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Ahead of President Lee Jae Myung's state visit to Mongolia, Ambassador Sukhee Sukhbold outlines plans for deeper cooperation on rare earths, health, the environment and regional diplomacy. Seoul's ambassadors are often gastronomes keen to share a taste of their home cuisine. In this series, the Korea JoongAng Daily asks the diplomatic corps to introduce our readers to their favorite restaurants representing cuisine from their homelands, while chatting about issues of interest to our Korean and global audience. — Ed. President Lee Jae Myung arrives in Ulaanbaatar on Thursday for the first state visit by a South Korean leader to Mongolia in 15 years — a trip Mongolian Ambassador Sukhee Sukhbold has spent much of his post in Seoul quietly lobbying for. "[Since the last state visit,] exchanges continued, but most of them came from Mongolia. There had been no return state visit from South Korea, " Sukhbold said during an interview with the Korea JoongAng Daily three days before the visit at Seoul Nomad, a newly-opened Mongolian restaurant in eastern Seoul. "That was my main focus." It's a visit that underscores an unusual balancing act. Mongolia has been one of South Korea's closest partners in the region for over three decades. But its ties with the North run even longer, and remain unbroken. Mongolia's embassy in Pyongyang, Sukhbold said, "has operated continuously without disruption, even through the pandemic," a legacy stretching back to the 1950-53 Korean War, when Mongolia took in and fed North Korean evacuees as other countries shuttered their missions. Kim Il Sung, Kim Jong-un's grandfather, visited the country twice. That history has made Mongolia something of a diplomatic bridge — a role it has tried to formalize through the annual Ulaanbaatar Dialogue, multilateral talks on regional security held since 2014, which South Korea's unification minister attended this year. It's also why Mongolia is periodically floated as a possible venue for a potential summit between North Korean leader Kim Jong-un and U.S. President Donald Trump. While nothing is set yet, Sukhbold said cautiously that if anything becomes more concrete, his government will stand ready to provide "logistics" or "whatever is needed" to host such talks. That position hasn't stopped Mongolia from embracing the South just as closely. Walk down a street in Ulaanbaatar today and the storefronts could almost be Seoul's: CU and GS25 convenience stores on the corners, Lotteria and Mom's Touch burger joints and Emart among the country's biggest retailers. The secret behind this commercial invasion, Sukhbold explained, goes far beyond business metrics — it is rooted in a shared identity and ancestral ties. "Maybe it's because we are connected by blood, or reconnected through culture," he said. "You will not see so many Chinese restaurants, even in the capital" — this in a country wedged between China and Russia. Sukhbold, a career diplomat who began as a junior official at the United Nations — and, before that, a child jockey — arrived in Seoul in 2024 as his first bilateral posting. Below are excerpts from the interview, edited for length and clarity. A. President Lee's visit will come 15 years after Lee Myung-bak paid a state visit in 2011. Since that time, exchanges have continued, but most of them came from the Mongolian side. We really appreciate that your president's office has accepted our invitation. Not only that — after 15 years, we also marked the 35th anniversary of our diplomatic relations last year. The "Golden Era of Korea-Mongolia Relations" Joint Declaration is expected to present a shared vision for Mongolia-Korea relations and provide a roadmap for advancing our strategic partnership in the years ahead. Traditionally and historically, in our own expression — even in Korean — when we have something unique, a different historical moment, we always compare it with gold. It's like a new era for cooperation, and it will be intensified. Our two lead...

Huh Min is a dinosaur expert. He even has a dinosaur named after him, thanks to his contributions to Korea's paleontology. That made his appointment as chief of the Korea Heritage Service last year quite unexpected. Many wondered what a scholar best known for studying prehistoric life could contribute to the agency overseeing the nation's heritage — especially since 2026 marks a critical milestone in South Korea's cultural diplomacy, with the country to host the 48th session of Unesco's World Heritage Committee in Busan. His paleontological background, however, is actually proving helpful. As a pioneer of dinosaur research in South Korea, Huh has spent at least 25 years working closely with Unesco to excavate, promote and preserve sites of dinosaur remains in the country. Notably, he led the inscription of fossilized dinosaur sites along South Korea's southern coast on Unesco's Tentative List of World Heritage sites in 2002. "People thought of Korea as a country without dinosaurs, but that perception changed after Korean scholars began publishing world-class papers," Huh said in an interview with the Korea JoongAng Daily at the agency's headquarters in Daejeon on June 29. "The site on South Korea's southern coast was extremely well preserved, and I thought that it deserved greater global recognition, which is why I pushed for the listing." That same tenacity will be put to work when South Korea hosts the 48th session of the World Heritage Committee in Busan from July 19 to 29. This marks the first time that the nation has organized the event since becoming a member of the World Heritage Convention in 1988. Huh intends to use this year's forum as an opportunity to redefine how people view Unesco and the committee — not simply as a body that designates World Heritage sites, but as a global forum where experts come together to tackle the various challenges facing those sites today. South Korea, he believes, can lead that conversation. To put that ambition into action, Huh has a few concrete plans. Until now, the World Heritage Committee has been known largely for inscribing new World Heritage sites — a role that has at times drawn scrutiny regarding the system's legitimacy and relevance. "With wars such as the one in Afghanistan years ago and in Ukraine now, and with climate change slowly submerging small islands, cultural heritage is being destroyed — and a single country cannot fix that," he said. "Unesco can't keep saying 'preserve this [heritage]' or pointing out what's been done wrong. We must solve [the problem] together. That's why I'm proposing [adding] collaboration as a major agenda item at this session." His proposal will be put into practice first in South Korea when the committee convenes later this month. A multinational seminar on getbol, or mudflats, near the Yellow Sea will take place on July 25, with North Korea and China invited, Huh said. "It would be really nice to have North Korea attend, but if things don't work out, it would attend by video, according to the Unesco World Heritage Centre," he said. Huh envisions a discussion in which the three countries bordering the Yellow Sea's tidal flats consider ways to jointly research migratory birds' flight paths and wetlands to find better preservation methods. "We will discuss how to hand down World Heritage to future generations." China had its own tidal flats along the Yellow Sea coast and Bohai Gulf inscribed as a World Heritage site in 2019. North Korea, too, added its wetlands near Mundok County to its Tentative List earlier this year. "By discussing the getbol that extends from South Korea to North Korea and China […] we will examine not only the ecological excellence of the tidal flats and the science of their conservation but also our migratory birds' flyways — all while considering how we can hand down our World Heritage to future generations," Huh said. During the committee, South Korea's recently inscribed petroglyphs along the Bangucheon Stream ...

A new exhibition at the National Museum of Korea explores several millennia of Korean dining, from charred rice grains and royal banquets to ssam, seafood and the everyday habits that shaped modern K-food. What defines K-food? Is it the ingredients, the cooking method or the way it's presented? The National Museum of Korea offers its own answer at the recently opened exhibition "The Korean Table: Food, Nature and Life." From charred rice grains dating back 3,000 years to what are speculated to be pheasant eggs unearthed from a royal tomb, the exhibition looks back at the dining tables of our ancestors — tables that laid the groundwork for today's K-food wave sweeping the global culinary scene. "Now that K-food is consumed globally and has become a global trend, it felt like the right moment to lay out the roots and context of Korean cuisine through concrete materials," the National Museum of Korea said. "We designed this exhibition to show, through a diverse range of items spanning different eras and genres, that the roots of K-food lie in our everyday dining tables." The exhibition is divided into two sections, with the first part zooming in on "how" we have eaten and the latter part on "what" we have eaten. The first part opens with a simple question: "Have you eaten?" Following the question is a display of burnt rice grains resembling toasted coffee beans, dating back to the Bronze Age. It highlights that Koreans have had a bowl of rice on their tables for the past three millennia. Paintings like Kim Hong-do's "Rice Threshing" also indicate that rice served an important role for Koreans — not just as food, but as something that helped build community. Bronze dishware unearthed from the Tomb of King Muryeong of the Baekje era (18 B.C.–A.D. 660) shows that, although the design differed, people back then also used metal spoons and chopsticks. "A lot can be learned from the spoons and chopsticks of the past in Korea," said You Hong-jun, director of the national museum. "A lot of spoons were unearthed from the Goryeo dynasty, and that's because during that time, when a person passed away, a spoon and chopsticks were placed in their tomb for them to use in the afterlife. The decorations at their tips are also beautiful, reflecting how Koreans pursued beauty even in the way they ate." The dining tables of Joseon-era royals are also highlighted. A total of 45 kinds of dishes were prepared for the birthday party of Queen Sunwon (1789-1857), grandmother of King Heonjong (1827-1849). The painting documenting the party displays brassware and blue-and-white porcelain holding cakes, fruits, noodles, soups and steamed food next to elaborate floral decorations. The second part of the exhibition starts by highlighting Korea's seasonal cuisine. If the Joseon era had a matjip (good restaurant) map, it would look something like the book "Domundaejak," written by Heo Gyun in 1611. In "Domundaejak," Heo — best known for writing "The Tale of Hong Gil-dong" — wrote down the best dishes from every corner of Korea, which he could recall from memory after being exiled and allowed to eat only rough rice with hardly any side dishes. In the book, he mentions bangpung (a type of herb) porridge from Gangneung, jujubes from Boeun, whitebait from the Han River, radishes from Naju and abalone from Jeju Island. The practice of eating ssam (wraps) is an essential part of Korea's culinary culture, so much so that vegetables are hardly the only ingredients used for wrapping — so are thinly sliced rice cakes, gim (seaweed), onion and more. The practice of ssam has existed since at least the Joseon era. The "Seonghosaseolyuseon," a book written by 18th-century Joseon literati An Jeong-bok, provides a step-by-step description of how to make ssam. "You spread your left hand widely … and with the right hand, pick two pieces of thick and big sangchu [lettuce] … pick a spoonful of rice, roll it to make it like a rounded goose egg," the book reads. The museum ha...

If you suffer from a condition that traps you in the past, forgetting is no longer an option. *The series is based on the real-life experience of Kim Nam-young, a JoongAng Ilbo reporter currently living with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). The following articles are written from Kim's first-person perspective. Itaewon is a well-known nightlife district in Yongsan District, central Seoul, and a popular spot for Halloween celebrations because of its diverse international culture. The disaster occurred during the first Halloween season after social distancing restrictions imposed during the Covid-19 pandemic had been lifted. Large crowds gathered in the area to celebrate. As more and more people poured into the neighborhood, the crowd became dangerously packed. The situation eventually led to a crowd crush in a narrow alley, amid a lack of effective crowd-control measures, leaving some 350 people dead or injured, including 159 fatalities. I have PTSD. As a reporter on the social affairs desk, I covered the Itaewon disaster on Oct. 29, 2022. Since November of the following year, I have been receiving treatment regularly. I attend psychiatric counseling sessions and take medication every day. I am only revealing the illness now, more than two years later, not because I have overcome it. This is not a story about recovery, but a record of living through the illness. To be honest, I still do not know when, or if, I will overcome it. Instead, I want to talk about the time I have spent living alongside PTSD. Even now, I continue to work as a policy and social affairs reporter while exercising, traveling and going on with daily life. If someone is hesitant to see a doctor, I hope this piece helps. I also hope we can become a society where people do not feel forced to hide emotional pain and trauma. Stay alive. Cling to even the smallest straw — and remember my name. Those are the lyrics from duo AKMU's "Fish in the Water" (2019). For the past two and a half years, this was the song I turned to whenever I found myself asking, "Why should I keep living?" I had always wondered what AKMU meant by saying we should hold on to even the smallest straw just to stay alive. I think I finally understand. It was so that I could remember you — the people in Itaewon in October 2022. Simply staying alive has become my way of remembering you that day. In some ways, I think developing PTSD after the Itaewon disaster in 2022 was inevitable. If you suffer from a condition that traps you in the past, forgetting is no longer an option. At first, I tried everything I could to erase my memories of the disaster. I believed that was how I would overcome the illness. I don't think that way anymore. Instead, I've chosen to live with those memories. I've come to accept that they are part of me and part of my life. Once I accepted this "cohabitation," it became a little easier to breathe. Then I found myself hoping that other people, too, would find something — even the smallest straw — to hold on to. That's what led me to begin this series. On June 1, I visited Seongsu-dong in Seongdong District, eastern Seoul. It was my day off. So I went to a Pokémon event, excited to enjoy the day. But then fear began to creep in as enormous crowds gathered early that morning. The narrow alleys packed with people immediately reminded me of Itaewon in October 2022. I later learned that around 40,000 people had gathered in that small Seongsu-dong neighborhood. After making my way out of the crowd, I found my phone filled with messages from people worried about my safety. Fortunately, police stepped in quickly, the event was called off early, and no one was hurt. Whenever I see situations like this brought under control before they become tragedies, I can't help but feel that my own sense of safety is returning, little by little. The Sewol ferry sank on April 16, 2014. The overloaded ship capsized in waters off the southwestern coast, leaving 304 people dead, mostly te...

As fall approaches, the specter of a tragedy and its possible reoccurrence lingers while the need for remorse, accountability, and social healing remains crucial. *The series is based on the real-life experience of Kim Nam-young, a JoongAng Ilbo reporter currently living with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). The following articles are written from Kim's first-person perspective. Itaewon is a well-known nightlife district in Yongsan District, central Seoul, and a popular spot for Halloween celebrations because of its diverse international culture. The disaster occurred during the first Halloween weekend after social distancing restrictions imposed during the Covid-19 pandemic had been lifted. Large crowds gathered in the area to celebrate. As more and more people poured into the neighborhood, the crowd insidiously swelled into a dangerously packed mass. The situation eventually led to a crowd crush in a narrow alley, amid a lack of effective control measures to control the on-foot traffic, leaving some 350 people dead or injured, including 159 fatalities. I have PTSD. As a reporter on the social affairs desk, I covered the Itaewon disaster on Oct. 29, 2022. Since November of the following year, I have been receiving treatment regularly. I attend psychiatric counseling sessions and take medication every day. I am only revealing the illness now, more than two years later, not because I have overcome it. This is not a story about recovery, but a record of living through the illness. To be honest, I still do not know when, or if, I will overcome it. Instead, I want to talk about the time I have spent living alongside PTSD. Even now, I continue to work as a policy and social affairs reporter while exercising, traveling and getting on with daily life. If someone is hesitating to see a doctor, I hope this piece can help. I also hope we can become a society where people do not feel forced to hide emotional pain and trauma. What makes horror films truly scary comes from our intrinsic fear of the unknown. The suspense comes from not knowing when, where or what will appear next. People fear the unseen more than the monster standing in plain sight. A faint sound echoing through the darkness, a scene that is never fully explained or an inexplicable silence all ignite the imagination. And imagination often creates something even more terrifying. At its core, fear is born of the unknown. The same principle helps explain why, after a social disaster that leaves a society grappling with collective PTSD, people relentlessly demand the truth. A disaster whose cause remains unknown is not a monster that has already vanished — it becomes a specter, a possibility that could return at any time. If the cause of a tragedy and the chain of responsibility behind it are never fully uncovered, people cannot trust again that the system is understandable or predictable. They instead begin to question whether rules actually work, whether safety systems are reliable and whether anyone will act responsibly when danger arises. At that moment, society itself turns into a horror film. That is why uncovering the truth is about far more than revisiting the past. It is an attempt to end a state of uncertainty and bring fear back into the realm of what can be understood and controlled. Only when the cause of a tragedy is revealed, responsibility is established and safeguards are put in place to prevent it from happening again can people begin to let go of their fear. The same holds true for healing the post-traumatic stress left behind by a disaster. "Recovering a sense of safety" — that was how my psychiatrist described the goal of treating PTSD. Recovery begins with being able to believe once again that the world beneath your feet is a safe place. But that's not something I can do on my own. I never imagined that so many people would die on a street in the heart of Seoul on Oct. 29, 2022. Even now, it still doesn't feel real. But it happened, and I watche...

The National Museum of Korea opens its first large-scale Thai art exhibition on June 23, featuring rare masterpieces from 21 Thai national museums and free admission through June 30. Standing atop a lotus pedestal, the Buddha places his left foot forward while slightly lifting his right heel. His thin monastic robe appears to flutter like a feather, drawing viewers into a serene, contemplative state. This is the famed bronze Walking Buddha from 14th-century Thailand, one of the country's most beloved Buddhist sculptures. The 154-centimeter (5-foot) statue is known in Thai as "pang lila," meaning "graceful posture." While most Buddhist sculptures around the world depict the Buddha seated, reclining or standing still, representations of the Buddha seemingly walking through the air are unique to Thailand's Sukhothai period (1238–1348) and its artistic successors. The work is being shown in Korea for the first time. "Unlike Korea's Gilt-bronze Pensive Maitreya Bodhisattva, which expresses a world of contemplation, [the Walking Buddha] is a unique work of art that symbolizes the Buddha actively approaching sentient beings," said Noh Nam-hee, a curator at the National Museum of Korea. The National Museum of Korea in Yongsan District, central Seoul, will open an exhibition featuring 239 Thai artworks on June 23. The exhibition includes sculptures, paintings and traditional crafts from 21 national museums across Thailand, including the Bangkok National Museum. The works are featured in the special exhibition, "Amazing Thailand: Masterpieces of Thai Art," which is scheduled to run through Sept. 6. The exhibition was organized in partnership with Thailand's Fine Arts Department under the Ministry of Culture, through a memorandum of understanding that the National Museum of Korea signed in 2019. "As K-culture spreads around the world, our perspective of the world is changing as well," said You Hong-june, the director of the National Museum of Korea, in a press briefing on June 22. "We organized this exhibition out of the belief that our own culture should also become more inclusive." The National Museum of Korea has previously held three exhibitions on Vietnam, in 2008, 2014 and 2019, and one on Indonesia in 2005. However, this is the first large-scale exhibition dedicated to Southeast Asian art. As Korea's first comprehensive exhibition on Thailand, the show traces the country's civilization from prehistoric times to the present day. Thailand has also lent numerous rare and significant artifacts for the occasion. Among them is a large ninth-century Dvaravati boundary stone weighing 700 kilograms (1,543 pounds) that depicts devotees offering bundles of grass to the Buddha. Another highlight is a 46.5-centimeter sculpture created in 1481 during the Lanna Kingdom (1292–1775) that depicts Buddha leaving footprints. Dating from a later period than the 14th-century Walking Buddha, the work appears poised to lean forward, showcasing the creativity of Thai artisans. The former central gate of the Emerald Buddha Temple is also making its first trip overseas after years in storage at a Thai national museum. Other highlights include Sangkhalok ceramics decorated with fish motifs, which were exported to neighboring countries from the Sukhothai period onward. The works offer a glimpse into "the flexibility and inclusiveness of Thai culture, which stood at a major crossroads of East-West trade for centuries," according to curator Kwon Kang-mi in the National Museum of Korea. Crafts associated with Khon, Thailand's traditional masked dance drama, offer insight into the artistic patronage of the Rattanakosin Dynasty, which has ruled since 1782. The exhibition's space design was also intentional. The interior design was inspired by the red-brick walls of historic temples and the ornate decorations of royal palace corridors. Thailand is home to the second-largest Southeast Asian community in Korea after Vietnam and ranks as the fourth-most popular ...

