There’s something strangely peaceful about being awake in a city that’s still asleep.
It was 6 a.m. in Seoul. The streets were quiet, the air was starting to warm, and I was wandering alone with a mission: find coffee, find breakfast, and try not to look too lost while doing it.
Most things opened at 10 a.m., which I knew — but I also knew that the CU convenience store and 7-Eleven were my lifelines.
The Art of the Korean Convenience Store
The CU store is a magical place. It’s own “Magic Shop”, if I may.
Imagine a convenience store that somehow holds everything you never knew you needed but absolutely do: instant ramen that tastes like a five-star meal, butter beef rice bowls, kimchi that bites back, the most amazing stone-cooked eggs you’ll ever eat, and the holy grail — banana milk.
I’d heard whispers online that the secret was to pour banana milk into your iced coffee. I tried it. It was weird. It was wonderful. It was very Korean. And sitting on a bench in South Korea made it all the more romantic - in the way BTS talks about romantic moments.
Somewhere between scanning labels with my Papago app and trying to figure out how to cook food without a microwave in my hotel room (hint: there’s a kettle trick and the CU has a microwave), I realized I was smiling — like, really smiling. I was in my happy place. One that I never even knew existed.
There’s something empowering about figuring things out on your own in another country. It’s a mix of humility, confusion, and quiet pride.
There’s a reason Korea’s convenience stores feel magical. After the Korean War, small neighborhood shops became community anchors—offering warmth, snacks, and gossip in a nation rebuilding from the ground up. The modern CU and 7-Eleven chains are descendants of that history, places where life still feels close and human.
And then there’s banana milk—Binggrae Banana Flavored Milk, to be exact—created in 1974 when the Korean government encouraged citizens to drink more dairy. The company added banana flavor because actual bananas were an expensive luxury (something I learned more about when I watched the kdrama “Reply 1988”. Banana milk became an overnight national comfort drink. Every Korean child grew up with it; every visiting ARMY learns to love it. And if they don’t like the banana version, there are also strawberry and melon versions.
When I poured that sweet milk into my iced coffee, I wasn’t just making a TikTok-worthy combo—I was tasting a little nostalgia, a post-war promise turned everyday happiness that the locals probably don’t appreciate nearly as much as those of us on a pilgrimage to the land of BTS, KDramas, and K-Pop.
Even my morning gift felt tied to history. Hongdae, where I was staying, stands on land once filled with rice paddies. Today, it’s an arts district built around Hongik University, known for producing some of Korea’s most innovative creators—the same spirit that runs through BTS’s veins.
So maybe that’s why walking alone at dawn didn’t feel lonely for long. I was part of a continuum: artists, dreamers, students, business owners, and tired travelers all chasing something beautiful before the world woke up.
Jung Kook, Running Man & Random Magic
After breakfast, I took a taxi into downtown Seoul to see Jungkook’s birthday display before the crowds arrived.
It was quiet and beautiful…. Well yes. The building was beautiful, but I’m speaking more to Jung Kook. He was beautiful. Even etched into a large staircase.
Then, I randomly stumbled upon a Running Man filming crew. I promised myself I wouldn’t freak out over celebrities, but there I was, filming through a taxi window with a stupid street sign in the way and my heart racing as if I’d just seen BTS themselves. I mean, I’d seen people in their circle! That counts, right? Yeah. It totally counts!
It was such a small, silly moment, but it made me feel connected. Two degrees of separation from the people who’ve inspired me so deeply. And that felt special.
Bean Sprout Bulgogi & Being Brave
Later, I found a tiny restaurant specializing in bean sprout bulgogi. It was cheap and didn’t require a minimum of two patrons per table, so it was absolutely perfect.
As I sat there eating alone, I thought about how foreign everything still felt. Not just the language, but the lack of conversation. I’m an ENFP through and through. I like talking to people. I like connecting. And being somewhere I couldn’t do that was... hard.
But it was also exactly what I needed.
Being in a place where you don’t belong forces you to listen differently — not with your ears, but with your heart. You start noticing the details: the warmth of a shopkeeper’s smile, the way strangers quietly help each other, the rhythm of a culture that moves at its own pace.
And in that stillness, I realized something: solitude doesn’t have to mean loneliness. Sometimes, it’s the space where courage grows.
The Courage to Begin
That whole day in Seoul, all alone, wasn’t dramatic. I didn’t climb a mountain or solve a mystery. I just found breakfast, rode a taxi, and spent a few hours alone with my thoughts, trying to calm the fire in my mouth from the “mild” bulgogi I’d ordered.
But for me, that was huge. It was the start of something — a quiet reminder that bravery doesn’t always look like grand gestures. Sometimes, it’s waking up in a strange place with little ability to communicate in the way you’re most familiar, and choosing to explore anyway.
I knew that the next day would mean meeting more people from my group and the next adventure would begin, but I’ll still never forget that day. It was a small, brave beginning.
And it was a gift that taught me that sometimes, courage looks a lot like banana milk in an iced Americano.
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