, getting a little lost… but also always finding your way back to people.

Because that’s the thing about this journey: not everything went according to plan. And that turned out to be one of the best parts.

Over time, I became more comfortable with that. With not knowing exactly what the day would bring. With letting go of the idea that everything has to be “perfect” to be meaningful.

I also learned that growth doesn’t always look the way you expect it to.

I didn’t have one big, life-changing moment where everything suddenly made sense. Instead, it was a collection of small shifts. Feeling a little more confident speaking Korean. Feeling a little more at ease being on my own. Feeling a little less afraid to just… try.

And yes, there were moments that were hard too. Moments where I felt lonely, or overwhelmed, or completely out of place. But even those moments mattered. Because they forced me to rely on myself in a way I hadn’t before.

And that changed something.

So, did I find what sets my Soul On Fire?

I think the answer is both YES and NO.

NO… because it’s not one clear thing, not one perfect answer waiting at the end of a journey like this.

But also YES… because I found something better. I found the feeling of being curious again. Of exploring without needing a plan. Of allowing things to unfold instead of trying to control every outcome.

South Korea gave me that.

It gave me confidence, independence and a version of myself that I’m really proud of. Not a completely different person, but a slightly braver, more open one.

When I wrote my very first blog post, I wondered why anyone should feel the need to justify doing something new, challenging and ambitious. I wrote that I was doing this “because I can.”

Now, after two months in South Korea, I think I understand that even better.

I didn’t need a reason then… and I don’t need one now.

But if I had to give an answer to that question… “why?”… it would be this:

Because somewhere between the uncertainty, the small victories, the wrong turns and the unexpected moments… I found exactly what I didn’t know I was looking for.

Not a final answer. But a way forward.

A way of staying curious, staying active and staying young at heart, not just in South Korea, but wherever I go next.

And maybe that’s what “doing the Bianca” really means now, continuing the journey, even when I don’t exactly know where I’m going, simply because I can.

I came to South Korea because I could, got a little lost in the process, found connection in unexpected places and discovered that I never needed a reason… only the courage to go.

Bianca in the Land of the Morning Calm ends here, but the journey it began does not.