By Wonsuh Song
I recently visited Korea after a long absence. Driving through the neighborhood where I grew up, I was struck by how unrecognizable it had become. Towering apartment blocks dominated the skyline, my cousin’s old apartment had been torn down without a trace, and even the building where I spent my childhood was preparing for redevelopment. The friends who once lived there had all moved away, leaving the place emptied of the familiar atmosphere I once cherished.
At that moment, the title of Thomas Wolfe’s novel You Can’t Go Home Again came to mind. Though my experience does not exactly mirror the novel’s story, its message—that one can never truly return home—resonated deeply. Home is not merely a physical location; it is the sum of people, time, and atmosphere that once shaped our lives. When buildings are demolished, people leave, and eras change, the home we long for becomes something that exists only in memory.
Today, returning to the past feels increasingly impossible. Urban redevelopment continuously transforms our living spaces, erasing the landscapes that once held our personal histories. Faced with these new realities, it is natural to feel both estrangement and sorrow.
Yet perhaps this is the essence of life. We long for home not because it remains unchanged, but because its memories remain indelible within us despite the changing world. The physical place may disappear, but the home in our memory continues to live on. Carrying those memories forward may be the only form of “going home” that remains possible.
Wonsuh Song (Ph.D.)
Full-time Lecturer, Shumei University / NKNGO Forum Representative
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