A close reading of Kim Jong-un's body language and rhetoric shows how North Korea's leader rebounded from the 2019 Hanoi summit collapse to gain new leverage with China and Russia, reshaping South Korea's security environment. [A STUDY OF KIM JONG-UN 10] Feb. 28, 2019, is a day North Korean leader Kim Jong-un will never forget. It is the date of the "no deal Hanoi summit," in which U.S. President Donald Trump walked out of negotiations in Vietnam, an insult the North Korean leader had never experienced before. Could Kim himself have ever imagined that, just over six years later, he would stand shoulder to shoulder with the leaders of China and Russia at the viewing gallery of Tiananmen Square in Beijing in September last year? Kim's elevated strategic status is a reality. He is no longer in a hurry. Even if Trump sends another overture, his new position would be to casually ignore it. How did the young leader of Northeast Asia's poorest nation, once treated merely as a joke, reach his current position? What choices did Kim make to overcome the failure of the Hanoi summit, and how has North Korea changed as a result of those choices? How has this change altered South Korea's security environment? We must now deal with a Kim of a different caliber. That is why we must study him now. - Ed. It was China's massive Victory Day celebration at Tiananmen Square in Beijing on Sept. 3 last year. North Korean leader Kim Jong-un, Chinese President Xi Jinping and Russian President Vladimir Putin stood side by side on the rostrum overlooking the 80th anniversary ceremony. Kim, finally taking the spot where his grandfather, a figure regarded almost as god-like in North Korea, had stood more than 70 years earlier, must have — in a single breath — felt the passage of eras. Progressives blame Yoon Suk Yeol for North Korea's hostility. But the enmity goes back further. Bright lights, red city: North Korean leader Kim keeps Pyongyang lit while the rest of the country remains in darkness 'Arms ablaze, they still charged': Ukrainian forces stunned by North Korea's 'meat assaults' As Kim Jong-un extends one hand, he beckons with the other for nuclear development Foreign media also took note of Kim standing as an equal alongside Xi and Putin. Bloomberg assessed that Kim's presence "marks another milestone in his transformation from isolated pariah to a global player benefiting from strengthened ties with his allies." Within the existing framework of North Korea-China-Russia solidarity, North Korea had been more of a dependent variable, buffeted by the strategic decisions of China and Russia. But now it has reinvented itself as an equal partner, shouldering one of the pillars of an anti-American coalition. What was particularly striking was the moment Kim gestured toward Xi and struck up a conversation as the DF-61 (Dongfeng-61) intercontinental ballistic missile passed during the military parade — a scene that encapsulated how dramatically Kim's standing had shifted in just a few years. Had it been the deferential Kim Jong-un of 2018, when inter-Korean, North Korea-U.S. and trilateral summits were in full swing, such an attitude toward Xi would have been unimaginable. In just seven years, everything about Kim Jong-un's demeanor toward Xi Jinping had changed — down to where his eyes focused and what they conveyed. Kim was saying with his body that he would no longer stand behind anyone or cast his eyes downward before them. An analysis of six North Korea-China summits found unmistakable shifts in the way Kim carries himself before Xi. Kim Yeo-jeong, CEO of Jium & Gitdeum, a personal branding research institute specializing in nonverbal behavior, assessed that "Kim Jong-un's attitude toward Xi has gradually shifted from a junior seeking support to an equal strategic partner." From behind Xi to beside him The JoongAng Ilbo, together with Jium & Gitdeum, conducted a focused analysis of the interactions between the two leaders across six summits — begi...

The boy band launched its first Asia tour with two concerts, showcasing its signature youthful energy alongside new unit performances that revealed the group's growing musical range. Youth was prevalent in every form possible at K-pop boy band TWS's kickoff concert for its Asia tour at the KSPO Dome in Songpa District, southern Seoul, on Sunday. There was the bubbly kind, the grungy kind, the romantic kind and, of course, the emotional kind. Whichever form it took, however, it sure drew deafening roars from its fans, collectively known as 42, a homonym for the Korean word for relationship. The tour, titled "24/7:FOR:YOU," marks the six-member band's debut at KSPO Dome, a venue widely regarded as a milestone for K-pop acts because of its sizable 15,000-seat capacity. TWS, only two and a half years into its career, managed to sell out both of its shows at the dome on Saturday and Sunday, according to its agency, Pledis Entertainment, a label under HYBE. "It is our first concert at the KSPO Dome, which makes this concert much more meaningful," said TWS leader Shinyu. "It's all because of you guys '42!" TWS member Dohoon also likened the KSPO Dome debut to something he had always "dreamed of," adding that "of the maybe 18,000 people gathered here, I'm probably the most excited." The concert opened with the six members — Shinyu, Dohoon, Jihoon, Hanjin, Youngjae and Kyungmin — making a dramatic entrance as they descended onto the center stage from inside screens designed to resemble a giant gift box. As the ribbon unraveled on the screen, the members emerged in Prince Charming-style jackets studded with crystals. In the opening set, featuring tracks such as "hey! hey!" (2024), "Overdrive" (2025) and "overthinking" (2025), TWS did what it does best: embracing youth. With upbeat rhythms, harmless lyrics and playful choreography — including the signature shoulder-shaking move from "Overdrive" — the group's trademark bubbly energy was on full display. The mood shifted, although not for long, when the six members unveiled unreleased tracks as units. Jihoon and Kyungmin staged a high-octane rock-infused track titled "Shift," where the duo utilized handkerchiefs for a charismatic choreography. Admitting to being "extremely nervous" for the stage, the duo said they put real effort into putting together this performance by researching everything down to the fabric of the handkerchiefs. Youngjae and Hanjin sang a ballad called "To You Who Have Endured Long Night" (translated), which both members participated in composing and writing the lyrics to. The lyrics reflect upon their hard days as trainees, Hanjin said, especially as a member having come over from China. The standout among the unit performances was undoubtedly Shinyu and Dohoon's "How Did You Do That," a hard-hitting hip-hop track that showcased a completely different side of TWS. Grungy styling, swagger-filled choreography and cocky lyrics were a far cry from the group's signature youthful image but at the same time exactly the kind of unexpected transformation fans had been eager to see. Throughout the more than three hours of show time, TWS's moves, vocals and interaction with the 42s were without flaws. Notably, the live vocals matched so perfectly with the record that it almost felt like lip-syncing. The heavy breathing after each performance was the only "flaw" proving they were live singing the songs. As the members made final comments, Shinyu and Jihoon broke down in tears in appreciation towards the members and fans for making this moment possible. "Thank you for being my dream," Shinyu said. TWS is scheduled to perform 15 shows across eight Asian cities over the coming months, with its next stop set for Fukuoka, Japan, from Aug. 28 to 30. BY JIN EUN-SOO [[email protected]]

A decade-long analysis of North Korean state media suggests Pyongyang 's break with Seoul started after the collapse of the 2019 Hanoi summit, when liberal South Korean President Moon Jae-in was in office. [A STUDY OF KIM JONG-UN 9] On the night of Sept. 19, 2018, at the Rungrado 1st of May Stadium on Rungra Island in Pyongyang, then-President Moon Jae-in stood before 150,000 cheering North Koreans. After watching a mass games performance, Moon took the stage at the introduction of North Korean leader Kim Jong-un. His face was flushed with emotion. A smile spread across his face, reflecting both the elation of having personally steered the Korean Peninsula to what appeared to be the pinnacle of peace and the optimism that accompanied it. Moon embraced the deafening cheers reverberating through the enormous stadium. His roughly seven-minute speech was interrupted by applause 12 times. When he declared, "Kim Jong-un and I have pledged to make our beautiful land, from Mount Paektu to Mount Halla, a permanent home of peace free from nuclear weapons and nuclear threats, and pass it on to future generations," the stadium once again erupted in thunderous applause. That night, North and South Korea appeared united, and Moon's dream seemed on the verge of becoming reality. But the cheers of that day turned into insults just 11 months later. "It is enough to make even a boiled cow's head burst into laughter." This statement, made in August 2019 by a spokesperson for North Korea's Committee for the Peaceful Reunification of the Fatherland, a state agency that aimed to promote reunification, stunned both the Moon administration and the South Korean public. The statement went on to deride Moon as a "shameless person" and someone who was "laughable beyond measure." A day earlier, Moon had promoted the idea of a "peace economy" in his Liberation Day speech on Aug. 15. Pyongyang responded by mocking him, using South Korea-U.S. joint military exercises as a pretext. As a prolonged period of strained inter-Korean relations followed, the phrase "boiled cow's head" became an enduring label attached to assessments of the Moon administration's North Korea policy. In retrospect, the episode also served as a chilling foreshadowing of Kim 's doctrine of severing ties with South Korea and redefining it as an enemy. Some in South Korea's progressive camp argue that the hardline North Korea policy of the subsequent Yoon Suk Yeol administration laid the groundwork for Pyongyang's "hostile two-state" doctrine. One typical view, articulated by Jeong Tae-heung, head of policy at a research institute affiliated with South Korea's left wing Progressive Party, is that "the United States has been strengthening its New Cold War strategy, and the Yoon administration followed suit by intensifying hostile policies toward North Korea," and that this "became the direct cause of North Korea's declaration of a hostile two-state relationship and the resulting escalation of war risks." Given that Kim first unveiled the hostile two-state doctrine at a Workers' Party plenary meeting at the end of 2023 and that inter-Korean tensions remained elevated throughout the Yoon administration, the argument appears persuasive. But was Kim's declaration of a "struggle against the enemy" really nothing more than a passive response to policy changes in Seoul? Big data tells a very different story. Language data showed that the watershed moment in the breakdown of inter-Korean relations occurred not under the Yoon administration, but during the Moon administration. There was also a reason Kim later doubled down on the enmity, even after the inauguration of the current Lee Jae Myung administration, by declaring that South Korea was "the most hostile state" and by expressing a sense of betrayal in rhetoric suggesting that it made little difference whether Seoul was governed by — in the words of Kim 's powerful sister, Kim Yo-jong — those "claiming to be democrats" or those "wearing t...

What was once career kryptonite, at least for a year and a half or so, is now little more than an inconvenience for fans as celebrities go into enlistment with stockpiles of content. For most K-pop stars, mandatory military service brings careers to a screeching halt, at least temporarily. Park Ji-hoon, however, isn't dreading the pause in the slightest, even as he begins to reach new heights. The idol-turned-actor is enjoying some of the busiest days of his career, coming off the back-to-back success of the film "The King's Warden" and the recently wrapped comedy series "The Legend of Kitchen Soldier." But conscription is fast approaching. Like all able-bodied Korean men, Park must eventually serve. Rather than push the deadline as far back as possible, however, the 27-year-old says he will enlist voluntarily, even though he could delay his service until 2027, with hopes of joining the Marine Corps, which has a lower maximum age for recruits. "I'm not really afraid of the military hiatus," Park told reporters during an interview on June 2. These days, he said, actors and idols often prepare for the absence by filming projects in advance. "When those projects air while they're serving, people sometimes get the feeling of, 'Wait, he's already back?'" he said with a smile. Park has yet to settle on detailed plans, but that, he said, would be the ideal scenario. His ease reflects a broader shift across Korea's entertainment industry. For male entertainers in Korea — especially K-pop idols — mandatory military service has long been one of the industry's most dreaded disruptions, both for stars and their fans. A hiatus once meant a near-total absence — no performances, no fan meetings and no steady stream of content, as soldiers are barred from profit-making activities while in service. But the landscape has changed. Military service no longer necessarily means disappearing from public view. Instead, it has produced a new kind of hiatus — one carefully filled with prerecorded songs, filmed content, social media posts, documentaries and behind-the-scenes footage, all planned like part of a promotional schedule. The result is a pause that feels less absolute, helping stars stay present in the minds of fans until they return. Boy band Seventeen's Hoshi enlisted in the Army on Sept. 16 last year, three months after turning 29. Yet on June 15 of this year, while still serving, the idol-turned-soldier released a new single, "Snap Back," a self-written pop track, marking his 30th birthday. According to behind-the-scenes footage released later, Hoshi recorded the song on June 12 of last year, almost exactly a year before its release, as part of a broader stockpile of content prepared for his hiatus, which is scheduled to last until March 15 of next year. Korea's Framework Act on Military Status and Service bars soldiers from engaging in any work for profit other than military duties, but when albums, dramas, variety show appearances, social media posts and behind-the-scenes footage are planned, contracted, recorded or filmed before enlistment, agencies can release them later, even while the artists themselves are physically serving on military bases. That distinction has become increasingly important as more stars remain visible during service. In March, Fantagio, the agency of idol-turned-actor Cha Eun-woo, had to clarify that a photo exhibition in Japan scheduled during his military service did not violate the rules. The agency said the exhibition had been contracted in August 2024, before Cha's enlistment in July of last year, and that it had confirmed the matter with the Ministry of National Defense in advance. Cha himself would not attend the event, the agency said. While the Korean public now relatively readily accepts the release of content during stars' conscription, the boundary was less settled a few years earlier. EXO's Baekhyun, who served as a social agent from May 2021 to February 2023, prepared enough YouTube content ...

Hidden triggers, from abandoned shoes to the Jeju Air crash, continued to reopen my trauma. But treatment helped me endure. *The series is based on the real-life experience of Kim Nam-young, a JoongAng Ilbo reporter currently living with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). The following articles are written from Kim's first-person perspective. I have PTSD. Itaewon is a well-known nightlife district in Yongsan District, central Seoul, and a popular spot for Halloween celebrations because of its diverse international culture. The disaster occurred during the first Halloween weekend after social distancing restrictions imposed during the Covid-19 pandemic had been lifted. Large crowds gathered in the area to celebrate. As more and more people poured into the neighborhood, the crowd insidiously swelled into a dangerously packed mass. The situation eventually led to a crowd crush in a narrow alley, amid a lack of effective control measures to control the on-foot traffic, leaving some 350 people dead or injured, including 159 fatalities. As a reporter on the social affairs desk, I covered the Itaewon disaster on Oct. 29, 2022. Since November of the following year, I have been receiving treatment regularly. I attend psychiatric counseling sessions and take medication every day. I am only revealing the illness now, more than two years later, not because I have overcome it. This is not a story about recovery, but a record of living through the illness. To be honest, I still do not know when, or if, I will overcome it. Instead, I want to talk about the time I have spent living alongside PTSD. Even now, I continue to work as a policy and social affairs reporter while exercising, traveling and getting on with daily life. If someone is hesitating to see a doctor, I hope this piece can help. I also hope we can become a society where people do not feel forced to hide emotional pain and trauma. When I was young, there was an old computer game called Minesweeper. It was simple. Players clicked squares one by one while trying to avoid hidden mines. The tension came from not knowing where the mines might be; you could spend minutes carefully navigating the board, only for a single thoughtless click to bring everything crashing down. My life after PTSD became much like that game. But unlike the game, there were no warning signs of latent mines. On the surface, it looked like any other ordinary day. But lived never knowing when or where I might step on a hidden mine. No matter how careful I was, they appeared where I least expected them. A scene I would normally pass without a second thought or an object I once considered insignificant could suddenly turn my world upside down. In an instant, I would find myself back in the past. For people with PTSD, these everyday mines are called triggers. A trigger is anything that brings a traumatic memory rushing back and makes a person relive it. Triggers are deeply personal. What seems insignificant to people can be overwhelming for someone living with PTSD. I also had to confront my own triggers. From shoes appearing in films to the Jeju Air disaster, certain reminders were impossible to avoid, pulling me back and forth between the present and the past. There were times when I felt overwhelmed by the fear that I was being dragged back to the very beginning of the Itaewon disaster all over again. This article contains references to the October 2022 Itaewon disaster and the December 2024 Jeju Air crash. Descriptions of disaster scenes, rescue efforts and emotional and physical reactions may cause distress or psychological discomfort for some readers. If you have experienced similar events or are currently struggling emotionally, consider taking a break from reading or seeking support. Professional help is available through mental health clinics and counseling services. A trigger can be anything from a single object to a whole situation. For someone who survived a car accident, items inside a vehicle...

*The series is based on the real-life experience of Kim Nam-young, a JoongAng Ilbo reporter currently living with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). The following articles are written from Kim's first-person perspective. I have PTSD. Itaewon is a well-known nightlife district in Yongsan District, central Seoul, and a popular spot for Halloween celebrations because of its diverse international culture. The disaster occurred during the first Halloween weekend after social distancing restrictions imposed during the Covid-19 pandemic had been lifted. Large crowds gathered in the area to celebrate. As more and more people poured into the neighborhood, the crowd insidiously swelled into a dangerously packed mass. The situation eventually led to a crowd crush in a narrow alley, amid a lack of effective control measures to control the on-foot traffic, leaving some 350 people dead or injured, including 159 fatalities. As a reporter on the social affairs desk, I covered the Itaewon disaster on Oct. 29, 2022. Since November of the following year, I have been receiving treatment regularly. I attend psychiatric counseling sessions and take medication every day. I am only revealing the illness now, more than two years later, not because I have overcome it. This is not a story about recovery, but a record of living through the illness. To be honest, I still do not know when, or if, I will overcome it. Instead, I want to talk about the time I have spent living alongside PTSD. Even now, I continue to work as a policy and social affairs reporter while exercising, traveling and getting on with daily life. If someone is hesitating to see a doctor, I hope this piece can help. I also hope we can become a society where people do not feel forced to hide emotional pain and trauma. Identifying the illness was only the first step; treatment was the next, much harder one, sending on a winding road as I tried different activities in search of stillness and catharsis. The one thing I held onto throughout my long struggle with PTSD was consistency. Yes, my partner and friends were always there for me, and yes, I went to the hospital once or twice a month. But no one could be by my side all the time. In other words, most of the time, I was alone. When I suddenly felt like I couldn't breathe for no specific reason, I had to handle it on my own. To deal with the symptoms that appeared out of nowhere, I had to consistently find coping strategies that worked for me. So I tried everything I could think of. Meditation, futsal, running and donating to charity. I tried to move more, calm my mind and even tried to do something good. But those efforts did not always work. And this is only my story. Even among people with the same condition, effective coping mechanisms differ from person to person. I discussed every method I tried with my psychiatrist because I wanted to know whether I was heading in the right direction. There was one thing that never seemed to work for me: meditation. In fact, meditation was the first thing my psychiatrist recommended, saying it could help relax a body stuck in a perpetual state of high alert. The recommendation was so sincere that the doctor even wrote down instructions by hand and gave them to me on a note. Grateful for the effort, I tried several times. But each attempt ended in failure. The technique I was encouraged to practice was mindfulness meditation, which involves letting thoughts pass by and focusing on present sensations and emotions. The problem was that I could never simply let thoughts go by. Once I held onto one, it led to another, then another. And when I finally managed to clear my mind, I fell asleep instead. Rather than becoming quieter, my mind became even noisier. I even attended meditation classes, but in the end, it just was not for me. That said, numerous studies suggest mindfulness meditation can be beneficial for people with PTSD. Mindfulness-based therapy can significantly reduce avoidance, hyper...

