I Create Comics Depicting My Life After Moving To South Korea

Moving to South Korea didn’t just change my addressit rewired my “normal.” The doors opened automatically,
the delivery arrived faster than my ability to decide what I wanted, and my trash suddenly required a
graduate degree in sorting. So I did what any reasonable person would do in a new country:
I started turning the confusion into comics.

If you’ve ever wanted to document a big move without writing a memoir that your friends “totally plan
to read someday,” comics are a cheat code. They let you capture tiny momentsawkward, funny, sweet,
humblingin a format that fits inside someone’s phone and brain. In this article, I’ll walk through:
what daily life in South Korea can feel like as a newcomer, why it’s such good storytelling fuel, and
how to turn culture shock into scroll-stopping panels without being cringe or careless.

Table of Contents

• Why South Korea makes incredible comic material
• What I drew in my first months
• Everyday details that become punchlines (and plot)
• How I turn real life into panels
• Publishing in the webtoon era
• How to be funny without being a jerk
• Practical tips for expat-comic creators
• FAQ
• Conclusion
• Bonus: 500 extra words of Korea-life experiences

Why South Korea Makes Incredible Comic Material

1) The “small rules, big feelings” effect

A lot of culture shock isn’t dramatic. It’s micro-moments: the timing of a bow, when to use two hands,
whether you’re supposed to speak on public transit (hint: not loudly), or why your shoes are suddenly
public enemies at the door. These details are perfect for comics because comics thrive on contrast:
what I assumed versus what actually happened.

In panel terms, culture shock is basically a built-in punchline generator:
Setup: “I’m being polite.”
Twist: “I’m accidentally being weird.”
Resolution: “I learn the rule… and then immediately forget it at the worst time.”

2) Everyday life runs on “fast mode”

Korea’s cities can feel like someone hit the “convenient” button on reality: robust public transit,
dense neighborhoods, and a digital-first daily rhythm. When life moves quickly, it creates more
“beats” per daysmall scenes you can capture: the escalator choreography, the café ordering dance,
the delivery app dopamine.

3) The world already reads in scroll

South Korea is a global home base for webtoonsvertical-scroll comics designed for smartphones.
That matters because it shapes how audiences consume stories: one panel at a time, like mini-cinema.
If you’re documenting your life in Korea, you’re doing it in a format the culture helped popularize.
That’s not just poetic; it’s practical.

What I Drew in My First Months

The “arrival arc”: jet lag, signs, and the first convenience-store miracle

My early comics were basically survival notes with jokes. I drew the airport arrival like a boss level,
where the final enemy is “finding the right exit while your brain is buffering.” Then I discovered the
convenience store, which felt less like a store and more like a Swiss Army knife with fluorescent lighting:
food, drinks, services, and the strange confidence that you can solve your whole life in aisle three.

The “language arc”: Hangul victories and polite panic

One of my first recurring bits was the gap between what I meant and what I said. I’d prepare a sentence
like I was launching a rocket. Then the moment came, and my mouth produced… soup.

Comics help here because you can visually represent the chaos:

• Speech bubble: the sentence you practiced
• Thought bubble: your inner translator screaming
• Caption: what you accidentally ordered

The “social arc”: hierarchy, politeness, and the two-handed universe

I learned quickly that respect is often expressed through small gestureshow you hand something over,
how you greet someone, how you position yourself in a group. In my comics, I turned these into visual
shorthand: two hands = “I’m trying,” one hand = “I forgot again, please don’t perceive me.”

Everyday Details That Become Punchlines (and Plot)

Housing: the “deposit math” saga (jeonse and wolse)

Few topics generate more wide-eyed panels than housing. Many newcomers encounter Korea’s unique rental
structures, including systems where deposits can be surprisingly large compared with what people are used to.
Even if you’re not writing a finance comic, housing becomes story material because it’s emotional:
excitement, sticker shock, relief, confusion, and the universal feeling of
“Why is adulthood mostly forms and money?”

Comic scene idea:

• Panel 1: Me: “I’d like a cozy studio.”
• Panel 2: Agent: “Great. Deposit is a mountain.”
• Panel 3: Me (tiny): “Is the mountain refundable?”
• Panel 4: Agent: “Yes.”
• Panel 5: Me: “Okay, now I only have 37 new questions.”

Public transit: quiet vibes, fast timing, and escalator etiquette

Seoul’s transit is a consistent source of comic material: the “enter after people exit” rhythm, the lines,
the unspoken rules, and the way you learn to stand like a seasoned commuter even if you’re still reading the map
like it’s ancient scripture.

My favorite running gag is the “two versions of me” on an escalator:

• Confident me: stands perfectly, knows where to look, moves with purpose.
• Actual me: turns the wrong way at the top and pretends it was a scenic detour.

