The laughter of residents and newcomers alike is blown out the open doors of Shea on the cool autumnal winds. From inside, you can hear the sounds of a Hangul day celebration: the clacking of small, pebble-sized pieces and the rolling of carved sticks, the yells of victory and the groans of defeat, and, below it all, chattering voices talking in a mixture of both Korean and English. 

Traveling across the room, one comes upon each Korean game that has been set up in turn, earning snacks and laughter for their victory as they move along. The first game to be played is gonggi, where you throw small, pebble-sized pieces up into the air one at a time, trying to scoop the rest of the pieces in your palm before gravity brings the one you had made airborne back down onto the table beneath you. For me and my competitive spirit, I very quickly became addicted to this game, trying to get all five in a row over and over again. I also learned, immediately after this event, that you can buy a gonggi set for only five dollars on Amazon. 

The next station was yutnori, each roll of the sided sticks winning me an increasing number of high-chews to add to my quickly filling pockets. Tuho, however, I had much less luck in. If anyone was able to throw more than two of those arrows into the cylindrical container during the event, then you would have my utmost respect. Jegichagi, as well, found me picking up the hackysack-like object off the ground more times than I was able to successfully kick it around. 

Once making it through the games with varying levels of success, the last station was calligraphy. The soothing motions of making the bookmarks that my calligraphy would go onto was nicely juxtaposed with the adrenaline rush that the games provided. The origami paper folded within my hands, one end over the other, the edges sliding together with a sound almost like silk as I lined them up, the folds made sharp by my nail running along their seam. I held the brush steady between my fingers, my eyes trained on the unknown characters before me, tracing each line and circle with my unfamiliar hand. But then the bookmark was done. And it was beautiful. 

My face cracked into a smile and I instantly held it out to show others. The residents, my friends, of the Korean pod smiled back at me, sharing in this moment, passing around warm tea and cooled sodas from hand to hand, drinking in our laughter together. 

Written by Chloe Ross ‘26