Seoul's Gold Pig Restaurant has become Korea's most coveted barbecue spot through premium pork, exacting grill technique and a celebrity following from BTS to Donald Trump Jr. BTS, G-Dragon, Blackpink and IU. These A-list K-pop stars have all been spotted dining at this place. The list doesn't end there. Hollywood actors Chris Hemsworth and James Franco, American rapper Kanye West and British football icon David Beckham have all been there. More recently, Donald Trump Jr. was seen dining there. So what is this outrageously coveted spot? It's the Gold Pig Restaurant, a Seoul barbecue diner renowned for its premium pork cuts. There are countless decent samgyeopsal (pork belly) restaurants in Seoul, but none match the fame of Gold Pig. You'll end up waiting behind 30 or more teams whenever you go, even if you arrive before opening time or on a slow day. The restaurant does not take reservations, meaning the only way to secure a table is to get in line and wait. The Gold Pig is celebrating its 10th anniversary this year. What started out humbly on the first floor of a three-story building in Yaksu-dong, a gritty neighborhood in central Seoul, now occupies the entire building. Despite the expansion, the eatery still can't accommodate all the customers who want a seat. "The meat quality of our restaurant is undoubtedly top-notch, but what I believe makes the difference at a barbecue restaurant is the grilling technique," said Park Soo-kyung, founder and CEO of Gold Pig Restaurant. "We pay the most attention to staff training. If they don't understand the grill and fire, I don't believe they can serve the customers." Their signature cuts are "Bone Pork Belly" and "Pork Neck." Pork Neck requires skill when grilling because it has little fat. Even when slightly overcooked, it can get overly firm and dry. Park's path to building one of Korea's most sought-after barbecue joints was not easy. In her 20s, she began by selling fruit juice at Dongdaemun Market. Over the next six years, she tried her hand at some 20 different businesses before eventually finding success with the samgyeopsal restaurant. "When working in a market, you instantly notice what people like and where they gather. Feedback there is also very fast," the 41-year-old said. "When I have an idea, I have to do it to see how it turns out. It's my personality." The last job she had at the market was delivering samgyeopsal to vendors. "They didn't have time to go to a restaurant to grab lunch or dinner, so I figured I would deliver pork barbecue when it was still warm. The business was a success. It earned me enough money to pay back some 200 million won [$130,000] of debt I had and a little more to start another business." This last business gave her an opportunity to gain a deep understanding of the meat. Afterward, she continued to perform extensive research into it. The result of those years of experimentation and research is evident in every aspect of Gold Pig Restaurant — from its grill plates and ventilation system to its rigorous staff training, carefully selected cuts of meat and thoughtfully curated side dishes. One of the Gold Pig's signature touches is serving its pork with fresh basil leaves. In Korea, basil is more commonly associated with Western dishes such as salads, pasta and pizza. But Park thought outside the box. Park says basil leaves were her hidden weapon even before opening the restaurant. She has done multiple tests with various herbs and green leaves, including coriander, but basil leaves were the perfect match. "I first discovered the pairing while traveling in Thailand," she said. "That's where I learned that basil enhances the flavor of grilled meat. The herb's aroma refreshes the palate after a bite of rich pork, but what I really love is grilling the basil itself. Once it hits the heat, the fragrance is simply incredible." The Gold Pig recently added hanwoo (high-end Korean beef) skirt steak and hanwoo yukhoe (raw sliced meat) to its men...

In an interview with the Korea JoongAng Daily, Norway Ambassador to Korea Anne Kari Hansen Ovind discussed Koreans' appetite for Norwegian seafood, the two countries' growing bilateral ties in defense and Arctic research, and how to build democratic trust. Seoul's ambassadors are often gastronomes keen to share a taste of their home cuisine. In this series, the Korea JoongAng Daily asks the diplomatic corps to introduce our readers to their favorite restaurants representing cuisine from their homelands, while chatting about issues of interest to our Korean and global audience. — Ed. Norway's ambassador to Korea was once on the path toward a very different career. Anne Kari Hansen Ovind competed as a junior speed skating champion — even training with the Norwegian national team — until an injury cut her days on the ice short and directed her to years of study abroad and, eventually, the Norwegian foreign service. "Through sports, doors open to the rest of the world," Hansen Ovind told the Korea JoongAng Daily in an interview on June 12. "By traveling and competing internationally at a young age, my interest in other people, other countries, foreign languages and what is outside of Norway truly began." For a Norwegian ambassador, seafood is among the most powerful tools of public diplomacy. Korea is Norway's second-largest seafood market in Asia, and Hansen Ovind traces the demand to a natural fit: Norway's cold, clean Arctic waters produce fish of exceptional quality for a consumer base that knows the difference. "I think I was surprised by how Koreans are embracing those products," she said. "In every shop with fresh seafood, I see Norwegian seafood brands," nothing that she "immediately" recognizes "the Norwegian mackerel with its tiger stripes" at markets and restaurants as well. Ovind sat down with the Korea JoongAng Daily at Lofoten by Longboat Smoker in Mapo District, western Seoul, to discuss topics ranging from Norway's seafood strategy and Arctic governance to the challenge of protecting democratic trust in an age of artificial intelligence. The Korea-Norway bilateral relationship did not begin with salmon. Norwegian shipowners have been ordering vessels from Korean yards since the late 1970s, and Hansen Ovind said that history quietly built something more durable than trade volume. "We have a very solid foundation in the maritime sector, where trust [between our countries] has been built year by year, project by project," she said. "And that trust is what we see now broadening more into cooperation in green shipping, the energy sector, the defense sector [and] an interesting growth in demand for Nordic design and Nordic style." The speed skater-turned-diplomat has never stopped competing. While serving as the ambassador to Canada, she completed a 52-kilometer (32.3-mile) cross-country skiing marathon five times in temperatures as low as minus 20 degrees Celsius (minus 4 degrees Fahrenheit). In Seoul, she has made an annual ski competition at Pyeongchang's Olympic slopes a regular fixture in her routine and recently crossed the finish line of a 5-kilometer marathon race in 27 minutes. Below are excerpts from the interview, edited for length and clarity. A. In Norway at the moment, we are facing a very serious security situation. It's a war in Europe, and we are investing in all sectors of our defense. In the procurement process, the Korean system delivered on all factors: delivery, the time for delivery and also […] within the budget. Norway has already purchased the K9 self-propelled howitzer, and our logistics ship, KNM Maud, was produced in Korea. So we are now continuing to cooperate with Korea in many […] aspects. I'm very hopeful that we are now embarking on a process toward a strategic partnership that will cover a lot of different areas. We value Korea's constructive contribution and participation very much. In the area of research — climate change research and marine livelihood research — we are truly ve...

[A STUDY OF KIM JONG-UN 6] North Korea's approach to quarantine during the Covid-19 pandemic was brutally straightforward. Anyone displaying symptoms, arriving from overseas or coming into contact with either group was designated a "medical surveillance subject" and placed under isolation. "Quarantine is a polite way of putting it," one North Korean defector recalled in testimony obtained by Amnesty International and other human rights organizations. "People were simply rounded up, separated and locked away. There was no support. If they died, they died. They were left to fend for themselves." Another defector described isolation as little different from a death sentence. "The state had neither money nor medicine," the source said. "Being quarantined was practically the same as being dead. Those who survived, survived. Those who died were buried. That was how it was handled." Sources familiar with North Korean affairs said quarantine often led to death not only from disease but also from starvation. Some people reportedly died after being confined for extended periods with little access to food. Those caught trying to escape were sometimes confined by nailing doors shut from the outside. It was a period so severe that North Korean leader Kim Jong-un described it as the country's "greatest upheaval since its founding." Yet even as the crisis deepened, Kim rejected offers of foreign vaccine assistance. Instead, state propaganda promoted folk remedies, including drinking willow-leaf infusions three times a day. The harsh response reflected a broader shift in Kim's priorities after the collapse of the Hanoi summit in February 2019. For Kim, the failed negotiations with the United States after the 2019 Hanoi summit were more than a diplomatic setback. His immediate concern became restoring the supreme leader's authority after a public blow to his prestige. Rather than focusing on treatment or mitigation, the regime prioritized total control. Kim sought to reestablish himself as an unrivaled figure, one capable of surpassing not only foreign adversaries but also the legacies of his father and grandfather. That transformation is visible in the language of North Korea's state media. A joint analysis conducted by the JoongAng Ilbo and AI-based big data firm Speechlog examined all 137,513 articles published in the Rodong Sinmun, the North's ruling Workers' Party newspaper, between January 2016 and January 2026. The study analyzed more than 18 million words to trace changes in Kim's rhetoric and the regime's messaging. Because the Rodong Sinmun functions as North Korea's primary domestic propaganda outlet, its language reflects not what citizens want to hear but what Kim wants them to hear. One of the most notable findings involved the word suryong, or "Great Leader." During the period of summit diplomacy between Kim, U.S. President Donald Trump during his first term and then-South Korean President Moon Jae-in, from 2018 through February 2019, the term appeared 12,601 times in the Rodong Sinmun. Following the collapse of the Hanoi summit, the figure surged to 34,694 mentions between 2019 and 2022. The increase was significant, but the shift in meaning was even more telling. Before Hanoi, suryong referred exclusively to North Korea's founder Kim Il Sung (1912-1994) — Kim Jong-un's grandfather. Beginning in 2020, however, the title started to be applied to Kim Jong-un himself. Usage accelerated sharply after the Eighth Workers' Party Congress in January 2021. Kim Jong-il (1941-2011), Kim Jong-un's father, only received the title after his death. Kim Jong-un effectively granted it to himself at age 36. In doing so, he elevated himself into the ranks of his predecessors while simultaneously beginning to separate himself from them. The analysis divided Kim's rule into four distinct periods: the nuclear-focused years of 2016 and 2017; the summit diplomacy era from 2018 through February 2019; the post-Hanoi and Covid-19 period from 2019 to ...

PTSD can take years to rear its head, and when it does, society plays a considerable role in healing. Sometimes, however, support is lacking, and sometimes, that's deliberate. *The series is based on the real-life experience of Kim Nam-young, a JoongAng Ilbo reporter currently living with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). The following articles are written from Kim's first-person perspective. Itaewon is a well-known nightlife district in Yongsan District, central Seoul, and a popular spot for Halloween celebrations because of its diverse international culture. The disaster occurred during the first Halloween weekend after social distancing restrictions imposed during the Covid-19 pandemic had been lifted. Large crowds gathered in the area to celebrate. As more and more people poured into the neighborhood, the crowd insidiously swelled into a dangerously packed mass. The situation eventually led to a crowd crush in a narrow alley, amid a lack of effective control measures to control the on-foot traffic, leaving some 350 people dead or injured, including 159 fatalities. I have PTSD. As a reporter on the social affairs desk, I covered the Itaewon disaster on Oct. 29, 2022. Since November of the following year, I have been receiving treatment regularly. I attend psychiatric counseling sessions and take medication every day. I am only revealing the illness now, more than two years later, not because I have overcome it. This is not a story about recovery, but a record of living through the illness. To be honest, I still do not know when, or if, I will overcome it. Instead, I want to talk about the time I have spent living alongside PTSD. Even now, I continue to work as a policy and social affairs reporter while exercising, traveling and getting on with daily life. If someone is hesitating to see a doctor, I hope this piece can help. I also hope we can become a society where people do not feel forced to hide emotional pain and trauma. It's no different from a traffic accident. They went there for fun and died. I had always assumed that the natural response of Korean society to a major tragedy was mourning. I thought that was simply how people should react. But after witnessing the secondary harm that surfaced after every major disaster — from when the Sewol ferry sank in 2014 to the Itaewon crowd crush in 2022 and the Jeju Air crash in 2024 — I began to wonder if that assumption was wrong. The Sewol ferry sank on April 16, 2014. The overloaded ship capsized in waters off the southwestern coast, leaving 304 people dead, mostly teenagers on a high school trip. At times, I even found myself questioning whether hate spreads in the same way mold slowly takes over a home. My heart would race and I would feel nauseous whenever I saw people turning others' suffering into entertainment or exploiting it for political gain. No matter how much love and support I received from those around me, a single hateful comment could send my PTSD back to square one. Moments like those always remind me of one thing: People are capable of helping one to stand up again, but they are also capable of destroying them. The same is true of society. Many experts say that what helps people endure PTSD — and eventually recover from it — is society itself. Shortly after the Itaewon disaster in 2022, my company informed me that psychological counseling and treatment would be available. A Jeju Air passenger plane from Bangkok crashed into a concrete mound at Muan International Airport in Muan County, South Jeolla, while attempting an emergency belly landing on Dec. 29, 2024. The accident killed all but two crew members on board. Around the same time, the Journalists Association of Korea announced that it would also provide financial support for counseling and treatment. Later, journalists dispatched to Muan County in South Jeolla following the 2024 Jeju Air crash were offered similar mental health support. Those experiences strengthened my trust in my organiza...

After the illness entered my life, it was my psychiatrist who held me together inside the consultation room. Outside the clinic, it was the handful of people who knew about my illness — my partner and close friends — who kept me going. *The series is based on the real-life experience of Kim Nam-young, a JoongAng Ilbo reporter currently living with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). The following articles are written from Kim's first-person perspective. I have PTSD. Itaewon is a well-known nightlife district in Yongsan District, central Seoul, and a popular spot for Halloween celebrations because of its diverse international culture. The disaster occurred during the first Halloween weekend after social distancing restrictions imposed during the Covid-19 pandemic had been lifted. Large crowds gathered in the area to celebrate. As more and more people poured into the neighborhood, the crowd insidiously swelled into a dangerously packed mass. The situation eventually led to a crowd crush in a narrow alley, amid a lack of effective control measures to control the on-foot traffic, leaving some 350 people dead or injured, including 159 fatalities. As a reporter on the social affairs desk, I covered the Itaewon disaster on Oct. 29, 2022. Since November of the following year, I have been receiving treatment regularly. I attend psychiatric counseling sessions and take medication every day. I am only revealing the illness now, more than two years later, not because I have overcome it. This is not a story about recovery, but a record of living through the illness. To be honest, I still do not know when, or if, I will overcome it. Instead, I want to talk about the time I have spent living alongside PTSD. Even now, I continue to work as a policy and social affairs reporter while exercising, traveling and getting on with daily life. If someone is hesitating to see a doctor, I hope this piece can help. I also hope we can become a society where people do not feel forced to hide emotional pain and trauma. What did the doctor say today? Whenever I returned from a visit to my psychiatrist, my partner would always ask the same question. No matter how rambling my answer was, my partner listened until the very end. As I spoke, my partner would often respond with words of empathy. "I'm glad you told the doctor that," my significant other would say, or "What did the doctor say about it?" On days when I was too exhausted to keep talking, my partner would simply say, "You can tell me another time." For a long time, I believed I could live perfectly well on my own. As long as I could support myself financially, I thought I could get by without family, friends or a partner. That was before PTSD pulled me down. After the illness entered my life, it was my psychiatrist who held me together inside the consultation room. Outside the clinic, it was the handful of people who knew about my illness — my partner and close friends — who kept me going. I wasn't going through it alone. I was able to continue moving forward with the illness because of their care and love. For people living with mental illness, the attitudes of those around them can be just as important as professional treatment. Some people help you stay standing. Others make you stumble. "Did you take your medication?" I didn't need a phone alarm to tell me to take my medication because my partner would ask every night before going to bed. As we lived far apart and my family did not know about my condition, my partner was the one who consistently took on the responsibility to check in on me. From the Itaewon crowd crush that triggered my PTSD to my first psychiatric appointment and every moment since, my partner witnessed my entire journey more closely than anyone else. My partner was also the first person — and most persistent — to insist that I seek professional help. Watching me sinking into guilt, anxiety and depression, they convinced me that I needed expert care more than anyone else c...

For a long time, I wondered why I reacted so strongly to things that seemed minor. It was only through treatment and time that I realized it was not a matter of willpower; it was a consequence of physical changes in the brain. *The series is based on the real-life experience of Kim Nam-young, a JoongAng Ilbo reporter currently living with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). The following articles are written from Kim's first-person perspective. I have PTSD. Itaewon is a well-known nightlife district in Yongsan District, central Seoul, and a popular spot for Halloween celebrations because of its diverse international culture. The disaster occurred during the first Halloween season after social distancing restrictions imposed during the Covid-19 pandemic had been lifted. Large crowds gathered in the area to celebrate. As more and more people poured into the neighborhood, the crowd became dangerously packed. The situation eventually led to a crowd crush in a narrow alley, amid a lack of effective crowd-control measures, leaving some 350 people dead or injured, including 159 fatalities. As a reporter on the social affairs desk, I covered the Itaewon disaster on Oct. 29, 2022. Since November of the following year, I have been receiving treatment regularly. I attend psychiatric counseling sessions and take medication every day. I am only revealing the illness now, more than two years later, not because I have overcome it. This is not a story about recovery, but a record of living through the illness. To be honest, I still do not know when, or if, I will overcome it. Instead, I want to talk about the time I have spent living alongside PTSD. Even now, I continue to work as a policy and social affairs reporter while exercising, traveling and going on with daily life. If someone is hesitating to see a doctor, I hope this piece can help. I also hope we can become a society where people do not feel forced to hide emotional pain and trauma. "How can a person do something like that?" After forcing out those words, all I could do was cry silently. Tears streamed down my face. My doctor pushed a box of tissues toward me across the table without saying a word. I cried for the first time in my doctor's office on Dec. 13, 2024, despite having visited countless times before. I didn't even shed a tear when I talked about my PTSD symptoms. Four days earlier on Dec. 9, 2024, Lee Sang-min — the then Minister of the Interior and Safety — had stepped down from office. In his farewell message, he wrote, "Every moment was truly happy." Those words, coming from one of the key officials held responsible for the Itaewon disaster on Oct. 29, 2022, hit me harder than I expected. Hearing what felt like a statement devoid of responsibility only deepened my pain. During my appointment, I began talking about him and suddenly found myself overwhelmed by emotion. PTSD is an illness of memories, but it is also an illness of emotions. Guilt, fear, anxiety, depression, helplessness, sadness and anger — these negative emotions are amplified as if someone has turned a loudspeaker toward them. I do not feel these emotions every moment of every day. But sometimes they rise unexpectedly to the surface and take hold of me. Fortunately, medication has helped me keep them under control. The following story contains descriptions related to the Itaewon disaster of October 2022. Some readers may find references to disaster scenes, rescue efforts and emotional or physical reactions from the time distressing or psychologically unsettling. If you have experienced a similar trauma or are currently struggling emotionally, we encourage you to stop reading or seek support if needed. Assistance is available through nearby psychiatric clinics or mental health counseling centers. PTSD is not simply a state of heightened emotional sensitivity. For a long time, I wondered why I reacted so strongly to things that seemed minor. It was only through treatment and time that I realized i...