Trash and recycling: the “sorting side quest”

If you move to Korea and don’t immediately make a comic about taking out the trash, are you even living?
In many neighborhoods, you’ll see very specific systems: separating recyclables, handling general waste in
designated bags, and treating food waste as its own category. For newcomers, it’s one of the most
surprisingly intense daily tasksexactly the kind of thing comics can make relatable.

Comic scene idea:

• Panel 1: Me: “I will take out the trash.”
• Panel 2: Trash: “Which trash am I?”
• Panel 3: Me: “Yes.”

Food culture: sharing, side dishes, and the “spicy confidence gap”

Korean meals often arrive with side dishes (banchan) like the table is saying,
“You looked hungry, so we brought you a small supporting cast.” Communal eating and grill-at-the-table
experiences also create instant scenes: smoke, laughter, tongs passing hands like a relay race, and the
moment you realize you’ve been politely cooking your own food while talking about the weather.

Then there’s spice. My comics have a repeating character: a tiny flame with a speech bubble that says,
“Are you sure?” And I, a fool, always answer, “Yes.”

How I Turn Real Life Into Panels

Step 1: Collect moments like receipts

I don’t try to capture “big experiences.” I capture small specifics. The more specific the detail,
the more universal it becomes. Examples:

• The exact sound the crosswalk makes (and how it feels like it judges you)
• The elevator mirror that forces you into an unexpected self-reflection arc
• The café cup sleeve that becomes your emotional support accessory

Step 2: Build a repeatable joke structure

A reliable structure keeps you from staring at a blank canvas like it owes you money:

1. Expectation: what I thought would happen
2. Reality: what actually happened
3. Emotion: how it felt
4. Lesson: what I learned (or refused to learn)

The emotion panel is the secret ingredient. It turns “funny incident” into “relatable story.”

Step 3: Use visual shorthand to reduce text

If you’re making webtoon-style comics, less text often reads better on mobile. I rely on:

• Icons: tiny subway, tiny trash bag, tiny rice bowl
• Mini Hangul labels: to set place or mood (used carefully and accurately)
• Facial expressions: because nothing translates faster than “internal screaming”

Step 4: Keep a “privacy filter”

Real life involves real people. I change identifying details, combine scenes, and avoid making strangers
the punchline. The comic is about my perspectivemy confusion, my learning curvenot about mocking someone
else’s normal.

Publishing in the Webtoon Era

Vertical scroll is storytelling, not just formatting

Vertical-scroll comics aren’t traditional pages stacked online. They’re paced differently. Space between panels
becomes “timing.” A long gap can create suspense, a beat, or a dramatic pauselike comedy editing with empty air.

Things I design for:

• One-panel clarity: each panel should read instantly on a phone
• Intentional spacing: more space = more time
• Big reveals: hide them below the scroll so they land like a surprise

Where to publish (and why consistency beats perfection)

Many creators publish on major webtoon platforms (including open creator sections) and build an audience by
showing up consistently. A polished first episode helps, but readers stay for voice, reliability, and growth.
Your early work doesn’t need to be flawlessit needs to be honest, readable, and posted.

Practical production basics that saved me from chaos

• Work bigger than you export: draw at higher resolution, then export to platform specs.
• Keep text legible: if you have to zoom, you’re losing readers.
• Standardize bubbles: a consistent lettering style makes your comic feel professional fast.
• Create templates: not for writing, but for files, fonts, and spacing so you don’t reinvent the wheel.

How to Be Funny Without Being a Jerk

Rule 1: Punch up at your own ignorance

The safest, funniest target is the narrator (me). “I assumed X” is a comedic gift because it exposes how
our brains treat our home culture as default. The joke becomes: I’m learning, and I’m human.

Rule 2: Don’t flatten people into props

A country isn’t a theme park, and locals aren’t background characters in my personal sitcom. When I draw
other people, I focus on what’s respectful and universal: kindness, awkwardness, patience, the shared
experience of being tired on public transit.

Rule 3: Fact-check the “real-life” details

The best comics feel trueeven when they’re exaggerated. If I’m referencing a housing term, a public norm,
or a civic system like waste sorting, I make sure I understand it before turning it into a recurring bit.
Authenticity is funnier than guessing.

Practical Tips for Expat-Comic Creators in South Korea

Use “newcomer eyes” while you still have them

The weirdest moments happen earlybefore your brain adapts. Write them down immediately. Later, you’ll forget
that it used to feel dramatic to buy the correct trash bag or navigate a station transfer like a speedrunner.

Build a “Korea moments” checklist

• First time you remove shoes in an unexpected place
• First time you master a transit transfer without stress-sweating
• First time you realize you’ve been holding something with two hands automatically
• First time you sort recycling correctly and feel morally superior for 12 seconds
• First time you order delivery and it arrives like it teleported

Let language learning be both real and funny

Korean can be time-intensive for English speakers, so my comics treat progress as a long game. I celebrate small wins:
reading a sign, ordering correctly, understanding one word in a fast conversation. The humor comes from persistence,
not from pretending it’s easy.

