When Seoul Surprises: What We Learn From Namjoon’s Continuing Namjooning

The ginkgo and birch trees that line the streets of Seoul has always fascinated me. I can’t think of a better word to describe the mood and the vibe. Basta, they’re romantic. Trees are romantic.

So, I plucked a couple of leaves from a ginkgo tree in front of the middle school where Min Yoongi studied and, in Hongdae, leaves from a birch tree. I carefully tucked them inside my journal as precious keepsakes but also as subjects for my cyanotype prints.

A few days ago, I took advantage of the afternoon sun in our yard and began printing. We were on a very tight budget in South Korea, so I thought of crafting something that would journey from there to here and back again. The more I read about these trees, the more I understood why they quietly stayed with me.

The ginkgo is one of East Asia’s most enduring symbols.

Having survived for millions of years, it is often called a “living fossil.” Across Korea, China, and Japan, it represents resilience, longevity, hope, and quiet endurance. Ginkgo trees stand beside temples, schools, and palaces, witnessing generations come and go. They remind us that strength is not always loud. Sometimes, it simply means remaining rooted while the seasons change around us.

The birch tells a different story.

Its pale bark has long symbolized renewal, new beginnings, and simplicity. Even after long winters, birches are among the first trees to suggest that spring is coming. There is something quietly optimistic about them.

Together, these two trees seemed to tell the story of our journey at Festa 2026. One reminds me to endure. The other reminds me to begin again. That is why I could not simply leave their leaves behind on the streets of Seoul. Instead, they came home with me.

Under the Philippine sun, they became cyanotype prints. In a few days, I will frame them as pasalubong for my ARMY friends and Kdrama Titas. These are my souvenirs made from leaves, sunlight, water, paper, and time. Perhaps that is what the best pasalubong has always been. It is not the price tag, but the thought that someone traveled through a place, remembered you, and returned carrying a story worth sharing.

As I looked at each finished print, I realized they were no longer simply  leaves from Korea. They had become conversations between Seoul and home. Between Namjoon’s way of noticing the world and my own.

For the longest time, Namjooning for the fandom meant visiting museums, bookstores, parks, and cafés because Namjoon had once been there. I think it means something much more.

It is learning to notice. To slow down enough for ordinary things to reveal themselves. To understand that beauty is not something we consume but something we learn to pay attention to.

A fallen leaf. A neighborhood tree. An afternoon walk. The warmth of the sun while making a cyanotype print. A simple gift made by hand.

Namjooning is not about collecting places. It is about allowing places to reshape the way we see ourselves and the world. As a librarian, I have always believed that stories live inside books.

But I also believe that stories live inside leaves, trees, sunlight, and the hands that choose to create. That is why Namjooning never really ends.

Allow a place to tell its story and listen with intention. Bring its story with you and let it inspire you to create something new. Apobangpo. Purple and true. 💜