For many K-pop listeners, ONF's name is tied first and foremost to its music — polished, melody-driven songs that have earned the boy band a reputation for bright, lyrical pop with an unmistakably K-pop sound. With its latest album, "ONF: My Self," the sextet stays true to that identity with its lead single "Open The Door," a surging effort that captures the rush of emotion felt at the moment of opening a door to an unknown future. "When I first heard our lead track, 'Open the Door,' I thought it was the epitome of K-pop," member Wyatt said during a press showcase for "ONF: My Self," a six-track release the group describes as the second part of its second full-length album, held in western Seoul on Wednesday. "It's a song about that fleeting moment when we open the door to an unseen future amid the uncertainty of the present," Wyatt said. "As I wrote the lyrics about the emotions felt in that instant, I found myself relating to them a lot." ONF debuted in 2017 with the EP "On/Off." The sextet, comprising members Hyojin, E-Tion, Seungjun, Wyatt, Minkyun and Yuto, is best known for songs like "Complete" (2018), "Why" (2019), "Beautiful Beautiful" (2021), "Love Effect" (2023) and "The Stranger" (2025). The second part of "ONF: My Self" continues from the first half of the group's second full-length album, "ONF: My Identity," released in February last year. The album also marks the band's first new release since the members left their previous agency, WM Entertainment, after their contracts expired in January, and signed with KI Entertainment in March. "With this album, we wanted to express ourselves as we are," Hyojin said. "I think it is an album that captures ONF's present in the most honest way." The latest album consists of six songs: lead track "Open the Door" and B-sides "Bad Dream," "Escape," "Mirage," "Silver Lining" and "Once in a Red Moon." All six members actively participated in the production and preparation of the album, with Wyatt and Minkyun credited for songwriting and lyrics, Yuto taking part as performance director and Seungjun contributing to the album's overall planning. The biggest appeal of the lead track lies in its lyrics, said member E-Tion. "I think people may gain courage from this song when they feel anxious about future," he said. "Because the future is unknown, everyone feels some sense of uncertainty. So, for example, when you are changing jobs or need courage for something new, I think this song can give you great strength and energy." Wyatt, who was credited for the song's lyrics, said he was also facing uncertainties while working on the track. "I wanted to portray the worries we feel about an unseen future," he said. "But at the same time, when I wrote these lyrics, I hoped many people would listen to the song and see a hopeful future ahead of them. I wrote it hoping that it could be a source of comfort." As the group remains tight-knit after nine years, even moving to a new agency together, the members say their aspirations for the future, built on strong trust in one another, continue to tie them together. Wyatt expressed particular gratitude to Seungjun, who he said helped bring the members together. "We had anxieties about whether we could keep going," Wyatt admitted. "But Seungjun said, 'Wouldn't it be such a waste? We can do more. We've come this far — can't we do a little longer?' Those words really moved me, and I think they moved the hearts of the other members as well." The group still hopes to perform on bigger stages in front of larger crowds — and to reach more people in moments when they need comfort. "I thought that ONF's albums are like a reflection of ONF's reality," Seungjun said. "I think everyone has a closed door somewhere in their heart. We want to give people the strength to challenge themselves and, through our story, reach many people, resonate with them and offer them comfort." BY SHIN HA-NEE [[email protected]]

Jinjujip has built a loyal following with its rich oxtail soup, preserving a three-generation legacy in Seoul's fish-focused Namdaemun Market. Inside a narrow galchijorim (spicy braised cutlassfish) alley just west of Namdaemun Market in central Seoul, one diner is waging a solitary battle, serving oxtail soup in a neighborhood dominated by fish dishes. Yet its presence is quite significant. The diner fills with customers seeking a hangover cure in the morning, a hearty lunch in the afternoon and a bottle of soju in the evening. This diner is Jinjujip, a restaurant that has been in the business for more than seven decades across three generations, specializing in oxtail only, either in soup or braised versions. Oxtail soup is not a dish unique to Korea. In fact, the soup with thick and sticky broth of oxtail simmered for hours, is a common dish in the West as well, such as British oxtail soup in which the oxtail is often browned first and simmered with root vegetables, red wine, and herbs to create a rich, dark, and savory stew-like broth. In Korea, oxtail soup — called kkorigomtang — is considered one of the country's premium beef broth soups. It stands alongside dishes like seolleongtang, known for an opaque broth yielded by boiling beef bones and meat, and gomtang, a clear soup prepared by slow-cooking the meat alone. The signature dish at Jinjujip, which opened in 1950, is kkoritomak—a premium oxtail soup whose name translates to "chopped pieces of oxtail." While a whole ox tail yields about 18 to 20 bone segments, Jinjujip's specialty uses only the five thickest, meatiest cuts from the base of the tail, known locally as tomak. The segments included in the restaurant's normal kkorigomtang dish are the mid- and small-sized pieces of the ox tail. Because of that difference, kkoritomak costs 34,000 won ($22) compared to kkorigomtang's price of 29,000 won. At this reporter's visit, the kkoritomak was served in a boiling hot ttukbaegi (earthenware pot) with two sizable tomaks submerged in sticky, thick broth. At first, it seemed dexterous chopstick skills could surmount the challenge of removing the meat from the bone, but that strategy devolved into holding the piece with a bare hand and biting off every last bit of the meat. "Next time, try the jan tomak instead of the big one," said Ha Yang-sook, 72, who had run the diner since 1990 with her older sister Ha Mi-soon. A few years ago, they again passed down the diner to Ha Mi-soon's daughter, Kang In-sook. "The founder of this restaurant was called 'Granny Kwon' and she considered my older sister [Ha Mi-soon], who was from the same hometown of Jinju, as her own daughter. At first, Jinjujip was located on the basement level of a vintage shopping arcade before moving to this location when it was passed down to me and my older sister," Ha said. According to Ha, younger customers tend to prefer tomak No. 1, which has the most amount of meat, but those who really have a taste for the dish prefer No. 4 and No. 5, which have less meat but a chewier texture. "We usually put two pieces of the larger tomaks in one pot of kkoritomak or three to four smaller pieces — what we call jan tomak," she said. Kkoritomak's broth is extremely sticky, as expected, to the point where one's upper and lower lips stick to each other when closing one's mouth. In terms of transparency, it is neither opaque nor transluscent. "Oxtail dishes are considered premium because each cow yields only a small amount of tail meat, and the ingredient requires extensive preparation," she said. "If you just simmer the oxtail, it gives you sticky yet clear broth. That broth is subtle and refined in its own way, but customers seemed to prefer thicker, milkier broth. So we started blending broths made from knee cartilage, beef leg bones and assorted beef bones to achieve this color and texture." Trimming oxtail bones is a laborious process. The staff at Jinjujip comes to work at six in the morning before opening the d...

Generative AI is helping smaller law firms compete with larger rivals. But for independent lawyers, it's an entirely different story. The shift has been especially painful for newly licensed lawyers. Tasks once assigned to junior associates — such as carrying out legal research, writing case summaries and drafting documents — are increasingly being handled by AI tools. The shift has reduced hiring demand across law firms, corporations and public institutions. "Lawyers are losing work, just as accountants and translators did before us," said Kim Min-kyu, a lawyer of 10 years. Kim shut down his solo practice earlier this year and took a more stable job after concluding that independent lawyers could no longer compete in the AI era. "I've even seen lawyers take delivery jobs after struggling to find work for an extended period," Kim said. For those who are fresh out of law school, the reality is even more bleak. What associate lawyers — those with less than three years of experience — used to handle is now being done by more experienced attorneys using AI, without the need for younger lawyers to do the time-consuming research and paperwork. In fact, job postings for newly licensed lawyers at law firms, companies and public institutions fell to 3,167 in 2025 from 3,895 in 2021, a decline of 18.7 percent, according to data posted on the Korean Bar Association's website. "If we hire a junior associate, even a trainee, we have to pay more than 5 million won ($3,300) a month after taxes," a seventh-year lawyer in Seoul's Seocho District, southern Seoul, said. "For about 1 million won a month [in AI subscriptions], we can save 25 million won a month," equivalent to the salary of five associates. Scrapping plans to hire new associate lawyers is likewise becoming more common. "We decided not to move forward with hiring after having planned to hire two new [associates]," said one lawyer in Seocho District. "One AI assistant can now handle the tasks of five lawyer trainees as the hallucination issue has improved drastically." While some lawyers paint a bleak picture for an AI era, the technology has created opportunities for lawyers at small and midsize firms. "Large firms have long enjoyed advantages in expertise and research resources," said Jeon Hee-jung, an attorney who runs a law office in Daejeon. "AI can do the work of five to 10 people when it comes to research and has lowered the barriers to specialized legal knowledge." The outlook has also improved for some solo practitioners. Yoon Se-hwan, a lawyer with six years of experience, had considered hiring his first employee this year but ultimately decided against it. "When I saw the new Claude Code model released earlier this year, I thought I could hold out a little longer," Yoon said. "I spend as much as 1 million won a month on AI subscriptions, but AI has allowed me to take on cases I wouldn't have been able to handle before. I've already recouped a full year's worth of subscription costs." Some lawyers argue that AI has enabled them to focus more on the "core" of their legal profession. Lawyers, once jokingly described as "document-writing machines," are increasingly delegating drafting work to AI and concentrating instead on tasks that require a human touch, such as consultations with clients, gathering evidence and speaking in the courtroom. "There are duties that just cannot be replaced by AI, such as answering calls from clients facing urgent situations and conducting investigations or being present for emergency arrests," said attorney Lee Hye-in. Lee hired two junior associates and one trainee lawyer last year on the belief that "face-to-face human interaction has become even more important in the AI era." "Work is shifting as lawyers are spending less time drafting legal documents thanks to AI and more time on business development and client management," said Cho Jeong-hyeon, an attorney who heads the Suwon, Gyeonggi, office of a midsize law firm. "We've entered an...

Queer international students describe their university experiences as shaped less by open rejection than by limited awareness and institutional support For most international students, arriving in Korea means navigating a familiar set of challenges: keeping up with classes, making friends and adjusting to a new culture. For LGBTQ+ students, however, another question often lingers beneath those concerns: How welcoming will this country be? Miko Fusco, from the United States, arrived in Korea expecting the worst. "Before coming here, I thought it would feel like a prison in that regard," Fusco, who is now studying business at Korea University, said in an interview with the Korea JoongAng Daily. "The impression came from social media because that's where we see inflated stories of people's bad experiences, which can spread misinformation and lead to broad generalizations." "I was surprised when I realized that Koreans are not hostile to LGBTQ+ people. If anything, I feel more liberated here," Fusco added. Argentinian student Rocio Alvarez, who is studying Healthcare Management and Policy at Seoul National University (SNU), expressed a somewhat different view from Fusco's, sharing her experience of being disappointed in people's attitudes toward the LGBTQ+ community in Korea. "I got to know about Korea because of K-pop and Korean movies, and K-pop is often perceived as being open to LGBTQ+ people, mainly because of how male K-pop artists dress and wear makeup," Alvarez said. "People back in my country would even make fun of me because of that aspect, but I was pretty shocked to find out that Koreans are almost ignorant when it comes to LGBTQ+ issues." "I always had to explain what I am, and I gave up and stopped telling Koreans about my identity," the SNU student added. Fusco and Alvarez's experiences reflect the varied realities LGBTQ+ international students encounter on Korean campuses, where experiences often depend on factors such as campus culture, social circles and housing arrangements. To better understand those experiences, the Korea JoongAng Daily spoke with four international students from different corners of the globe and three leaders of LGBTQ+ campus organizations about issues ranging from classroom discussions and dormitory life to perceptions of LGBTQ+ identities in Korea. While some of the students interviewed said they had experienced discrimination off campus, none reported encountering overt homophobia on campus. What stood out instead was how rarely LGBTQ+ issues entered everyday conversations or classroom discussions. "Actually, I have never experienced discrimination here, but maybe it's because people don't really talk about it in the first place, not because Koreans are more woke," a Ukrainian design student at Hongik University said on the condition of anonymity, an experience echoed by all but one of the students interviewed. "Even in discussion-based lectures, I don't really get the opportunity to talk about it," the Ukrainian student said. "In Europe, we would talk about it very often and very casually." Bice, an Italian student who asked to be identified by a nickname, agreed. Bice recalled enrolling in a gender-related course at Yonsei University expecting broader discussions of sexuality and gender diversity, only to find those expectations largely unmet. "The curriculum focused primarily on the social roles of men and women, family structures and gender-related social issues, but there was no dedicated section on LGBTQ+ identities or communities," Bice said, expressing surprise at the gap between the course title and its content. Bice added that the biggest challenge was not outright hostility but how quickly conversations seemed to stall whenever topics related to LGBTQ+ emerged, referring to another elective class she attended recently. "During one classroom presentation on marriage, a group focused exclusively on heterosexual relationships," Bice said. "When someone asked about same-sex ma...

Analysis of the North Korean leader's body language demonstrates a regression to the insecure behavior that characterized his early reign. [A STUDY OF KIM JONG-UN 5] As North Korean leader Kim Jong-un strolled through the gardens of the Metropole Hanoi in Vietnam on Feb. 28, 2019, after a one-on-one meeting with U.S. President Donald Trump, smiles crossed his face — seemingly at the sound of chirping birds. He walked ahead of Trump on several occasions and smiled softly whenever Trump spoke, even before interpreters relayed the remarks. Near the end of the walk, Kim clasped his hands behind his back and entered the meeting venue ahead of Trump. But his expression changed after taking his seat for the expanded summit session. Among the participants sat John Bolton, Trump's hawkish national security adviser. Kim likely sensed instinctively that if Trump intended to give him what he wanted, Bolton would not be sitting at the table. Then came a question one minute and 18 seconds after the opening remarks began. "Did you discuss human rights issues?" Kim remained silent. Trump answered, "We are discussing everything." From that moment on, Kim's hand gestures seemed to speak instead. Kim took out a folded piece of paper to check its contents, then placed his interlocked hands on the table in his signature manner. Soon, his left thumb began moving busily. This was followed by questions regarding the declaration of an end to the 1950-53 Korean War and the establishment of liaison offices. Kim repeatedly moved his left thumb up and down without pause, almost as though pressing an invisible button, while touching his right hand. When Trump began speaking further about liaison offices, Kim interrupted him. "I would appreciate having more time to continue our discussions," Kim said. "Every minute is precious for us." Although he smiled while speaking, his thumb moved so restlessly that it made onlookers anxious. The public portion of the remarks ended after just four minutes and second seconds. "When people become anxious, the limbic system attempts to ease that tension in various ways, which often appear as self-soothing behaviors," said Kim Yeo-jung, head of personal branding company Jiem and Gitdum (JNG), which specializes in nonverbal communication. "The brain has far more neural connections with the hands than with most other parts of the body. When the brain sends signals to calm down, the hands react immediately, producing movements that create comfort. Kim Jong-un's finger movements in Hanoi are a classic example of self-touch behavior aimed at reducing anxiety." According to Kim Yeo-jung, although the North Korean leader said little, "his body was already emitting uncontrollable signals of uncontrollable stress." The JoongAng Ilbo commissioned JNG to jointly analyze video footage of Kim Jong-un released between 2012, immediately after he took power, and 2025. JNG Company tracked changes in his facial expressions, gestures and posture during major speeches, field inspections and summits with the leaders of South Korea, the United States, China and Russia. The total amount of analyzed footage alone reached 315 hours. According to the researchers, Kim Jong-un's subconscious body language often revealed his psychological state more clearly than his words. JNG's Kim Yeo-jung said the anxiety-driven behavior Kim Jong-un displayed at the Hanoi "no-deal" summit bore a striking resemblance to that seen during Kim's early years in power in 2012. Born as the son of late North Korean leader Kim Jong-il's third partner, Ko Yong-hui, with whom he never formally married, and having spent a secluded childhood, Kim Jong-un exhibited behavior indicative of a legitimacy complex immediately after assuming power. The execution of his uncle Jang Song-thaek in late 2013 and the assassination of his half-brother Kim Jong-nam in 2017 have often been interpreted as efforts to eliminate potential threats. Kim Jong-un's mannerisms grew more confident o...

Analysts warn Kim Jong-un may apply Ukraine war lessons to the Korean Peninsula, using drone swarms, cruise missiles and ballistic missiles to overwhelm the South. Russia's battlefield tactics and technology transfers could reshape North Korea's modern war strategy. [A STUDY OF KIM JONG-UN 4] Russia's massive drone and missile strikes against Ukraine in December last year exposed a new reality of modern warfare: Cheap unmanned aircraft can overwhelm even advanced air defense systems by forcing defenders to burn through costly interceptor missiles. South Korean and overseas analysts now warn that North Korean leader Kim Jong-un may try to apply lessons from the war in Ukraine to the Korean Peninsula after North Korean soldiers deployed to the war gain battlefield experience and military technology. Russia launched airstrikes across Ukraine on Dec. 5 and 6 last year. The attacks targeted power plants and railway stations. Moscow launched an attack with 653 long-range suicide drones along with 51 missiles, including Kinzhal hypersonic missiles designed to evade air defenses at high speed, Kh-101 stealth cruise missiles used for long-range precision strikes, Iskander-K and Kalibr cruise missiles capable of low-altitude flight to avoid radar detection and Iskander-M and KN-23 ballistic missiles built to strike targets quickly with maneuverable trajectories. Ukraine's military said it shot down 585 drones, achieving an 89.6 percent interception rate. But the effort quickly drained its air defense resources. As swarms of drones overwhelmed the defense network, Ukraine intercepted only 30 of the 51 missiles, a defense rate of 58.9 percent. Of those 30 interceptions, 29 involved slower cruise missiles. Ukraine failed to stop most of the hypersonic and ballistic missiles. The destruction of power plants in the middle of winter halted heating systems. Residents in Kyiv told reporters in January that electricity came on for only six hours each day. People warmed their hands over gas burners and stayed awake through the night. Evening greetings in Kyiv no longer centered on "good night." Instead, people wished each other "a quiet night without air raid sirens." A brutal but simple equation now shapes the battlefield. Militaries cannot ignore low-cost drones that fly toward high-value targets. Defenders still consume at least one interceptor missile, whether they target a drone or a missile. Once attackers overwhelm defenses with sheer numbers, even advanced air defense systems become saturated. Cheap drones, costly defense Kim likely took note of that equation after sending troops to support Russia. North Korea gained battlefield experience in combined drone and artillery operations. Pyongyang also created a specialized drone unit and started to build a drone production system, according to a briefing that the National Intelligence Service gave lawmakers on Feb. 12. In actual combat, however, Kim cannot use the nuclear weapons that he spent years developing. Russia also treats nuclear weapons mainly as a deterrent and has not used them on the battlefield. Conventional military strength still determines the outcome of war. With nuclear weapons in the background, North Korea likely wants asymmetric capabilities that can force South Korean and U.S. air forces to focus on defense. That strategy would require large numbers of drones and interceptor missiles. North Korea studies Ukraine battlefield lessons The JoongAng Ilbo used AI to simulate a possible scenario in which North Korea attempts to recreate Russia's nationwide strikes against Ukraine on the Korean Peninsula. The simulation reflected battlefield data that the Ukrainian military released on drones and missiles, related research papers and North Korea's known weapons systems. Several current and former military officials and civilian experts also reviewed the scenario. In the scenario shared in a 196-second video, Shahed-type suicide drones — designed to crash into targets and ...

Fans frustrated by long lines, crowd management issues and lack of transportation as first show was delayed by 75 minutes. BUSAN — "Happy Birthday" rang out along the walkway leading to Busan Asiad Main Stadium on Saturday, as BTS fans gathered to celebrate the world's biggest boy band on the 13th anniversary of its debut. The mood was festive, purple and unmistakably devoted. But as tens of thousands of BTS fans, known as ARMY, waited for the Busan stop of the group's "Arirang" world tour, many had more than birthday wishes to share — especially after the first night of the two-day concert run on Friday was delayed by 75 minutes. Long lines, confusing crowd routes and logistical delays left some fans wondering whether the city and organizers were fully prepared for the scale of the celebration they were hosting. "Yesterday was chaotic — really, really bad," said Luisa Ariella Dani, an Indonesian fan who secured tickets for both Busan concerts and had also attended the Goyang kickoff of the "Arirang" tour in April. She described Friday's show as "the most chaotic concert I've ever been to." "It's really disorganized here," she continued. "You don't know where to queue, and the line is moving very slowly. Even if you already paid for the items on Weverse, when you went to pick them up, they were sold out or pickup time was over. Someone next to me couldn't get inside for sound check because she was in line for the light stick for three hours." Getting into the venue was also confusing, she added, made more difficult by the heat. Concertgoers were not allowed to use some stairs and had to "go around and around" to reach their seats, she said. Similar complaints over logistics flooded social media after Friday's show and again after Saturday's finale, which was also delayed by 20 minutes. The most common issues included confusion over entry procedures, hectic queues leading to the venue, limited entrance points and transportation shortages. Busan Asiad Main Stadium is about a 30-minute drive from Busan Station, and taxi availability fell short of demand around the concert. HYBE issued an apology on Saturday over the delayed entry. "We deeply apologize to all attendees in the audience who came to watch the 'Arirang' world tour for the inconvenience caused by the delay in the start of [Friday's] performance," the agency said in a statement on Weverse, its fan community platform. HYBE said the delay was caused by a combination of factors, including confusion in on-site guidance, bottlenecks in the distribution of fan gifts and delays in merchandise pickup. Mira, a Malaysian fan who has supported BTS for the past eight years, had visited Korea several times before, including for the Goyang concert. Her friend Mas, who is also from Malaysia and who has visited Korea eight times, said her trip from Seoul to Busan had been smooth. "It's crowded, but not as busy as Seoul," Mira said. Mas described her Busan experience overall as "good," though both said they had experienced Friday's chaos firsthand. "Many people couldn't go inside," Mira said. Mas added that the internet connection around the venue had also been unstable. Still, the fans were determined to celebrate the anniversary. "I love their music and lyrics," said Dani, whose birthday coincided with BTS's debut anniversary on Saturday, explaining why she has remained a devoted ARMY member for six years. "It really helped me go through a lot of difficult times too." Mas cited BTS's "music and the members' individual personalities" as the reason she has stayed a fan, while Mira added with a smile — "They love ARMY very much." Over the two-day concert run, a total of 110,000 attendees gathered at the stadium. As crowds flocked to the city, more than 3,000 personnel from HYBE, the Busan City Government, police and firefighting units were deployed for safety and crowd control across Busan, including some 300 police officers stationed around the stadium on the days of the performa...