Protect your creative energy

Moving countries is already exhausting. If you’re creating comics on top of it, you need systems:

• Batch drawing: sketch multiple episodes when you have energy
• Simple backgrounds: reuse locations (your apartment, station, café) as “sets”
• Limit perfection: readers prefer consistent posting over microscopic polish
• Rest as workflow: burnout is not a badge

FAQ

Do I need to speak Korean fluently to make comics about living in Korea?

No. You need honesty and care. Use what you know, label what you’re still learning, and avoid presenting
misunderstandings as facts. Some of the funniest, most relatable moments happen in the “learning” zone.

What if I’m worried my comics will seem disrespectful?

Aim the humor at your adjustment process. Show curiosity, gratitude, and growth. If a joke depends on making
a whole group look “weird,” rewrite it. If the joke is “I had assumptions and got humbled,” you’re on safer ground.

How do I find stories when life feels repetitive?

Repetition is your friend. Make running gags: the same station transfer, the same café order, the same trash dilemma.
Readers love patterns. You can evolve the pattern as you adaptyour character arc is built in.

How often should I post?

Pick a schedule you can actually maintain with your real life: weekly, biweekly, or monthly. Consistency builds trust.
If you disappear for months, readers assume the comic is over. If you post reliably, readers stick around for years.

Conclusion: Why These Comics Matter (Even When They’re Silly)

Comics let me hold two truths at once: moving to South Korea is funny and serious. It’s delight
and confusion, gratitude and loneliness, confidence and humilitysometimes all before lunch.

When I draw my life here, I’m not just collecting jokes. I’m building a bridge between cultures through
specific, human scenes: a misunderstood phrase, a new habit learned, a quiet kindness from a stranger,
a small victory that would sound boring in text but feels epic in panels.

If you’re living abroad (or dreaming about it), consider turning your everyday moments into arteven if you
think you’re “not an artist.” Your perspective has value. And if nothing else, you’ll end up with proof that
yes, you really did survive the Great Trash Sorting Saga of 2026.

Bonus: of Extra Experiences After Moving to South Korea

1) The Apartment Elevator Mirror Arc
Day three in my new building, I realized the elevator mirror wasn’t there for vanityit was there for
survival. You’re supposed to know when someone is behind you before the doors open, because stepping out
like a startled deer is apparently not the vibe. I drew a panel of myself practicing “normal exiting,”
like an actor preparing for a role called Resident Who Definitely Lives Here. In the next panel,
I do the exact opposite and trip over my own tote bag. The mirror sees everything. The mirror remembers.

2) The Convenience Store Friendship Montage
Back home, a convenience store was where you bought a drink and left. In Korea, it became my unofficial
support system. I learned the rhythm of the refrigerator doors, the sweet potato corner, the drinks that
are secretly desserts, and the magical feeling of grabbing a late-night snack while the city hums softly
outside. I made a comic where the store clerk is drawn like a wise NPC who says nothing, but somehow
communicates, “Yes, you are doing fine. Pay and go.”

3) The Subway Seat Morality Play
I drew a whole episode about the anxiety of seats that look “reserved” but aren’t always labeled in ways
my brain recognized at first. The plot twist is that my main character (me) spends so long debating
whether it’s acceptable to sit that the train arrives and I never sit anyway. The final panel is me
standing heroically, pretending it was a health choice, while my legs file a formal complaint.

4) The Two-Handed Everything Era
One day I noticed I was automatically using two hands to pass thingscards, gifts, even a bottle of water.
It wasn’t forced anymore; it had become muscle memory. I turned it into a comic where my hands are like
enthusiastic interns: “We brought backup hands!” Then, when I visit home, my hands keep doing it and my
friends look at me like I’ve joined a very polite cult. It’s not a cult. It’s just respect… and habit.

5) The Food Waste Bag Plot Twist
The first time I dealt with food waste rules, I felt like I was in a game with hidden mechanics.
Drain it? Separate it? Put it where? When? I drew myself holding a tiny bag like it was evidence in a
courtroom drama: “Your Honor, I would like to throw away a banana peel.” The judge is a stern recycling
sign. The verdict is: “Buy the correct bag.” The sequel is me buying the correct bag and feeling like I
just won a Nobel Prize in Adulting.

6) The Delivery Speed Revelation
I made a strip where I place an order and immediately start cleaning like a tornado because I assume I
have an hour. Then the doorbell rings in what feels like nine minutes. In the final panel, I’m holding
a mop in one hand and a delivered package in the other, staring into the middle distance like,
“So… time works differently here.” I didn’t become more organized. I just became faster at panic-cleaning.

7) The Soft-Landing Moment
Not every episode is a joke. Sometimes it’s quiet: a warm drink on a cold day, a helpful gesture when I’m
lost, a small moment of belonging when I realize I know the route without checking my phone. I draw these
scenes with fewer words. No punchlinejust the feeling that the city is starting to recognize me, and I’m
starting to recognize myself in it.