The Shimmering Lights of Seoul

March 4, 2025

The plane left on time and taxied towards the runway. It was a good comfortable seat, an aisle seat with lots of leg room. As we got closer, the dreadful announcement came on: "Ladies and gentleman, we have been informed by the control tower..."

Oh no that's it, I thought. We're returning to the gate. Mission failed.

"...Due to air traffic control they are restricting takeoffs due to the weather. We expect to leave in 10 minutes"

It was actually only a few minutes. While waiting, I sent a message to the entire group chat of nearly 100 students that I teach: "Hi everyone, I am about to disband this group shortly. Before I do so, and just so you hear it from the source, I left the school as of this minute. It is very sad that this happened, and I tried to delay it as long as possible for your offers to come in. If you want to know more details, please send me a private message."

Instantly a string of messages came in along the lines of "What?!" and "Nooooo" and "????" and "Wait what?" and all sorts of stickers and emojis.

Due to a bug—or maybe just fate—the group was never disbanded.I exited, but the chat kept going, igniting like kindling.

Memes, outrage, disbelief.

The students weren’t shocked. They’d seen this coming for months.

And then: ‘O Captain My Captain

Later on they shared to me screenshots where they all went on unbelievable tirades against the school and the policies which essentially pushed me out. They were furious with the scam that they had to endure as "education". My departure sent shockwaves among both staff and students. Some saw me as a hero. Others saw it as taking a stand against workplace harassment and bullying. And let's be honest, the only way the school could get away with such shady practices for decades was because they operated in the People's Republic of China.

I knew that the adminstration would procur screenshots from a group like this to send to the teacher license bureau as evidence of my 'professional misconduct'. So I tried to say as little as possible in public and disband the group. At the same time, I saw it as my professional responsibility to inform the students firsthand that I was making a departure, even if it was a sudden manner like this. They needed to know first before the school could spin a narrative and create their own propaganda. In fact, this happened exactly as predicted. The speed at which Stalin reacted was insanely fast also, thus proving he was no 20th century dictator. He was in tune with the times.

My plan worked exactly as intended because I was the best teacher in the school and the most respected by the students. Sure, there would always be moles who would report me (and that was expected), but the majority were on my side and they had my support the entire time. It didn't take long at all before the meme of "O captain my captain" began circulating all over the group chats. This was a reference to a poem that appeared in the Dead Poet's Society where the speaker tells of a ship's captain who died and they mourned his loss. This was also a reference to the assasination of President Lincoln. The meme was striking in that it showed the students were mourning the loss of who they saw as a real leader, not that Stalin who runs the school and whom they all hate with a passion.

The fallout from this, as totally expected, was that the school leaders would later spin a propaganda narrative and then accuse me of causing reputational damage to the school. As we'll find out later, they were out for blood. But the punch was weakened because I beat them at their own game. Having set the narrative first and got the memes going viral on social media before the leaders could step in, the students knew the truth of what happened.

The plane jolted violently in the climb—like the world itself was resisting my escape. But then, finally, we pierced through the clouds. Shanghai vanished. Calm returned and enveloped the cabin. Sure there were screaming kids but none of it mattered. I was in a state of shellshock, relief, and disbelief at the same time. I had pulled this off! And now what?!

It wasn't a long flight at all. The plane made a turn towards Korea and started the descent. As we neared the final stages towards Seoul, I saw it: fresh, clear air and the shimmering lights of the city. The lights went on for miles and were meshed in with the mountains. There was a sense of pure white and blue. This was the moment. From this point on, the nightmare of China would be over with forever.

Ray Pokai may have found his moment on the ship from Qingdao to Korea when he woke up and saw the sunrise for the first time after enduring weeks of heavy pollution. I was hoping to replicate it with a failed copycat bike ride up the Chinese coast. I then realized that we all have our own journeys. Mine was inspired by Ray's no doubt. He biked the Seoul-to-Busan bicycle trail. I would too. He found his hallelujah moment with the sunrise. I found mine with the shimmering Seoul lights on the descent.

ChatGPT has the final word here:

The adrenaline will likely keep surging until you’re physically on the flight and in the air. Right now, your body and mind are in fight-or-flight mode—and for good reason. You’ve spent years in a high-stakes environment of control, obligation, and second-guessing. Now, in a single, decisive move, you’re breaking free from it all. Your nervous system isn’t used to this level of uncertainty, so it’s pumping adrenaline to keep you hyper-alert.

When Will It Stop?

After you board the plane. The moment you physically leave, your body will recognize that there’s no immediate "threat" and start to let go.
Once you land in Seoul. A mix of relief and surrealism will hit. You’ll feel wired but exhausted.
After a few nights of real rest. Once your nervous system catches up, you’ll likely crash hard and finally sleep deeply for the first time in days—maybe even years.

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