It is a summer morning in Seoul, the blaring sound of cicadas doing little to distract me from the heat. The descent into the subway station is a welcome respite from the already-overwhelming humidity. My journey to work is short by Seoul standards; 20 minutes, including one transfer. Today, I am seated across from a girl a similar age, who is also reading. Despite having no knowledge of her and her life, I feel a small connection to her; we have both chosen to spend our time on the subway engaged in the pleasure of reading a book. As I notice her, having been absorbed in my book since the pervious stop and not seeing her get on, I think to myself how such a small thing—the only people sitting in this carriage who are reading are seated across from one another—is such a mundane, yet lovely phenomenon.
On my journey home, I am also reading, but this time, with the presence of a handsome stranger seated in my periphery. As I read, my eyes occasionally flick across to him; but, it’s the subway, and he is merely another stranger I have encountered on my journey, albeit one I am particularly curious about. As the train approaches my station, I move to the door and stare out the window into the darkness of the tunnel. My reflection stares back, but, surprisingly, so does the stranger; the brief eye contact we share through the reflection is broken as the doors open and I step off the train, interrupting my brief reverie of another version of life where we actually met, instead of only ever being two strangers on the train. I step onto the platform, my reverie giving way to the understanding that our subway encounter was only that: we intersected each others’ lives for the briefest of times. For a moment, I feel somewhat melancholic at the thought I will never see him again, but perhaps it is a reflection of what the subway can remind us of: some people only cross the path of our life briefly, so rather than focus on what could have been, we would do better to focus on what is.
행복한 하루 되십시오 ‘have a happy day’
Around the world, the subway is a place of congregation; it is a space where strangers gather for one shared purpose: to get from A to B. Though each person’s journey is different, the subway is one of the strings tying people together in their navigation of life in that city.
The subway system is an integral part of life in Seoul, and it is difficult to imagine navigating the vast city without it. In a practical sense, the subway is a system for conveniently travelling between places. But if you consider the subway as more than purely public transportation, it serves as a fascinating mechanism for a study of Seoul life. After all, the number of people using the subway is an almost-unimaginable number; between January and April this year, a total of 8.8 million people used the subway every day. The deep-rooted use of the subway, and the observations I have had whilst using it, have led me to view the Seoul subway as much more than a mechanism for travel; the subway, to me, is a ‘third place’.
The idea of the ‘third place’ was coined by US sociologist Ray Oldenburg in his 1989 book ‘The Great Good Place’. The third place centres on the idea that people have their home and work as their first and second places (these are peoples’ most frequented social environments), but it is also important to have a ‘third place’ (a place that is neither work nor home where an individual can connect with others in a social surrounding). The Seoul subway system provides a space for peoples’ lives to intersect; the opportunity to be surrounded by people from all walks of life, a meeting place (or place to say goodbye), and a place to wait.
When I reflect on my time in Seoul, memories associated with the subway are surprisingly prevalent. Whether it be the times the subway exits have provided the perfect meeting locations with friends, or when I have memories of riding the subway when coming or going from special experiences in Seoul, the subway is connected to so many of my memories whilst living here. It has often provided me with an intermediary place to reflect on my encounters or experiences from the day, prior to arriving home. Despite not all of these reflections being those where I am happily soaking in my surroundings whilst thinking fondly about the memories I made that day (I have also spent several subway journeys gazing out the train doors into the darkness of the tunnel, trying to control the tears sliding down my cheeks), I still consider this third place of human intersection and connection to be a significant part of my Seoul life.
The subway is so integrated into daily life that I imagine most Seoul citizens would find riding the subway second nature. As someone who grew up in New Zealand (where we have few above-ground trains for public transportation, let alone any that function solely under your feet), riding the subway was always a foreign concept to me. There is something inherently fascinating about having the opportunity to be surrounded by all kinds of people going about their days, and sharing a part of our day together in this bustling space below the city.
The subway provides me with a never-saturated curiosity about the people around me, a.k.a, the people making up the fabric of Seoul society; it is my daily opportunity to be curious about the people I am sharing the city with. I have always enjoyed people-watching, and the subway is the perfect place for my mind to ponder the lives’ of others. It is sometimes nice to momentarily wonder about other people: ‘where are they going? Is today a special occasion? What is their story?’. Despite everyone partaking in the same activity at that very moment—riding the subway—chances are, the thousands of people on the train would be experiencing thousands of different thoughts and feelings depending on what they were coming or going from (a heartbreaking conversation, a first date, meeting with friends or family, a job interview…the possibilities are endless).