At its debut anniversary weekend in Busan, BTS delivered a familiar but warmer 'Arirang' tour show that felt intimate, emotional and newly joyful after the group's military hiatus. BUSAN — When BTS kicked off its "Arirang" world tour in Goyang, Gyeonggi, two months ago, I was struck by the spectacle: the seven members, the 360-degree open stage, the fire, smoke, lights, confetti and carefully placed homages that made each tableau feel like something to study carefully. On Saturday in Busan, I watched the group again from nearly the same vantage point. The setlist was largely unchanged, as were the details and the two-and-a-half-hour running time. But this time, the show flew by. I laughed, swayed and hummed with the crowd as BTS, back onstage for its June 13 debut anniversary weekend, seemed less intent on proving something than on savoring the joy of being BTS. "This is our birthday today," Jimin said, looking out over a sea of purple lights during the septet's "Arirang" concert in Busan, his hometown, on Saturday. "I'm so happy and delighted to sing and dance with you in the place I was born." BTS released its fifth full-length album "Arirang" on March 20 and kicked off the world tour of the same title in Goyang, Gyeonggi, in April, which is set to be the largest K-pop tour ever, spanning 34 cities and 86 shows. This year's anniversary carried particular weight, as it was BTS's first debut anniversary celebrated together after the group's military hiatus, which followed its 2022 "BTS Yet To Come in Busan" concert at the same stadium — the septet's last full-group activity before the break. "It is the 13th anniversary on June 13, which will never come again," RM said. "So I hope we can sing together and jump together, so that we remember today forever." Saturday's show began about 20 minutes after its scheduled 7 p.m. start, following a 75-minute delay the previous night caused by slow entry procedures, including gift handouts. One thing has stood out across BTS's recent performances, from its Gwanghwamun comeback show on March 21 to the Goyang kickoff and the latest Busan concert — the crowd does not need prompting to stand up. On Saturday, almost every section visible from my seat just behind the standing area rose the moment the BTS members made their entrance. Few sat down again until the short break before the encore. The set followed the same order as other shows on the "Arirang" tour: an intense opening run from the hip-hop-heavy "Hooligan" and "Aliens" to "Run BTS" (2022), followed by a slower, increasingly sentimental medley through "they don't know 'bout us," "Like Animals," "Fake Love" (2018), "Swim" and "Merry Go Round." While the stage was nearly identical in scale to the one used in Goyang, one subtle difference came from the curved open wall, which rose slightly higher around the audience seats in Busan. The change made the setup feel more intimate and gave the stage a greater sense of depth, which stood out during the Korean version of "Normal," a vocal-heavy B-side from "Arirang" performed for the first time at the Busan concert. As the stage and crowd gradually glowed in a warm shade of orange, there were few additional staging elements beyond the synchronized ARMY Bombs and the moving lift stage, which made the stadium itself the focus — a vast field of light that seemed to pulse as one. The first major highlight run of the night came with "Not Today" (2017), "MIC Drop" (2018), "FYA" and "Fire" (2016), before the energy surged again with the extended remix of "Body to Body" and "Idol" (2018), during which massive water cannons soared over the stadium with the opening verse by RM, "I need the whole stadium to jump" — a new addition for the Busan shows. The last intermission before the final segment started with ARMY singing happy birthday to BTS among themselves, and showing their heartfelt messages and slogans whenever the camera captured them on screen. BTS came back to the stage with "Come Over," a ...

Fans both with and without tickets came from all around the world to meet and celebrate the group's 13th anniversary in a city-wide ARMY embrace. BUSAN — Tosin Ojulari did not have a ticket to BTS's "Arirang" concert in Busan. She came anyway. For her first trip to Korea, she flew from Canada to Incheon International Airport, then traveled another 400 kilometers (249 miles) south to Busan on a four-hour express bus. By Friday afternoon, she was standing near Haeundae Beach, where BTS songs drifted over the shoreline and fans moved between experience zones, photo spots and other festivities under the clear June sky. "As soon as the dates were announced, even though I hadn't gotten tickets, I booked my hotel within 10 minutes," Ojulari said. Born in Nigeria and now based in Canada, Ojulari has been a member of BTS's fandom, known as ARMY, for five years. She came to Korea for the Busan edition of "The City Arirang," BTS's citywide promotional project, which coincided with the anniversary of the group's debut on June 13, 2013, and its two-night concert run at Busan Asiad Main Stadium on Friday and Saturday. On Friday, the first day of the concerts, Haeundae Beach became one of the main stages of that citywide celebration. A sand sculpture with the words "Keep Swimming" — a phrase defining the theme of BTS's "Arirang" era and its lead single "Swim" — stood against the deep blue sea as fans took photos, jumping and posing in front of it. The sand art was part of BTS's collaboration with the Haeundae Sand Festival, one of several local events folded into the Busan edition of "The City." Nearby, the "Love Song Lounge" hosted by BTS's agency HYBE ran from Friday to Sunday, inviting fans to write messages to BTS on red fabric banners, one of them reading, "Eight years of dreaming — now I can finally see BTS." For Ojulari, that was the point. Even without a concert ticket, she said, Festa week — BTS's annual anniversary celebration, marked by online and offline events — gave her enough reason to make the trip. "Even if I wasn't going to go to the concert, there would be things for me to see," she said. This year's anniversary carried added meaning for fans like Ojulari. It marked BTS's first Festa celebrated together after the group's military hiatus, which followed its 2022 "BTS Yet To Come in Busan" concert at the same stadium — the septet's last full-group activity before the break. "When I first met BTS, I was going through a lot," Ojulari said. "And I was like, before BTS comes back from the military, I'm going to have an apartment, a job, everything and then go see them — and that kept me going." Busan had been preparing for fans like her, with more than 110,000 visitors projected to come to the city for the two-day concert at Busan Asiad Main Stadium. They included not only ticket holders, but also fans who had come to Korea simply to celebrate BTS's 13th anniversary with fellow ARMY as the city joined in with media facades, local festivals, pop-ups and banners — some official ones from HYBE, and others fan-made — spread across major tourist spots. Annie, a New York-based fan from Thailand and an 11-year ARMY, also flew in from North America for her first visit to Busan and her first offline Festa. She arrived in Seoul first, joined an ARMY-themed tour there and then took a four-hour bus to Busan. Though she booked only one night in the city on Friday, she planned to return to Seoul before coming back to Busan by KTX on Monday for another ARMY-themed tour. "Yesterday, I actually went on an ARMY tour in Seoul," she said, wearing a purple shirt with BTS member Jungkook's name stitched on the back. "Even people who don't have tickets are here. I'm just happy to be with people from all over the world." For many fans arriving from Seoul by KTX, Busan Station was their first stop. Inside the station's Busan Eurasia Platform, a Welcome Center offered the first introduction to the Busan edition of "The City," with an informati...

Seoul's famed food market is turning to hybrid dishes and premium ingredients as vendors compete to stand out and keep tourists coming back. At Gwangjang Market, one of Seoul's most popular stops for travelers seeking a taste of traditional Korean food, the latest trend is surprisingly modern: hybrid dishes. At a yukhoe (Korean beef tartar) joint, customers can order bindaetteok (mung bean fritters), and at a bindaetteok stall, they can find yukhoe. The mix of once-distinct dishes is the result of intense competition inside the bustling market, where vendors are constantly looking for new ways to distinguish themselves. The hybrid shift goes beyond a diner serving two different cuisines, but it is also happening on the plate itself. One of the newest creations from the culinary movement is caviar-topped yukhoe gimbap (Korean seaweed roll). The new treat combines two of Gwangjang Market's signature dishes — yukhoe, typically served heavily seasoned with sweetened soy sauce and sesame oil or with chogochujang (Korean chilli paste with vinegar), and mayak gimbap, slim rolls filled with simple ingredients such as pickled radish and cucumber. Put the two together and voila. It results in an unexpectedly indulgent take on a street food staple. The flavor of raw beef becomes more pronounced while its tenderness stands out. The rolls are recommended to be dipped in fresh egg yolk or mayonnaise spiked with chili. "We put a lot of thought into finding the right balance between Gwangjang Market's two signature dishes," said Chu Sang-mi, who runs Parkganae Bindaetteok, a decades-old bindaetteok joint which runs two outlets inside and nearby Gwangjang Market. For those seeking an even more extravagant version, there is the ultimate caviar-topped option. The premium roll was developed in collaboration with food influencer Bimirya, who also operates a caviar business. "We wondered whether we had to sell only inexpensive food because we are in a traditional market," Chu said. "Japanese norimaki [seaweed rice rolls] often incorporate premium ingredients. We thought, why not try it ourselves? We thought it could be fun and a little shocking." The result is undeniably luxurious. The briny richness of the caviar pairs surprisingly well with the tender yukhoe, creating a combination that feels both familiar and entirely new. It of course comes with a hefty price tag. A roll of the caviar version costs 31,000 won ($22), nearly three times the 11,000 won price of the standard yukhoe gimbap, which is already expensive for a humble Korean staple. "We use caviar from Russia's Amur region, which costs about $100 for 30 grams [1 ounce]," Chu said. "We don't expect to make much profit from the caviar version." Perhaps for that reason, the caviar-topped roll is available only at Parkganae's second branch. Another specialty drawing attention at the diner is its shrimp wanja. Traditionally, wanja are small patties made with minced beef and vegetables. The version served here, however, resembles a bindaetteok, with a flatter shape that provides a crispier texture. Parkganae adds another twist to it by replacing the beef with minced shrimp. The shrimp wanja is lighter in texture but with a pronounced seafood flavor. Gwanjang Market has undergone a significant transformation since its foundation in 1905, when Korean merchants established the market by pooling capital to compete with the growing presence of Japanese merchants. They expanded on an existing marketplace along the Cheonggyecheon and built modern market facilities. It once traded everything from agricultural goods to daily necessities and clothes. A major turning point came in the 2000s when the restoration of the nearby stream attracted both locals and foreign visitors to the area. The market has since emerged as a hub for authentic Korean cuisine and local experiences. "Cheonggyecheon was beautifully restored, and 'Squid Game' [2021-25] and BTS became big hits," Chu said. "I think tourists' ...

Psychiatric treatment ultimately depends on one's own agency. The same can be said of other forms of treatment, but mental health care tends to be more effective the more actively the patient engages with it. *The series is based on the real-life experience of Kim Nam-young, a JoongAng Ilbo reporter currently living with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). The following articles are written from Kim's first-person perspective. I have PTSD. Itaewon is a well-known nightlife district in Yongsan District, central Seoul, and a popular spot for Halloween celebrations because of its diverse international culture. The disaster occurred during the first Halloween season after social distancing restrictions imposed during the Covid-19 pandemic had been lifted. Large crowds gathered in the area to celebrate. As more and more people poured into the neighborhood, the crowd became dangerously packed. The situation eventually led to a crowd crush in a narrow alley, amid a lack of effective crowd-control measures, leaving some 350 people dead or injured, including 159 fatalities. As a reporter on the social affairs desk, I covered the Itaewon disaster on Oct. 29, 2022. Since November of the following year, I have been receiving treatment regularly. I attend psychiatric counseling sessions and take medication every day. I am only revealing the illness now, more than two years later, not because I have overcome it. This is not a story about recovery, but a record of living through the illness. To be honest, I still do not know when, or if, I will overcome it. Instead, I want to talk about the time I have spent living alongside PTSD. Even now, I continue to work as a policy and social affairs reporter while exercising, traveling and going on with daily life. If someone is hesitant to see a doctor, I hope this piece helps. I also hope we can become a society where people do not feel forced to hide emotional pain and trauma. There is a chill in the waiting room. The psychiatrist sits expressionless, listening — at least in my eyes — half-heartedly to what I have to say. I leave the doctor's office holding a mysterious prescription with little explanation. This is what I imagined before I ever stepped inside a psychiatric clinic. The reality, however, was the complete opposite. It was far warmer than I expected, and the doctor listened carefully to what I said. The explanation about the medication was so kind and easy to understand that I could have repeated it word for word to someone else. My first psychiatric visit was on Nov. 9, 2022 — a turning point in my life. The visit was for my PTSD from covering the Oct. 29 Itaewon disaster the same year. Psychiatric treatment ultimately depends on one's own agency. The same can be said of other forms of treatment, but mental health care tends to be more effective the more actively the patient engages with it. That does not mean I was willingly active from the start. During my initial consultation, I underwent numerous tests, such as a heart rate variability (HRV) test, the Beck Depression Inventory, and the Beck Anxiety Inventory. These tests are widely used to objectively and scientifically assess levels of stress, depression and anxiety. I think I received those tests on the first day of my visit because I had already explained that I was seeking treatment because of the Itaewon disaster. The HRV test involved attaching clip-like sensors to my hands to measure my autonomic nervous system and heart activity. This is done because PTSD disrupts the balance of one's autonomic nervous system. The body continues reacting as if it is still in danger. My HRV test reflected exactly that. My sympathetic nervous system was excessively activated. The results of the depression and anxiety tests were not much different. After the tests, I sat down with a psychiatrist to review the results. I was asked questions like why I had come and what symptoms I had been experiencing. I explained that I worked as a r...

As a reporter on the social affairs desk, I covered the Itaewon disaster on Oct. 29, 2022. Since November of the following year, I have been receiving treatment regularly. I attend psychiatric counseling sessions and take medication every day. *The series is based on the real-life experience of Kim Nam-young, a JoongAng Ilbo reporter currently living with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). The following articles are written from Kim's first-person perspective. I have PTSD. Itaewon is a well-known nightlife district in Yongsan District, central Seoul, and a popular spot for Halloween celebrations because of its diverse international culture. The disaster occurred during the first Halloween season after social distancing restrictions imposed during the Covid-19 pandemic had been lifted. Large crowds gathered in the area to celebrate. As more and more people poured into the neighborhood, the crowd became dangerously packed. The situation eventually led to a crowd crush in a narrow alley, amid a lack of effective crowd-control measures, leaving some 350 people dead or injured, including 159 fatalities. As a reporter on the social affairs desk, I covered the Itaewon disaster on Oct. 29, 2022. Since November of the following year, I have been receiving treatment regularly. I attend psychiatric counseling sessions and take medication every day. I am only revealing the illness now, more than two years later, not because I have overcome it. This is not a story about recovery, but a record of living through the illness. To be honest, I still do not know when, or if, I will overcome it. Instead, I want to talk about the time I have spent living alongside PTSD. Even now, I continue to work as a policy and social affairs reporter while exercising, traveling and going on with daily life. If someone is hesitant to see a doctor, I hope this piece helps. I also hope we can become a society where people do not feel forced to hide emotional pain and trauma. It began around October 2023, as the first anniversary of the Itaewon crowd crush approached. Lost shoes piled along the side of the street, emergency responders pressing hard against the chests of people who had stopped breathing — These scenes would suddenly flash vividly into my mind even while walking down the street. When I woke from nightmares, my heart would race. I began consciously avoiding related articles and even certain words. However, still, waves of nausea came over me, and I was always on edge for no apparent reason. Saying I was "having a hard time" did not come close to describing it. A doctor later told me these were classic symptoms of PTSD. The things I had dismissed as simple oversensitivity were, in fact, cries of pain. PTSD is not a memory that naturally fades with time. It is an illness in which the brain forces a person to relive past threats as if they are happening in the present. That is why scenes suddenly resurface, and the body reacts first. Eventually, I had no choice but to begin treatment and start taking medication. But there was something even harder to bear than the illness itself — It was accepting that I was someone receiving treatment. After beginning PTSD treatment, I developed a new habit. Whenever I visited my hometown, which is in the countryside outside of Seoul, or traveled with friends, I packed a small opaque pouch with one purpose and one purpose only: to hold my psychiatric medication. Before going to sleep, I would secretly take my pills in the bathroom and swallow them with water. In the mornings, I woke earlier than everyone else to take them. I always put the pill packets back into the pouch afterward. If someone had asked what they were, I thought that I could probably brush them off as cold medicine. To be quite frank, I know that nobody would have even cared. Even so, I desperately wanted to hide the fact that I was seeing a psychiatrist. The packets had no names on them. They were transparently wrapped. Yet I was terrified s...

Reporter Kim Nam-young shares her experience living with PTSD after covering the Itaewon disaster on Oct. 29, 2022, which resulted in 159 deaths. *The series is based on the real-life experience of Kim Nam-young, a JoongAng Ilbo reporter currently living with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). The following articles are written from Kim's first-person perspective. I have PTSD. Itaewon is a well-known nightlife district in Yongsan District, central Seoul, and a popular spot for Halloween celebrations because of its diverse international culture. The disaster occurred during the first Halloween season after social distancing restrictions imposed during the Covid-19 pandemic had been lifted. Large crowds gathered in the area to celebrate. As more and more people poured into the neighborhood, the crowd became dangerously packed. The situation eventually led to a crowd crush in a narrow alley, amid a lack of effective crowd-control measures, leaving some 350 people dead or injured, including 159 fatalities. As a reporter on the social affairs desk, I covered the Itaewon disaster on Oct. 29, 2022. Since November of the following year, I have been receiving treatment regularly. I attend psychiatric counseling sessions and take medication every day. I am only revealing the illness now, more than two years later, not because I have overcome it. This is not a story about recovery, but a record of living through the illness. To be honest, I still do not know when, or if, I will overcome it. Instead, I want to talk about the time I have spent living alongside PTSD. Even now, I continue to work as a policy and social affairs reporter while exercising, traveling and going on with daily life. If someone is hesitating to see a doctor, I hope this piece can help. I also hope we can become a society where people do not feel forced to hide emotional pain and trauma. It was October 2023, and I was on a flight bound for Toronto. It was not an especially remarkable business trip — I was traveling to cover Canada's AI industry. I still cannot clearly remember whether it was a dream or a half-asleep hallucination. Suddenly, that alley from a year earlier appeared before me — the site of the Itaewon disaster, where more than 150 people lost their lives. It was so vivid and clear, as if a television screen had been placed right in front of my eyes. The same terror I had felt back then came rushing back as well, even though the cabin around me remained perfectly calm. It was only later, after receiving treatment, that I learned this was a classic PTSD symptom known as a flashback — the reliving of a traumatic experience. The same thing happened several more times after I returned to Korea. I often felt short of breath and began gagging more frequently. Sleepless nights became a regular part of my life. The closer the first anniversary of the disaster came, the more unbearable it became. Eventually, I began seeing a psychiatrist. That was when I realized that the Itaewon of Oct. 29, 2022, had returned to me in the form of PTSD. That was how my life with this illness — an illness that traps a person in the past — began. The following story contains descriptions related to the Itaewon disaster of October 2022. Some readers may find references to disaster scenes, rescue efforts and emotional or physical reactions from the time distressing or psychologically unsettling. If you have experienced a similar trauma or are currently struggling emotionally, we encourage you to stop reading or seek support if needed. Assistance is available through nearby psychiatric clinics or mental health counseling centers. That day, I was a reporter on the social affairs desk assigned to Itaewon. The area is a well-known spot in Korea to celebrate Halloween. I had gone there to cover the night's celebrations, which had resumed for the first time in three years after being halted by the Covid-19 pandemic, and to write a feature story about the people taking part. Peopl...

The GOT7 singer-songwriter says his first release under 528Hz reflects personal growth, deeper comfort in his craft and a stronger solo R&B identity. Singer-songwriter Jay B wants listeners to recognize his voice as the unmistakable R&B vocalist of boy band GOT7 — while also hearing how far his solo music has come. Jay B's third and latest EP, "TR.EE," comes three years and eight months after his previous solo album and marks his first new release since he joined his new agency, 528Hz. He poured his soul into this album, the 32-year-old said, hoping his music truly resonates with listeners for years to come. "I always think a lot about how to make people recognize, 'This music is from Jay B from GOT7," he said during a listening session of his third EP, "TR.EE," held at SeongsuYul Music in eastern Seoul on Wednesday. "At the same time, I also put a lot of thoughts into letting people notice how Jay B's music is different from GOT7's." The singer debuted as a member of GOT7 with JYP Entertainment in 2014, and has been actively involved in shaping the group's discography. When the band members' contracts with JYP Entertainment came to an end in 2021, they decided to go their separate ways without officially disbanding the group, and Jay B joined 586Hz earlier this year. His latest album, "TR:EE," was inspired by a phrase he read from a book by author Yoo Young-man: "A tree grows because it shakes; […] the roots grow deeper when the tree has been shaken harder." "There is always this feeling of anxiety inside me, but the day I encountered that phrase, I think it felt a bit more intense than usual," Jay B shared. "I found comfort from it — that I was not merely struggling but actually growing." The album features six songs: the lead track "Layback" and B-sides "Hold onto My Back," "Overflow," "One Call Away," "Time" and "We." Jay B is credited for songwriting and lyrics for all six songs in the album. While GOT7's music has been leaning more into dance-heavy and trendy pop sound, Jay B wanted his solo music to stay rooted in his affinity for groovy R&B. "I hope people come back to the songs again and again for a long time, like rereading books they have already read before," he said, adding with a smile, "The plan is to live a long and healthy life, but even after I'm gone, I wish my songs can continue to be sung and have an impact." Jay B said he let go of the pressure to prove himself with this album, noting that he now feels more comfortable with where he stands. "I used to think about being the best," he said. "But now, I'm thinking more about doing my best instead. Being best is great — but now, I'm focusing on doing my best." BY SHIN HA-NEE [[email protected]]

The opposition leader's push for a nationwide revote and an end to early voting risks fueling fraud claims instead of restoring trust through a full inquiry. Jang Dong-hyeok, the leader of the People Power Party (PPP), said on Tuesday regarding the ballot shortage in the June 3 local elections that "the only way to fundamentally resolve this disenfranchisement crisis is ultimately to hold a nationwide revote." He argued that, separate from legal procedures such as election petitions and lawsuits, the National Election Commission should itself declare this local election invalid and then hold rerun elections nationwide. While there is no dispute that there was a comprehensive failure in election administration, it is questionable whether the main opposition party leader's call for a nationwide revote accords with ordinary voters' common sense. That is because the priority should be to thoroughly uncover the truth behind the mistakes of the constitutional body that deprived the public of their precious voting rights and clearly reveal it to the public. Jang is also calling for the abolition of early voting along with a nationwide rerun election. Using online posts by internal election commission staff complaining of practical difficulties and limitations in managing early voting and vote counting as a pretext, he is denying the entire system outright. He has even mentioned the so-called twin vote tally phenomenon, in which Democratic Party and PPP candidates recorded the same number of votes at different polling stations during early voting, speaking and acting as though he is trying to link this election to past allegations of election fraud. However, attempts to connect the calls at a rally in the Olympic Park in Songpa District, southern Seoul, demanding guaranteed voting rights with election fraud claims are a direct insult to voters who want fairness and justice. The argument that early voting, which was introduced to guarantee voting rights, should simply be abolished is also irresponsible. One would hope Jang is not making such arguments with the intention of using public anger to evade demands that he take responsibility for the local election defeat and step down. If election fraud claims or conspiracy theories intervene in this situation, it will be impossible to root out the lawlessness and laxity of the complacent election commission. Only after a thorough and objective fact-finding process and measures in accordance with legal procedures can a reasonable solution be found to this unprecedented infringement of voting rights. Seoul Mayor Oh Se-hoon, who was, for all intents and purposes, directly affected by the ballot shortage incident, and even voices within the PPP have expressed a cautious view that the election law, which stipulates that a revote should not be held unless illegalities altered the outcome, must be respected. What the leader of the main opposition party should be doing now is not jumping on election fraud claims but gathering constructive opinions from inside and outside his party and helping restore trust in the election system. That is the stern command of the people, who are sovereign. 장동혁 대표의 '전국 재선거' 주장, 퇴진 압박 회피용 아닌가 장동혁 국민의힘 대표가 어제 6·3 지방선거 투표용지 부족 사태와 관련해 "이번 참정권 박탈 사태를 근본적으로 해결하는 것은 결국 전국 재선거밖에 없다"고 말했다. 법적 절차와 별개로 선관위가 스스로 이번 지방선거가 무효임을 선언한 뒤 전국에서 재선거를 해야 한다는 주장이다. 선거 관리에 총체적 부실이 있었던 것은 논란의 여지가 없는 과오지만, 그렇다고 전국 재선거를 하자는 제1 야당 대표의 주장이 일반 유권자 상식에 부합하는지는 의문이다. 국민의 소중한 참정권을 박탈한 헌법기관의 실책에 대한 진상을 철저히 규명해서 국민 앞에 명백히 밝히는 일이 우선돼야 하기 때문이다. 장 대표는 전국 재선거와 함께 사전투표제 폐지를 주장하고 있다. 선관위 직원들이 사전투표와 개표 관리에 실무적 고충과 한계가 있다고 하소연한 글을 빌미 삼아 시스템을 통째로 부정하는 것이다. 여기에 민주당과 국민의힘 후보가 다른 투표소(사전투표)에서 똑같은 득표수를 기록한 이른바 '쌍둥이 득표' 현상까지 거론하며 이번 선거를 과거의 부정선거론과 연결지으려는 듯한 언행을 하고 있다. 그러나 올림픽공원 집회의 참정권 보장 외침을 부정선거론과 연결짓는 시도는 공정과 정의를 원하는 유권자를 정면으로 모욕하는 일이다. 참정권 보장을 위해 도입된 사전투표제를 덮어놓고 폐지하자는 주장 또한 무책임하다. 만에 하나라도 장 대표가 분노한 민심을 이용해 자신에 대한 지방선거 패배 책임론과 사퇴 압박을 회피하려는 저의를 갖고 이런 주장을 펴는 것이 아니길 바란다. 이번 사태에 부정선거론이나 음모론이 개입하면 무사안일에 빠진 선관위의 탈법...

Chinese President Xi Jinping returned home on Tuesday after wrapping up a two-day, one-night visit to Pyongyang. Choosing North Korea as his first overseas destination this year, Xi showcased the two countries' "special relationship" and "strategic partnership" as a blood alliance through a summit with State Affairs Commission Chairman Kim Jong-un and a visit to the Friendship Tower. Beyond restoring once-strained bilateral ties, the two sides have moved into comprehensive alignment spanning the economy, diplomacy, law enforcement and even the military. As North Korea put it, Xi's visit may have opened a "new chapter" in bilateral ties, but dark clouds have gathered over the security landscape of the Korean Peninsula and Northeast Asia. According to statements and reports from both countries, any mention of North Korea's denuclearization disappeared entirely from this summit. Given that past summits at least referred in principle to the "denuclearization of the Korean Peninsula," this marks a serious change in China's stance. At the summit, Xi said that both sides "must firmly safeguard their respective sovereignty, security and development interests." Considering that North Korea has claimed nuclear development as a "sovereign right" and even codified it in its constitution, it is hard to dismiss concerns that Xi's remarks implicitly aligned with Pyongyang's argument and tolerated its possession of nuclear weapons. China has, until now, made denuclearization a principle of its Korean Peninsula policy and has presented itself as a mediator as host of the six-party talks aimed at North Korea's denuclearization. If China accepted North Korea's position and excluded denuclearization from this summit's agenda, it would deserve criticism for abandoning its responsible role in the international community. Also troubling is the inclusion of the phrase "military exchanges" in the Chinese statement. In addition, the economic cooperation Xi proposed, including the full opening of border trade crossings, could lead to the weakening of the international community's sanctions against the North Korean regime. North Korea, having strengthened its ties with Russia, is enhancing its strategic value through cooperation with China, its traditional ally. Diplomatic and security authorities must recognize the serious repercussions that this closer North Korea-China relationship could bring and prepare countermeasures. President Lee Jae Myung called for China's role in North Korea's denuclearization at the South Korea-China summit last January, but it is questionable whether China is truly playing a role commensurate with that request. The government must demonstrate diplomatic resolve by clearly conveying its concerns to China about security threats in Northeast Asia and urging it to act responsibly. 의제에서 실종된 비핵화, 더 위험해진 북·중 밀착 시진핑 중국 국가주석이 1박2일간의 평양 방문을 마치고 어제 귀국했다. 올해 첫 해외 방문지로 북한을 택한 시 주석은 김정은 국무위원장과의 정상회담, 북·중 우의탑 참배 등을 통해 '특수 관계'와 '전략적 동반자'로서 혈맹을 과시했다. 소원했던 양국 관계의 복원을 넘어 경제·외교·법 집행은 물론 군사 분야까지 총망라한 포괄적 밀착이다. 북한의 표현대로 시 주석의 방북이 양국의 "새로운 장"을 열었을지 모르지만 한반도와 동북아 안보 지형에는 먹구름이 드리워졌다. 양국 발표문이나 보도에 따르면 북한 비핵화에 대한 언급이 이번 정상회담에서 아예 사라졌다. 과거 정상회담 때마다 원론적인 수준에서라도 '한반도 비핵화'를 언급했던 점을 고려하면 중국의 심각한 태도 변화다. 시 주석은 정상회담에서 "각자의 주권과 안보, 발전 이익을 확고히 수호해야 한다"고 했다. 북한이 핵 개발을 '주권적 권리'라고 주장하면서 헌법에까지 명문화한 점을 감안하면, 시 주석의 발언은 북한의 주장에 암묵적으로 동조하면서 핵 보유를 묵인한 것이 아니냐는 우려를 지울 수 없다. 중국은 여태까지 비핵화를 한반도 정책의 원칙으로 삼아 왔고 북한 비핵화를 위한 6자회담 개최국으로 중재자 역할을 자임했던 나라다. 중국이 북한의 주장을 받아들여 이번 회담 의제에서 비핵화를 제외한 것이라면 국제사회에서의 책임 있는 역할을 스스로 내려놓은 것이란 비판을 사고도 남는다. 중국 측 발표문에 '군대 교류'란 표현이 들어간 것도 우려를 더하는 대목이다. 또한 시 주석이 제안한 국경 통상구 전면 개통 등의 경제협력은 국제사회의 대북 제재망 무력화로 이어질 수 있다. 러시아와 밀착 관계를 다진 북한은 전통 우방인 중국과의 전략적 협력을 통해 몸값을 높이고 있다. 외교안보 당국은 이번 북·중 밀착이 가져올 파장을 엄중히 인식하고 대응책을 마련해야 한다. 이재명 대통령은 지난 1월 한·중 정상회담에서 북한 비핵화를 위한 중국의 역할을 주문했는데, 과연 중국이 그에 걸맞은 역할을 하고 있는지 의문이다. 정부는 동북아 안보 위협에 대한 우려를 중국에 명확히 전달하고 책임 있는 행동을 촉구하는 외교력을 발휘해야 한다.

The opposition leader's push for a nationwide revote and an end to early voting risks fueling fraud claims instead of restoring trust through a full inquiry. Jang Dong-hyeok, the leader of the People Power Party (PPP), said on Tuesday regarding the ballot shortage in the June 3 local elections that "the only way to fundamentally resolve this disenfranchisement crisis is ultimately to hold a nationwide revote." He argued that, separate from legal procedures such as election petitions and lawsuits, the National Election Commission should itself declare this local election invalid and then hold rerun elections nationwide. While there is no dispute that there was a comprehensive failure in election administration, it is questionable whether the main opposition party leader's call for a nationwide revote accords with ordinary voters' common sense. That is because the priority should be to thoroughly uncover the truth behind the mistakes of the constitutional body that deprived the public of their precious voting rights and clearly reveal it to the public. Jang is also calling for the abolition of early voting along with a nationwide rerun election. Using online posts by internal election commission staff complaining of practical difficulties and limitations in managing early voting and vote counting as a pretext, he is denying the entire system outright. He has even mentioned the so-called twin vote tally phenomenon, in which Democratic Party and PPP candidates recorded the same number of votes at different polling stations during early voting, speaking and acting as though he is trying to link this election to past allegations of election fraud. However, attempts to connect the calls at a rally in the Olympic Park in Songpa District, southern Seoul, demanding guaranteed voting rights with election fraud claims are a direct insult to voters who want fairness and justice. The argument that early voting, which was introduced to guarantee voting rights, should simply be abolished is also irresponsible. One would hope Jang is not making such arguments with the intention of using public anger to evade demands that he take responsibility for the local election defeat and step down. If election fraud claims or conspiracy theories intervene in this situation, it will be impossible to root out the lawlessness and laxity of the complacent election commission. Only after a thorough and objective fact-finding process and measures in accordance with legal procedures can a reasonable solution be found to this unprecedented infringement of voting rights. Seoul Mayor Oh Se-hoon, who was, for all intents and purposes, directly affected by the ballot shortage incident, and even voices within the PPP have expressed a cautious view that the election law, which stipulates that a revote should not be held unless illegalities altered the outcome, must be respected. What the leader of the main opposition party should be doing now is not jumping on election fraud claims but gathering constructive opinions from inside and outside his party and helping restore trust in the election system. That is the stern command of the people, who are sovereign.

Xi Jinping's summit with Kim Jong-un signaled deeper North Korea-China alignment while denuclearization vanished from the agenda. Chinese President Xi Jinping returned home on Tuesday after wrapping up a two-day, one-night visit to Pyongyang. Choosing North Korea as his first overseas destination this year, Xi showcased the two countries' "special relationship" and "strategic partnership" as a blood alliance through a summit with State Affairs Commission Chairman Kim Jong-un and a visit to the Friendship Tower. Beyond restoring once-strained bilateral ties, the two sides have moved into comprehensive alignment spanning the economy, diplomacy, law enforcement and even the military. As North Korea put it, Xi's visit may have opened a "new chapter" in bilateral ties, but dark clouds have gathered over the security landscape of the Korean Peninsula and Northeast Asia. According to statements and reports from both countries, any mention of North Korea's denuclearization disappeared entirely from this summit. Given that past summits at least referred in principle to the "denuclearization of the Korean Peninsula," this marks a serious change in China's stance. At the summit, Xi said that both sides "must firmly safeguard their respective sovereignty, security and development interests." Considering that North Korea has claimed nuclear development as a "sovereign right" and even codified it in its constitution, it is hard to dismiss concerns that Xi's remarks implicitly aligned with Pyongyang's argument and tolerated its possession of nuclear weapons. China has, until now, made denuclearization a principle of its Korean Peninsula policy and has presented itself as a mediator as host of the six-party talks aimed at North Korea's denuclearization. If China accepted North Korea's position and excluded denuclearization from this summit's agenda, it would deserve criticism for abandoning its responsible role in the international community. Also troubling is the inclusion of the phrase "military exchanges" in the Chinese statement. In addition, the economic cooperation Xi proposed, including the full opening of border trade crossings, could lead to the weakening of the international community's sanctions against the North Korean regime. North Korea, having strengthened its ties with Russia, is enhancing its strategic value through cooperation with China, its traditional ally. Diplomatic and security authorities must recognize the serious repercussions that this closer North Korea-China relationship could bring and prepare countermeasures. President Lee Jae Myung called for China's role in North Korea's denuclearization at the South Korea-China summit last January, but it is questionable whether China is truly playing a role commensurate with that request. The government must demonstrate diplomatic resolve by clearly conveying its concerns to China about security threats in Northeast Asia and urging it to act responsibly. Opinion Desk [[email protected]]

On a summer morning in Seoul two years ago, Yoon Gap-yeon, an 81-year-old woman who lives by herself, collapsed just at the threshold her front door. After that, she remembers little. She lay alone on the floor of her basement home for roughly half an hour — long enough, in the heat, that the outcome could easily have been different. Fortunately, her Yakult delivery woman arrived — one of Korea's roughly 11,000 "fresh managers," women who deliver chilled probiotic drinks door to door on electric carts. "She said, 'What's wrong?' I could hear her, but I couldn't respond," Yoon told the Korea JoongAng Daily last week. The manager ran to find a pharmacy, returned with medicine, came back that evening with porridge, and later helped connect Yoon to her local community center for welfare support. "If she hadn't come when she did, I don't know what would have happened to me," Yoon said. Korea has one of the world's fastest-aging populations. Nearly two million Koreans aged 65 and older live alone, equal to one in five seniors. Last year, a record 3,924 died in isolation, alone, their deaths undiscovered for days or longer. A survey by the Seoul Institute found that 62.1 percent of people living alone report feeling lonely; 13.6 percent have no one to rely on at all. Yoon lives alone in Gwangjin District, eastern Seoul. Intestinal surgery years earlier had left her weighing 41 kilograms (90 lbs) and unable to eat most ordinary foods. Her son lives in Ulsan, a five-hour drive away, and visits when he can. The manager who found her that morning was Son Young-soon. The Korea JoongAng Daily joined Son on her morning rounds on May 26. Before becoming a Yakult delivery woman 26 years ago, Son worked as a nursing assistant — a background, she said, that made her attentive to the kinds of changes that can go unnoticed in someone living alone. Her route winds past Hyemin Hospital and through streets lined with low-rise residential buildings and public housing in Gwangjin District, an area with one of the higher concentrations of elderly and vulnerable residents in eastern Seoul. She manages around 70 customers, about 10 of them are older adults living alone. Yoon is one of them. The deliveries take only a minute at each door. Son rings the bell. If the customer is home, they come to the door; if not, she leaves the pouch on the handle. When the door opens, the conversation rarely stays on the drinks. "They have no one to talk to," Son said. "So when you see them, it all comes out — how they're feeling, where it hurts. Some of them give you fruit or snacks and say thank you." Son keeps notes on who has been quieter than usual, who mentioned a hospital appointment, who did not answer on a day they were expected to be home. "I just like people," she said. "Especially the elderly — they seem to like me. I have a friendly face." On the morning of May 26, as she worked her way down the block, a neighbor stopped mid-stride to place an order. A few minutes later, Yoon, returning from a hospital visit, spotted Son across the street, crossed over and took her hand. A man surnamed Kim, 82, is another of Son's customers, who has been receiving deliveries three times a week for three years through a government designation. Asked about his daily routine, he was brief. "Eating, sleeping," he said. "Taking medicine every day." Asked whether he has friends or neighbors his age nearby, he paused for only a moment. "They're all dead," he said. "I'm living on medicine." A care worker comes to clean his home and do his laundry. Son's visits offer something different, he said — "emotionally. In the heart." He called the people who come to see him "angels," and said he looks forward to the visits. Fresh managers like Son often end up doing more than delivering drinks, particularly as the country ages and the networks around older people grow sparser. Under a government-linked program launched in 1994, HY, the Korean food company that makes Yakult, coordinate...