Another fascinating aspect of the Seoul subway is how it truly does feel like an entire ecosystem; a subset (yet wholly functional) part of Korean society is happening beneath the city of Seoul. Most subway stations have at least one convenience store and several food places; some have pharmacies, flower shops, and clothes stores. On the other hand, some stations are so comprehensive in their offerings that you could do all of your errands before even reaching the platform.
When I first lived in Korea, my ‘home’ station was Hapjeong Station. I became surprisingly attached to the station; possibly because it came to be my focal point of Seoul. I have fond recollections of buying a hot, roasted goguma (sweet potato) on my way home whilst passing through the station, the smell of Korean pastries suddenly hitting me suddenly in all of their sweetness, commuters pausing on their journey home to gather around the stall selling traditional Korean street foods like steaming eomuk, spicy tteokbokki, and kimbap. Many cumulative days of walking through the station meant that I could also enjoy observing the processes of change occurring in the station that were often small, yet noticeable enough to pique my interest; the development and opening of a new flower shop, or the changing displays of different fruits in the fruit shop.
I also could not write about the Seoul subway without mentioning the beloved sounds of the train announcements. These ‘subway jingles’ are based on ‘gugak’ (national music, i.e., Korean traditional music), and invoke an indescribable feeling of comfort; they are a lovely incorporation of traditional Korean culture into everyday life.
Recently, I was walking along the train platform as the train jingle was playing to announce the incoming train, and the family walking in front of me all began singing along; the delight on the child’s face was palpable. It was such a simple thing, yet it was something that brought even a little piece of joy to the adults, too. Even after leaving Korea, from time to time I would think about the train jingles and remember my time in Seoul fondly.
Another feeling invoked by the subway, and one that will always be a little exhilarating, is when the train emerges from underground, particularly when the train crosses the Han River; a minute or two of a beautiful river view whilst riding the subway is hard to put into words. The brevity of the glimpse outside feels as though we are being simultaneously rewarded for taking the time to look beyond the train to the world around you, and reminded to be grateful for the glimpses of the outside (whilst they may be nothing new, they are finite; particularly in the world of the subway system where darkness outside the train is the usual view).
The subway is a fleeting space, and its ephemeral nature makes me reflect on the similarly fleeting, or otherwise coincidental experiences we can have that can either make a seemingly-small world seem bigger, or a seemingly-big world seem smaller.
Around a month ago, my friend and I decided to meet at a library near Seongsu so we could work on our respective writing projects together. The only plan we made was to meet there around 10am. Given that both of us had to travel from opposite directions (around 40 minutes each), I hopped off the train with my AirPods still in, allowing myself to remain in my little world of music for a little while longer before meeting my friend. When I had absorbed my new surroundings enough to look beyond the people I was following off the train, who did I see walking towards me with a gleeful smile? My friend. The fact that we had spent the past 20 minutes on the same train made me feel simultaneously that the world truly is a small place (really, what were the chances of us being on the same train?), whilst also slightly terrified at that very notion because it made the world feel big despite us having been on the same train (the minuscule chances of meeting were somehow defied—I was sitting on the same train as my best friend in a city of 10 million—yet I had absolutely no idea).
Despite this, it felt like a meaningful coincidence; not only were we coming from opposite directions, we also both had to transfer onto that train from different lines. It’s a slightly mind-boggling thought to realise that our timing was, quite literally, perfect. Sometimes, something like this happens and it leads me to a deep pondering of life and all the invisible forces—the strings connecting us to others—that are occurring without us even realising. This is why I believe noticing your surroundings can be so thought-provoking; not only to feel even a small connection to the strangers sharing the ride with us, but also because you never what ‘coincidences’ are waiting to be noticed.
Experiences like this also send me into a slightly existential spiral of thought, because they remind me that life passes us by in more ways than through time; people, moments, and experiences can pass us by because they miss the chance to be in our orbit (sometimes, by mere seconds). In the case of the subway, this could be through missing the train, or not noticing the people around you, causing a change to the outcome of your day, and potentially, your life. When I think about the thousands of strangers congregated on the subway, I find the thought that amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces—after all, the vast majority of people you see will be strangers—that you could step off the train the moment someone who is, or could be, meaningful to you steps onto the train, and therefore miss crossing paths. The subway seems to remind me of life’s ephemerality, and the coincidences that can occur, more noticeably than other circumstances of daily life.
As people come and go with each stop the train makes, there is a sense of temporary community; we are riding together. And as the train pulls away from the platform, leaving all those who got off behind, it feels like a metaphor for life: people come and go, but there will always be those who journey with you.
The subway is a place to reflect, to be a little more connected to others, to prepare, to zone out, to think, to notice…it provides the perfect platform to observe the people you are sharing the city with.
The subway, in my eyes, is the quintessential study of Seoul.
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