The Tokyo-based management company Asobisystem saw a surge in popularity for its artists, including girl group Cutie Street, following its collaboration with Weverse. A single appearance on a Korean music show helped Japanese girl group Cutie Street find listeners in places that its agency had barely reached before: North America and India. After the eight-member act appeared on Mnet's "M Countdown" (2004–) in March, one of the most recognizable stages in K-pop's distinctive promotional cycle, the response to its performance resounded far beyond Korea. Interest began to pick up in North America and, more surprisingly, India, where the distinctively frilly girl group had seen very little reaction, according to Yusuke Nakagawa, the founder and CEO of the Tokyo-based management company Asobisystem. "Establishing a foothold and presence in Korea is extremely important for us as we look to expand our artists' global reach," Nakagawa told reporters during an interview on Sunday. "One thing we realized through Cutie Street is that exposure on Korean music shows leads to increased sales in overseas markets." Nearby markets, such as Southeast Asia, had already shown signs of interest, Nakagawa said, but India was different, as that was "a market where [Cutie Street] had seen almost no response before." "So the fact that appearing on a K-pop music show generated new interest there was very significant for us," he explained. His interview on Sunday was with Moon Ji-soo, the CEO of Weverse Japan, on the second and final day of the 2026 Weverse Con Festival, where Cutie Street opened the day's lineup on the outdoor stage at Olympic Park's 88 Lawn Field. Asobisystem, founded in 2007, centers its artistic direction on Harajuku culture, a collection of Japanese youth subcultures known for its whimsical and unbridled fashion. The company also operates Kawaii Lab., an umbrella project that includes multiple idol groups, including Cutie Street. Kawaii Lab. opened channels for five groups comprising 38 artists on Weverse in July last year. Weverse, a fan community platform owned by K-pop powerhouse HYBE, has increasingly expanded its presence beyond K-pop acts with Japanese artists such as imase, Yoasobi and Lilas creating fan communities on the platform since Weverse Japan was established in 2022. But the collaboration with Weverse extends far beyond the platform itself, as the platform operator also provides consultation and data analysis that help shape promotion strategies. For Asobisystem, for example, Weverse helped the company access local networks in Korea, drawing on its own promotional machinery and understanding of K-pop's fan culture. "The buzz that we were able to create in Korea came from our collaboration with Weverse," Nakagawa said. "For Cutie Street, once the concert [at the music festival] was organized, Weverse immediately came to us with proposals. From booking music shows to planning the overall promotion, they consulted with us and supported us throughout the process." One of the areas in which Weverse Japan helped its Japanese partner was navigating the complexity of K-pop fan culture, including the custom of preparing food, beverages and other small gifts for fans attending music shows to support their favorite artists. Nakagawa admitted with a smile that he was initially hesitant when he first heard the idea of sending a coffee truck to fans, a practice unfamiliar in Japanese fan culture. But he said that he is now glad that the company went through with it. Thanks to the collaboration with Weverse Japan, Cutie Street saw its Korean fandom grow fourfold between the group's first Korean concert in March and its upcoming Seoul concert in July, according to Nakagawa. Another key difference, he added, was the way in which K-pop fans actively bring new listeners into the fandom. "I was very surprised by how high K-pop fans' social media literacy was," he said. "They would crop and edit music show videos uploaded on Yo...

On Monday, President Lee Jae Myung presented an economic vision of making Korea a "global powerhouse in industries with overwhelming technological gaps" at a press conference. He also said he would unveil large-scale investment projects that would help discover and foster next-generation growth engines beyond semiconductors while ensuring the benefits of growth are broadly shared. This is a desirable direction at a time when our economy's potential growth rate is steadily declining. At the same time, the government should no longer delay and instead must move proactively on regulatory innovation and labor market reform, which are obstructing innovation and growth. The problem is that the president's understanding of major economic issues — including the "three highs" of a strong dollar-won exchange rate, high inflation and high interest rates, as well as the jeonse (lump-sum deposit) housing shortage — gives the impression of being overly optimistic or fragmentary. President Lee said of the exchange rate situation, "It is true that it is high, but I believe it is temporary." He also said, "Rising stock prices have become the reason the exchange rate has risen." This is similar in context to recent remarks by presidential policy chief Kim Yong-beom, who described the three highs as "the cost of success." It is true that the recent surge in the valuation of Korean stocks, which has led foreign investors to sell shares day after day in order to rebalance their portfolios, has been the direct trigger for the recent rise in the exchange rate. But underlying the high exchange rate are also structural factors such as the prolonged gap in growth rates and interest rates between Korea and the United States, as well as increased overseas investment by companies. Moreover, concerns are growing that the shock from the three highs could intensify in earnest as expectations build for a U.S. benchmark rate hike. With the semiconductor rally immediately losing steam, the Kospi plunged 8.29 percent on Monday, collapsing below the 7,500 level in one stroke. The drop was unusually steep compared with the fall in the market in Japan at 3.85 percent and Taiwan at 3.48 percent. This reflects excessive concentration in semiconductors, along with a surge in debt-financed stock investing and leveraged investments by individuals that have heightened volatility. Yields on three-year and 10-year Korean Treasury bonds also rose to their highest levels of the year on Monday. Along with rising U.S. interest rates, President Lee's remarks are said to have had an impact as well. Regarding the use of excess tax revenue, President Lee said, "Having no government debt is not an absolute solution," which the market interpreted as meaning there was no intention to use the extra tax revenue to repay government bonds. The overall direction of real estate policy, centered on regulations and taxes, also appears unlikely to change much. Regarding the jeonse crisis in particular, which has become a major problem, he said, "Jeonse is a kind of private finance, and it is now disappearing," adding, "A process of normalization is necessary." That may prove true in the long run, but it is questionable whether he fully recognizes the plight of ordinary homeless people who are in distress as jeonse prices soar and jeonse listings sharply decline. The three highs and the jeonse crisis are livelihood issues that inflict particular pain on ordinary people. Rather than appearing relaxed on the assumption that burdens to livelihoods will soon pass, the government should actively manage the risks and come up with closely tailored measures. 고환율은 일시적, 전세난은 정상화라는 대통령의 경제 인식 어제 이재명 대통령은 기자회견에서 '초격차 산업 강국'이란 경제 비전을 제시했다. 반도체를 이을 차세대 먹거리 발굴·육성과 함께 성장의 온기가 고루 퍼지게 할 대규모 투자 프로젝트도 내놓겠다고 했다. 우리 경제의 잠재성장률이 갈수록 하락하고 있는 상황에서 바람직한 방향이다. 문제는 고환율·고물가·고금리의 '3고'와 전세난 등 주요 경제 현안과 관련된 대통령의 인식이 지나치게 낙관적이거나 단편적이란 인상을 주고 있다는 것이다. 이 대통령은 환율 상황에 대해 "높은 것은 사실이나 일시적이라고 본다"고 말했다. 또 "주가가 오르는 게 환율이 오르는 이유가 됐다"...

With two sold-out stadium concerts in Busan, BTS is raising a question that extends beyond its own tour: Can a Korean city outside the capital region become a regular destination for large-scale K-pop concerts? For most K-pop artists, touring Korea still largely means performing in Seoul and its surrounding areas. The logic is hard to ignore. The capital region, including Seoul and the surrounding Gyeonggi, is home to more than half of the country's population, as well as the industry's biggest venues, agencies, media outlets and production networks. Outside that sprawling metropolitan area, the equation becomes far more complicated. But BTS is taking its world tour to Busan. And Korea's largest port city is pulsing with anticipation — not only for the two concerts themselves, but for what may come after them. With two sold-out stadium concerts in Busan, the septet is raising a question that extends beyond its own tour: Can a Korean city outside the capital region become a regular destination for large-scale K-pop concerts? "I've been so excited to invite you all to my hometown," Jimin said on Oct. 15, 2022, when BTS held its free "Yet To Come in Busan" concert at Busan Asiad Main Stadium as part of the city's bid to host the World Expo. "We couldn't possibly leave this song out when we are performing in Busan, right?" he added. "Welcome to ma city!" The group then launched into "Ma City," a 2015 track in which the seven members pay tribute to their hometowns — from Suga and V's Daegu and J-Hope's Gwangju to RM and Jin's Gyeonggi, and Jimin and Jungkook's Busan. Some of the members slipped into their regional dialects, a homecoming written into the group's own music. A little less than four years later, BTS is returning to the southeastern port city for another concert, this time as part of its ongoing "Arirang" world tour. BTS opened its "2.0" era after a nearly four-year pause in full-group activities with its fifth full-length album, "Arirang," released on March 20. The group kicked off its world tour with three shows at Goyang Main Stadium in Goyang, Gyeonggi, just west of Seoul, before heading to the United States, where the tour drew 840,000 fans. Now, BTS is coming home again — and doing so at a particularly symbolic moment. The Busan concerts coincide with the group's 13th anniversary of its debut on June 13, which BTS will mark with the 2026 BTS Festa, its annual celebration with fans. The "Arirang" world tour is scheduled to take place in Busan on June 12 and 13 at Asiad Main Stadium. The timing explains why the group had to return to Korea at this point in the tour, while Busan in particular carries sentimental weight as the hometown of Jimin and Jungkook. BigHit Music, BTS's agency, has billed the concerts as "a special homecoming." "BTS will return to Busan for the first time in about four years for a special 'homecoming,'" the agency said in a release in May. "The project is especially meaningful as it takes place around June 13, the anniversary of BTS's debut." The Busan stop, however, is unusual enough to draw attention. Major K-pop concerts in Korea remain heavily concentrated in Seoul and the wider capital region, while full-scale domestic tours across multiple Korean cities have become relatively uncommon for idol acts, especially established ones. As K-pop has grown into a global touring industry, many major groups now begin their live tours with Seoul-area shows followed by overseas legs, rather than multiple stops within Korea. "Artists do sometimes hold nationwide tours, but the facilities are not always ideal, and there are not many large-scale venues," said a source from a K-pop agency, who requested anonymity. "Busan Asiad Main Stadium is a good venue, but not every artist can fill a venue of that size. Smaller than that, the facilities there are unlikely to be ideal." Even when venue capacity is not the problem, infrastructure can be. "For us, domestic concerts are important, but because man...

The Korean mountains are not to be underestimated, with a slew of accidents in May On the slopes of Baegundae, the highest peak in Mount Bukhan in northern Seoul, the queue of climbers grinds to a halt on a spring day in early May. A young woman grips onto the steel rail running up the steep rocky slab. Tears roll down her cheeks, her breath is hasty — she tries to compose herself. Hikers descending in the other direction offer words of encouragement, and she manages a panicked chuckle before pressing on. Getting into the mountains is extremely easy in Korea. Trails are accessible by public transport and well-maintained. This is a major factor drawing troves of foreign visitors to Korea's national parks. However, that accessibility can be dangerous, leading beginner-level hikers to take on dicey routes that require experience and correct gear. The last hour of climbing Baegundae is not for the faint of heart. In multiple sections, the lanky steel rail is the only thing keeping climbers from slipping down a dome of rock that quickly goes vertical. The young woman's fear was completely justified. The month of May made it clear that the mountains are unpredictable. An 11-year-old boy was found dead from a fatal fall after going missing in Mount Juwang, North Gyeongsang, on May 12. Two hikers suffered falls of five and seven meters in Mount Seorak over Buddha's Birthday weekend, with a third hiker collapsing from cardiac arrest. Danger in numbers The heights aren't the main problem — it's the sheer number of climbers that flock to the mountains on a sunny weekend or public holiday. Take Mount Bukhan on Children's Day, a public holiday. Being just an hour away from central Seoul by bus, it was crawling with people. The same goes for Mount Gwanak in Gwanak District, southern Seoul, which has become even more popular due to the recent belief that reaching its peak brings good luck. Mount Seorak in Gangwon to the east near the coastal city of Sokcho is also highly popular and just a three-hour bus ride away. The steep, narrow stairs of Mount Bukhan, built into the mountainside, combined with the number of people climbing them, mean that only one person must lose their footing for the rest to fall like dominoes. There's also the grueling wait in the queue for the summit, where hikers are exposed to baking hot sun on the exposed ridgeline, vulnerable to dehydration or heat stroke. The same goes for other peaks and parks in Korea. At Mount Gwanak, there are tamer options for reaching its apex, Yeonjudae, than Mount Bukhan, but there's also no one to stop you from traversing its razor-sharp ridge, which lacks protective rails. While some climbers carefully navigated Yeonjudae's rocky spine, three boys in baggy jeans, blasting K-rap, leaped from rock to rock, overtaking the cautious climbers at the peril of everyone, themselves most of all. Foreign visitors to the parks have increased dramatically. Over 2 million foreigners visited Korean national parks in 2025, a 131 percent increase from 2024, when 885,000 foreign visitors were recorded. There were 123 incidents in the parks in 2025 — 10 fatalities and 113 injuries. This was five more incidents than in 2024. The surge hasn't let up in 2026. At Mount Seorak, crowds of hikers surged through the gates at the crack of dawn to get a taste of the mountains after the 73-day spring closure. Approximately 16,000 walked the mountain that day. Korean National Park Service spokesperson Choi Seung-hwan said there are risks associated with increased visitor numbers, but rescue and safety measures have been stepped up to address them. There were 22 cases of illegal or disorderly behavior, including entering unauthorized trails, bivouacking and illegally dumping trash over that opening May weekend. Few checks and balances Climbers raced to Seoraksan as early as 2 a.m. to miss the crowds and catch the sunrise. Ascending Daecheongbong, the park's highest mountain, from the Sokcho-facing side off...

Rising food, labor and logistics costs are pushing more Seoul lunch menus above 10,000 won, squeezing restaurant owners and driving diners to cafeterias and convenience stores. Just a few years ago, 10,000 won ($6.5) for a bowl of gukbap — a bowl of warm soup enjoyed with steamed rice — was considered highway robbery. In 2026, it's the new normal. Maybe even on the cheap side. However, this has brought little relief to restaurant owners, who now find themselves trapped in a no-win equation amid ever-worsening inflation: charge more and risk losing customers, or charge less and risk going out of business. Cheon Jeong-rye, the owner of Songok, a buckwheat noodle restaurant Songok in Bukchang-dong in central Seoul, is bracing for another difficult summer. The restaurant opened in 1965, with Cheon's family running it for two generations. This summer, however, is proving to be a particularly difficult one among the 65 years of history. The restaurant's signature dish, chilled buckwheat noodles, now costs 11,000 won, up 4,000 won from 7,000 won in 2016. Even its cheapest item, yubu (fried tofu) udon, has risen from 5,500 won to 9,500 won. In less than a decade, prices of both menu items have risen by 4,000 won. "There isn't a single thing that hasn't become more expensive, whether it's ingredients or labor, so we raised prices once more after Chuseok [Korean autumn harvest holiday] last year," Cheon said. "Regular customers who used to order three servings of noodles now order only two, and that's something I am concerned about." Cheon no longer employs a dining-room server during the busy lunch rush. "If I hire someone, there's nothing left over," Cheon said. "I do everything myself now. We need to earn as much as possible during the summer to survive the winter, but these days there are even fewer customers than during the Covid-19 pandemic." Soaring lunch prices are squeezing both office workers and small-business owners. On May 29, the JoongAng Ilbo revisited major restaurants in Bukchang-dong, a popular dining district in Seoul's Jung District. The on-site visit came two and three years after the previous surveys in 2023 and 2024. Of the 28 restaurants surveyed in 2023, only 15 remain in business. The 13 have gone out of business in the past three years. More than half of those remaining establishments — eight out of 15, or 53.3 percent — have raised the prices of their cheapest lunch menu items over the past year and a half. When the newspaper first conducted its survey in February 2023, 67.9 percent of restaurants surveyed — 19 out of 28 — offered at least one lunch menu item priced below 10,000 won. This year, that share has fallen to 46.7 percent, or seven out of 15 restaurants. One gukbap restaurant raised the price of its cheapest bowl from 9,000 won in 2023 to 10,000 won in 2024. The dish's price went up to 11,000 won this year. Even gukbap, once a go-to budget meal, is no longer as affordable as it used to be. As dining out becomes increasingly burdensome, office workers are turning to corporate cafeterias and convenience stores. "Although there are plenty of famous restaurants nearby, even their cheapest menu items are usually over 10,000 won," said Choi, an office worker who was dining at a company cafeteria in the Bukchang-dong food alley. "Once you add a side dish and coffee, the bill comes close to 20,000 won, which is financially burdensome." "Even gimbap [rice roll] costs more than 5,000 won a roll if it has beef [toppings inside]," Choi added. "I'd rather eat at the cafeteria, where I can get rice, soup and several side dishes for 8,900 won." "I spent nearly 20,000 won for lunch with a 15,000-won meal and a 4,000-won coffee," said Lee, an office worker in the Seocho-dong neighborhood in southern Seoul. "When I'm eating alone, I usually get by on cup noodles and a triangle gimbap from a convenience store for around 8,000 won, and I look for the cheapest coffee I can find." Triangle gimbap is a Korean versio...

North Korean leader Kim Jong-un, chain-smoking and frowning from the dais of an expanded meeting of the ruling Workers' Party Central Committee secretariat on Jan. 27, 2025, lashed out at his own ranks. "This is a special-grade crime that our party cannot forgive even a little bit," Kim said. The target of his anger was a group of some 40 party officials in Onchon County, South Pyongan Province, who, North Korean media reported, had spent the year-end holidays drinking with female volunteers and engaging in promiscuous behavior at a hot springs resort. Onchon was no ordinary county. It was one of the 20 sites selected for the first year of Kim's signature Regional Development 20×10 Policy, an initiative to build modern light-industry factories in 20 rural areas every year for a decade. The misconduct occurred just before the county's Jan. 20, 2025, factory opening ceremony. Within a week of the ribbon-cutting, Kim ordered the officials to be sternly punished. Why did the leader react so sharply to the misbehavior of a handful of mid-level local officials? The answer lies in a speech he had given about a month earlier. On Dec. 20, 2024, at the completion ceremony for new provincial factories in Songchon County, South Pyongan Province — the showcase site for the policy and the first to break ground — Kim suddenly invoked the 1962 Changsong Joint Conference, the meeting at which his grandfather Kim Il Sung outlined his vision for raising rural living standards. That meeting has been treated for more than half a century as North Korean scripture on regional policy. "Why has the policy on local industry not been carried through even now, more than 60 years later? It is because there have been no clear standards or principles," Kim Jong-un said. He went on to mock past propaganda about Changsong — "all they did was make documentary films and write songs about how Changsong had been transformed" — and acknowledged that "from the 1990s, the factories essentially came to a complete halt," a rare public reference to the famine years of the Arduous March under his father, late leader Kim Jong-il. It was a striking move. As the first fruit of his regional development drive came online, Kim Jong-un publicly conceded the failures of the Paektu bloodline — North Korea's ruling Kim clan — and cast himself as the one who would finally do what founder Kim Il Sung had not. The Onchon misconduct, in that light, was not a small embarrassment. It was a challenge to a historic project that Kim Jong-un has called a "sacred and great undertaking." Kim, who, as a young leader, had cultivated a physical resemblance to his grandfather, down to his hair and speech, was now testing whether his 20×10 policy could surpass the achievements of the man he had spent his life imitating. Whether it has succeeded has been hard to determine from the ground, so the JoongAng Ilbo turned to the night sky. Nighttime light intensity levels — a widely used proxy for real economic activity in countries that, like North Korea, release little reliable economic data — show that power briefly flooded into all 20 first-year sites in 2024. But those sites did not remain lit. Where did the light come from, and where did it all go? A KAIST-Max Planck Institute for Security and Privacy joint research team led by professors Kim Ji-hee and Cha Mee-young used satellite imagery to track nighttime brightness across 178 of North Korea's cities and counties — with Pyongyang's 18 districts treated as one — from January 2022 to October 2025. Drawing on that data, the team compared the brightness in October 2023, before the first batch of counties was named, with the brightness in October 2025, after the new factories had opened. Analysis showed insufficient power to keep all 20 sites lit. Instead, the lights appeared to embrace a very Kim Jong-un approach: strategic selectivity. Of the 20 first-year counties, only five were brighter at night in 2025 than they were in 2023: Kusong, Son...

Rather than appearing relaxed on the assumption that burdens to livelihoods will soon pass, the government should actively manage the risks and come up with closely tailored measures. On Monday, President Lee Jae Myung presented an economic vision of making Korea a "global powerhouse in industries with overwhelming technological gaps" at a press conference. He also said he would unveil large-scale investment projects that would help discover and foster next-generation growth engines beyond semiconductors while ensuring the benefits of growth are broadly shared. This is a desirable direction at a time when our economy's potential growth rate is steadily declining. At the same time, the government should no longer delay and instead must move proactively on regulatory innovation and labor market reform, which are obstructing innovation and growth. The problem is that the president's understanding of major economic issues — including the "three highs" of a strong dollar-won exchange rate, high inflation and high interest rates, as well as the jeonse (lump-sum deposit) housing shortage — gives the impression of being overly optimistic or fragmentary. President Lee said of the exchange rate situation, "It is true that it is high, but I believe it is temporary." He also said, "Rising stock prices have become the reason the exchange rate has risen." This is similar in context to recent remarks by presidential policy chief Kim Yong-beom, who described the three highs as "the cost of success." It is true that the recent surge in the valuation of Korean stocks, which has led foreign investors to sell shares day after day in order to rebalance their portfolios, has been the direct trigger for the recent rise in the exchange rate. But underlying the high exchange rate are also structural factors such as the prolonged gap in growth rates and interest rates between Korea and the United States, as well as increased overseas investment by companies. Moreover, concerns are growing that the shock from the three highs could intensify in earnest as expectations build for a U.S. benchmark rate hike. With the semiconductor rally immediately losing steam, the Kospi plunged 8.29 percent on Monday, collapsing below the 7,500 level in one stroke. The drop was unusually steep compared with the fall in the market in Japan at 3.85 percent and Taiwan at 3.48 percent. This reflects excessive concentration in semiconductors, along with a surge in debt-financed stock investing and leveraged investments by individuals that have heightened volatility. Yields on three-year and 10-year Korean Treasury bonds also rose to their highest levels of the year on Monday. Along with rising U.S. interest rates, President Lee's remarks are said to have had an impact as well. Regarding the use of excess tax revenue, President Lee said, "Having no government debt is not an absolute solution," which the market interpreted as meaning there was no intention to use the extra tax revenue to repay government bonds. The overall direction of real estate policy, centered on regulations and taxes, also appears unlikely to change much. Regarding the jeonse crisis in particular, which has become a major problem, he said, "Jeonse is a kind of private finance, and it is now disappearing," adding, "A process of normalization is necessary." That may prove true in the long run, but it is questionable whether he fully recognizes the plight of ordinary homeless people who are in distress as jeonse prices soar and jeonse listings sharply decline. The three highs and the jeonse crisis are livelihood issues that inflict particular pain on ordinary people. Rather than appearing relaxed on the assumption that burdens to livelihoods will soon pass, the government should actively manage the risks and come up with closely tailored measures.

Can Korea call itself a cultural powerhouse when some of its largest public art institutions have gone years without running a single program accessible to disabled visitors? Can the arts sector truly be considered democratic and inclusive when certain people are routinely left out? A few years ago, Chung Young-seok — a wheelchair user who lectures and researches arts management — went to Museum SAN in Wonju with a friend, the very place where another wheelchair user was denied entrance in April this year. They tried to enter the James Turrell hall, which houses one of only a handful of Turrell installations in the world. There was an elevator, but just as he was about to hop in, a staff member came over and told them they couldn't ride it, without explaining why. "I could understand if there were no facilities for the disabled at all," Chung said. "But to be told I couldn't use a facility that was already there — that felt like an entirely different problem. It made me realize this isn't about whether facilities exist. It's about how access is operated and how it's understood." Korean museums face a gap between access and inclusion Korean public art spaces often meet legal accessibility rules on paper, but many disabled visitors still cannot fully use them. A survey of major museums found that few offered sustained barrier-free programs, and many services were limited, temporary or hard to access. One key issue is staffing, not just facilities. Museums need dedicated workers and better understanding of different disabilities so access becomes part of daily operations, not a response to public criticism. This factbox was generated by Labrador AI and proof-read by a journalist. Museum SAN is, by Gangwon's official designation, a barrier-free tourist site — wheelchair rentals included. The episode, which Chung recounted after last month's incident that ignited a brief flurry of public attention, points to a broader conversation on accessibility that Korean arts institutions have not quite caught up to. The question is no longer whether ramps and elevators exist. They mostly do. The question is whether the access they imply actually works. Law is there, but programs, less so Korea has legally mandated accessibility at public buildings since 1998, when the Convenience Promotion Act was enacted, requiring public facilities to install ramps, accessible restrooms, tactile paving and similar fixtures. A barrier-free certification system, introduced in 2008, then layered a voluntary grading system on top of the act, evaluating buildings against more demanding criteria for everything from circulation paths to signage. The Korea Disability Arts & Culture Center (KDAC) also administers a grant program that funds accessibility content and operations at public exhibition and performance spaces, with awards ranging from 50 million ($34,500) to 80 million won per institution for up to three years. This grant program has also expanded in the number of recipients, with six institutions receiving 500 million won in 2024 and 22 institutions receiving a total of 1.6 billion won this year. The issue is that physical and programmatic accessibility move on separate tracks — one supported by the state, the other left to whatever budget an institution can find. To get a sense of how this plays out, the Korea JoongAng Daily asked the country's 20 largest art museums by visitor count to share their accessibility programming over the past five years, as well as their staffing levels. Of the 20 surveyed, 13 museums responded, and among them, only six could point to more than one exhibition over the past five years that was designated barrier-free from the start. The rest reported accessibility measures bolted onto otherwise standard programming — a sign-language caption here, a tactile catalog there, a braille leaflet at the gate. The National Museum of Korea, Busan Museum of Art and Daelim Museum were among those that did not give responses. The poi...

Nvidia partnered with Korean chipmaker SK hynix to develop next-generation memory chips that will power Nvidia's AI infrastructure. SK's telecommunication arm, SK Telecom, will begin operating its first AI factory in 2027 on Nvidia's platform. The two major deals were announced Monday following a morning meeting between Nvidia CEO Jensen Huang and SK Group Chairman Chey Tae-won. "SK is our largest memory partner," Huang told reporters after the meeting at SK's Seorin building in Jongno district, central Seoul. "We are expanding our partnership to include many new markets. [...] We announced a redesign, a reinvention of the world's personal computers we call RTX Spark, a partnership between us and Microsoft to reinvent the personal computer for the first time in 40 years, and that will have SK hynix inside. "The next wave called physical AI and robotics — we built a processor called Jetson Thor, and that will have SK hynix inside." The long-term partnership was struck to ensure a stable supply of advanced memory chips, which take years to design and bring to market, the companies said. The deal is part of Nvidia's broader strategy to lock in formal partnerships across its entire semiconductor supply chain — the foundries that manufacture its chips, the memory suppliers, and the software companies that help design them. Under the agreement, SK hynix and Nvidia will jointly develop memory for a wide range of Nvidia AI products, from data center supercomputers to consumer PCs and robotics systems — specifically the Vera Rubin AI supercomputer, Vera CPU, RTX Spark PC and Jetson Thor robotic computing platform. SK hynix will also use Nvidia's software tools to speed up its internal chip development processes — work that traditionally requires enormous computing resources and time. This includes using Nvidia's CUDA-X software toolkit, which lets applications run much faster on Nvidia's chips, and PhysicsNeMo, an Nvidia framework that uses AI to simulate physical processes in chip manufacturing, such as how light interacts with a chip's surface during production. The partnership will extend to electronic design automation — the software used to design chips — to form a three-way collaboration between chipmakers, Nvidia and the companies that make chip design software. The two companies are also working together on digital twin technology to enable real-time AI monitoring and smarter decision-making on the production floor. For SK Telecom, the focus is on building out AI factories: purpose-built facilities optimized for AI workloads, going beyond what conventional data centers can do. The first is expected to go online in Korea next year, built on Nvidia's DSX platform — a blueprint that covers everything from the chips inside to the software, power infrastructure, and operational systems. "AI factories are essential for Korea's universities, scientific labs, startups and industries," Huang said. "Just like electricity, water and the internet, Korea will be powered by AI in the future. It will be used in every country, every company and every industry — including, of course, the manufacturing of chips and telecommunications." SK Telecom will join Nvidia's Cloud Partner program, an ecosystem of companies that deliver AI computing services using Nvidia's infrastructure, with the goal of offering competitive pricing and energy efficiency. SK Group and Nvidia will also launch a joint research & development (R&D) effort on AI factory architecture, establishing a working body focused on improving how GPUs and memory chips are designed to work together from the ground up. "Through our close partnership with Nvidia, we have built full-stack AI infrastructure competitiveness spanning chips through data center operations," Chey said. "Beyond service delivery, we will jointly tackle challenges around GPUs, memory and energy — and emerge as a leading AI cloud provider driving AI ecosystem development across Asia." The U.S. chip giant also un...

Korean arts institutions struggle with accessibility despite legal requirements. Many disabled visitors face barriers due to lack of effective programming, insufficient staff and inadequate understanding of diverse needs, raising questions about inclusivity. A few years ago, Chung Young-seok — a wheelchair user who lectures and researches arts management — went to Museum SAN in Wonju with a friend, the very place where another wheelchair user was denied entrance in April this year. They tried to enter the James Turrell hall, which houses one of only a handful of Turrell installations in the world. There was an elevator, but just as he was about to hop in, a staff member came over and told them they couldn't ride it, without explaining why. "I could understand if there were no facilities for the disabled at all," Chung said. "But to be told I couldn't use a facility that was already there — that felt like an entirely different problem. It made me realize this isn't about whether facilities exist. It's about how access is operated and how it's understood." Museum SAN is, by Gangwon's official designation, a barrier-free tourist site — wheelchair rentals included. The episode, which Chung recounted after last month's incident that ignited a brief flurry of public attention, points to a broader conversation on accessibility that Korean arts institutions have not quite caught up to. The question is no longer whether ramps and elevators exist. They mostly do. The question is whether the access they imply actually works. Law is there, but programs, less so Korea has legally mandated accessibility at public buildings since 1998, when the Convenience Promotion Act was enacted, requiring public facilities to install ramps, accessible restrooms, tactile paving and similar fixtures. A barrier-free certification system, introduced in 2008, then layered a voluntary grading system on top of the act, evaluating buildings against more demanding criteria for everything from circulation paths to signage. The Korea Disability Arts & Culture Center (KDAC) also administers a grant program that funds accessibility content and operations at public exhibition and performance spaces, with awards ranging from 50 million ($34,500) to 80 million won per institution for up to three years. This grant program has also expanded in the number of recipients, with six institutions receiving 500 million won in 2024 and 22 institutions receiving a total of 1.6 billion won this year. The issue is that physical and programmatic accessibility move on separate tracks — one supported by the state, the other left to whatever budget an institution can find. To get a sense of how this plays out, the Korea JoongAng Daily asked the country's 20 largest art museums by visitor count to share their accessibility programming over the past five years, as well as their staffing levels. Of the 20 surveyed, 13 museums responded, and among them, only six could point to more than one exhibition over the past five years that was designated barrier-free from the start. The rest reported accessibility measures bolted onto otherwise standard programming — a sign-language caption here, a tactile catalog there, a braille leaflet at the gate. The National Museum of Korea, Busan Museum of Art and Daelim Museum were among those that did not give responses. The point isn't to rank. The point is that institutions cannot agree on what counts as an accessibility program in the first place. Even accounting for differences in terminology and reporting methods, most institutions appeared to rely on exhibition-specific or auxiliary accessibility measures rather than long-term operational structures. A 2024 survey by the Seoul Foundation for Arts and Culture found that 64.5 percent of disabled residents in the city had not visited a cultural venue in the past year, against 23.9 percent of the general public — a gap that doesn't show up in any single museum's program count, but is the backdrop aga...

Boy band BoyNextDoor built its discography on being close enough to knock. Three years after debuting as K-pop's boys next door, the six-member group is ready to let listeners in with its first full-length album, "Home" — a milestone that looks back on the shelter it has built so far, but with an unmistakably candid ambition to go "Viral." "This album carries our own story of leaving our previous home and finding a new one," said member Woonhak during a roundtable interview with journalists in eastern Seoul on Friday. "We've built a home, a shelter for ourselves, so I hope the album can also become a place where both casual listeners and our fans can rest and feel comfortable," he added with a smile. BoyNextDoor debuted in May 2023 with the single "WHO!" under KOZ Entertainment, a HYBE-owned label founded by rapper-producer Zico, with members Myung Jae-hyun, Sungho, Riwoo, Taesan, Leehan and Woonhak. The group built its musical narrative and brand around the members' famously energetic, mischievous personalities, befitting its name BoyNextDoor. The sextet is best known for upbeat, easy-listening hits like "If I say I love you" (2025). But this time, the mood has shifted — into something more chic, serious and sometimes vulnerable. "Home," set to be released on Monday, features eight songs: the lead track, "Viral," a prerelease "ddok ddok ddok," and B-sides, "06070," "Adios!," "Upside Down," "Dive," "Forever You," and "I Wonder." The physical album will include an additional track, "I Wonder, Always," which samples "I Wonder." All six members are credited for songwriting and lyrics for the album. The genuine slice of BoyNextDoor's inner thoughts revealed in the lead track, "Viral," is simple and clear: the group wants its music to go viral, all around the world, until its melodies echo in everyone's head. "What we really wanted to say as a team was that we hope this song keeps lingering in the ears of people all around the world," said Myung. "So we decided to incorporate our desire to become famous into a more general narrative about love." The song "Viral" marks a clear departure from BoyNextDoor's previous singles, with a more toned-down, quieter yet intense mood and a longer running time than usual. "We've indeed wanted to do something different," said Woonhak. "And in a way, I also thought coming up with something different is in itself very BoyNextDoor-coded." Some songs still carry the group's signature youthful charm and cheek, he said, but the members wanted the lead single to align with the overall concept of the new album, which leans on serious sincerity — especially so because the album marks the completion of the group's first chapter, before it moves to the next chapter, according to the members. "One thing we talked about a lot among ourselves during the album-making process was that we wanted to make an album that we could listen to and remind ourselves of our original mindset if 20 or 30 years pass after our debut and we ever lose sight of where we started," said Myung. "So we focused on people who are most precious to us, and the things we consider most essential, which led us to consider this album as a closure of our first chapter." True to his words, the tracklist for "Home" leads listeners into some of the members' innermost thoughts and most cherished memories. The first track, "06070," takes its title from the old postal code of the training room where the members practiced as trainees, while "Forever You" is a tribute to their parents and the sincere love they have received from them. The album closes with "I Wonder," a fan song for the group's fandom, OneDoor, which, according to the members, represents the destination — the home — where the journey ends. Fresh off celebrating its third debut anniversary, the group still has much it wants to achieve, explore and say. "I've been told that babies begin to speak in earnest when they turn three," Myung said. "There are so many things I want to tel...

North Korea's nighttime illumination has increased significantly, reflecting Kim Jong-un's prioritization of key areas for political control. [A STUDY OF KIM JONG-UN 1] Feb. 28, 2019, is a day North Korean leader Kim Jong-un will never forget. It is the date of the "no deal Hanoi summit," in which U.S. President Donald Trump walked out of negotiations in Vietnam, an insult the North Korean leader had never experienced before. Could Kim himself have ever imagined that, just over six years later, he would stand shoulder to shoulder with the leaders of China and Russia at the viewing gallery of Tiananmen Square in Beijing in September last year? Kim's elevated strategic status is a reality. He is no longer in a hurry. Even if Trump sends another overture, his new position would be to casually ignore it. How did the young leader of Northeast Asia's poorest nation, once treated merely as a joke, reach his current position? What choices did Kim make to overcome the failure of the Hanoi summit, and how has North Korea changed as a result of those choices? How has this change altered South Korea's security environment? We must now deal with a Kim of a different caliber. That is why we must study him now. - Ed. "Let us conserve even a single watt of electricity to the utmost and manage the nation's affairs with painstaking frugality and discipline." Those words came from North Korea leader Kim Jong-un's New Year's address on Jan. 1, 2014. At the time, the young leader, then about 30 years old, was grappling with North Korea's chronic electricity shortages. A pledge he had reportedly made before taking power — to ensure that people could "eat white rice and meat soup within three years" in 2010 — had already faded from reality. During the winter of 2014 and 2015, Pyongyang experienced one of its worst blackout crises in years. Foreign media reports said that even diplomatic residential areas suffered such low voltage that household appliances would not function, and tap water remained cold. Although impossible to independently verify, stories also circulated that officials had been instructed to use desk lamps instead of ceiling lights, while defectors testified that lights illuminating statues of North Korean founder Kim Il Sung would frequently go dark during power outages. Yet, only days after Kim Jong-un called for a nationwide campaign of austerity, North Korean state media introduced the state-run Songyong Lighting Research Institute, tasked with creating "artistic nightscapes of lights" in Pyongyang and elsewhere. The institute was originally established by his father, the late North Korean leader Kim Jong-il, but Kim Jong-un elevated its status and renamed it "Songyong," meaning a mystical landscape. What Kim ultimately wanted to perfect with such meticulous management was a brightly illuminated Pyongyang whose dazzling lights would never go out. Though its capital could not yet be illuminated so brilliantly, this was also the period when projects such as the construction of Mirae Scientists Street in Pyongyang accelerated, and diplomats stationed in the capital began informally referring to the city as "Pyonghattan," a portmanteau of Pyongyang and Manhattan. At the same time, however, newly built high-rise apartment towers often couldn't operate their elevators due to electricity shortages, leading residents to avoid upper floors. More than a decade later, Kim's vision now appears closer to reality. A joint research team led by professors Kim Ji-hee, an economics professor at KAIST, and Cha Mee-young, a professor at KAIST's School of Computing, in collaboration with Germany-based Max Planck Institute for Security and Privacy, analyzed satellite data to measure nighttime illumination levels across North Korea's cities, counties and districts. Their findings suggest that North Korea's nights have changed. But behind the brighter lights lies an uncomfortable reality. In a country where most regions remain dark like a vast blac...

Chinese President Xi Jinping begins a two-day state visit to North Korea Monday, coinciding with the 65th anniversary of the Sino-North Korean friendship treaty. The summit is expected to focus on restoring bilateral ties and expanding economic and security cooperation. Ahead of the visit, North Korea has intensified its display of nuclear capabilities. After inspecting nuclear material production facilities, North Korean leader Kim Jong-un continued a series of public appearances highlighting the country's nuclear and missile programs. On Sunday, his sister, Kim Yo-jong, declared that North Korea's status as a nuclear weapons state was "an irreversible red line." She also rejected reports that Beijing and Washington had reaffirmed their support for the denuclearization of the Korean Peninsula during last month's U.S.-China summit, calling them "fabricated" and "groundless." The message appeared aimed not only at the United States but also at China, signaling that denuclearization is no longer open for discussion. The situation differs markedly from Xi's previous visit to Pyongyang in 2019. Even after the collapse of the Hanoi summit between North Korea and the United States, Pyongyang did not entirely reject the framework of denuclearization negotiations. Today, however, the North's position is that the issue should not even be raised. Since the outbreak of the war in Ukraine, North Korea has expanded its strategic room for maneuver through closer ties with Russia. Emboldened by that relationship, Pyongyang is pressing not only Washington but also Beijing to accept the reality of its nuclear arsenal. China, for its part, has strong incentives to keep North Korea within its sphere of influence. Xi's visit could accelerate discussions on economic cooperation, logistics projects and port development. The concern is that the longstanding principle of denuclearization may receive less attention while new security uncertainties emerge in Northeast Asia and the East Sea region. If China focuses primarily on managing relations with Pyongyang while effectively tolerating North Korea's nuclear development, prospects for resolving the nuclear issue will grow even dimmer. A shift from pursuing denuclearization to merely managing or freezing the North's nuclear program could amount to de facto recognition of its nuclear status. The Korean government should closely analyze the outcome of the summit and actively engage diplomatic channels with Beijing. At the same time, it must maintain the Korea-U. S. alliance and trilateral security cooperation among Korea, the United States and Japan. As North Korea continues to advance its nuclear and missile capabilities while cooperation among North Korea, China and Russia deepens, strong alliances and international coordination remain the most realistic foundation for safeguarding Korea's security. Xi's trip to Pyongyang must not become an occasion that legitimizes North Korea's pursuit of permanent nuclear weapons status. This article was originally written in Korean and translated by a bilingual reporter with the help of generative AI tools. It was then edited by a native English-speaking editor. All AI-assisted translations are reviewed and refined by our newsroom.