When Seoul Surprises: What Kimbap Taught Me About Sticking Together

One of the first things I wanted to try after returning home from Korea was how to make kimbap. We learned how to make one at the Seaweed Museum in Goyang. It wasn’t because I suddenly wanted to become a Korean cook. It was because kimbap had become part of our days in Seoul. We bought it from convenience stores before long bus rides. We packed it for an afternoon at the beach. It was simple, filling, and somehow always satisfying.

So ARMY Daughter and I decided to make tuna kimbap together. For her, it is a survival meal on the go. For me, it was a way to remember the cross-cultural experience having taught by a Pinay guide and invigilator at the Seaweed museum. It is something I want to share with friends at work.

As we spread the rice across the sheet of seaweed, I hesitated. I was afraid of putting too much. ARMY Daughter smiled and said,

“Put enough rice on the seaweed. It holds the rest of the ingredients together.”

I paused. Of course. The seaweed protects. The rice holds everything together. Without enough rice, the filling falls apart.

As we rolled the kimbap, I couldn’t help thinking about how rice has always been more than food across Asia. Whether it is served at breakfast, lunch, dinner, or even dessert, rice gathers families around a table. It accompanies celebrations and ordinary weekdays alike. It is humble, familiar, and often unnoticed precisely because it is always there.

This is the metaphor I keep.

ARMY is much the same, when I think about it.

We are wonderfully different. We come from different countries, generations, professions, and life stories. Some of us found BTS through Dynamite. Others have been here since No More Dream. We carry different experiences, different perspectives, and different seasons of life.

Yet something holds us together because we choose, over and over again, to return to what first brought us here: seven artists whose music taught us to listen more carefully, love more deeply, and become better people. Like rice in kimbap, it is often the quiet things that hold a community together.

Kindness. Respect. Generosity. Patience. Openness. The willingness to make room for one another.

Sometimes the most ordinary things become the memories we carry home. Kimbap wasn’t just a quick meal during our trip to Seoul. It became a reminder that joy often arrives simply and with humility, wrapped in seaweed and shared with people you love.

Looking back now, I realize that travel isn’t only about the places we visit. It’s about the stories we continue to tell long after we’ve returned home. Every time I make kimbap now, I think of ARMY Daughter’s simple reminder.

“Put enough rice on the seaweed.”

Communities are built the same way. Not by making ourselves the center of the story, but by becoming what quietly holds everyone else together.

Apobangpo! Purple and true! 💜

#BTSFESTA2026 #BTSArirang #koreanfood #seoultravel

When Seoul Surprises: The Neighborhood Near Changwon National University

People often imagine South Korea through the skylines of Seoul or the bright lights of Busan. Well, Changwon is charming and warm.

Gyeongnam Art Museum sits beside Changwon National University, and as evening descended, the neighborhood slowly filled with students wearing IDs on lanyards, walking beneath rows of trees with the mountain standing behind them. There was no rush to see the next attraction. The entire place felt lived in.

It reminded me of UP Diliman’s Area 2, except that, the texture has more “angas”.

The places do not look alike, but they share the same rhythm: affordable restaurants, students lingering over dinner, convenience stores that offer everything from medicines to Tmoney loading station, cafés waiting for conversations that stretch long after class.

We were hungry from an afternoon of wandering through galleries and discovering Arirang and Picasso’s ceramics, so we followed the path to where some students enter  into a small restaurant whose name I can no longer remember. Some places deserve to be remembered by taste rather than by name because, while we didn’t order Michelin-starred cuisine, we had a taste of every day Korean food cooked by an Ahjumma and served by an Ahjussi.

The Ahjussi welcomed us with efficiency while students came and went around us. As always, ARMY Daughter became our translator and communicator, reading the menu, asking questions, and ordering for the family. Kuya and I were all smiles watching her confidently speak. One of the quiet privileges of traveling with grown-up children is watching them lead when you once led them.

Our kimchi fried rice arrived crowned with a perfectly fried egg, its edges crisp and its yolk ready to melt into warm rice. The kimchi was exquisitely sweet at first bite, then spicy, then gently sour.

Comforting rather than challenging. Alongside it came silky tofu dressed with soy sauce and sesame, delicate rolled omelet, fish cake, and a simple clear broth. Nothing extravagant but difficult to let go of. After dinner, we wandered into Compose Coffee where the Americano fits in our budget.

The prices on the menu made me chuckle because it reminded me of the inexpensive eateries around UP Diliman where students gather over coffee and conversation while imagining and stressing over the futures waiting for them.

And suddenly I was no longer thinking only about Changwon. I was thinking about Kuya. In a few weeks, he will graduate and begin that uncertain season between university and full time work, between being someone’s student and becoming himself.

Watching the students around us, I realized that every artist, teacher, writer, musician, engineer, and dreamer once belonged to a place like this. Before recognition came ordinary evenings spent sharing inexpensive meals, drinking coffee, and wondering what kind of life awaited them beyond campus. This is why Changwon’s university neighborhood stays with me.

It’s not because of a famous landmark or a bucket-list destination. For one quiet evening, I saw my son already walking among those students: hopeful, uncertain, a little bit nervous, carrying invisible dreams beneath the trees.

And somehow, over kimchi fried rice and the smoothest tofu I have ever tasted, the future no longer felt intimidating. It simply felt warm.

#BTS_Arirang #FESTA2026 #bangtanpilgrimage2026 #SouthKoreaTour #southkorea #koreanfood

Heart and Seoul 2026 D1: The Road to Busan, Galbitang and Bulalohan

We lingered at Incheon International Airport, to wait for a while until daybreak. The sandwiches at Tous Les Jours looked appetizing, and pairing them with banana milk felt satisfying. Doing some quick mental math, I decided to get some snacks at the nearest CU, South Korea’s popular convenience store. Our welcome meal consisted of tuna mayo and bulgogi kimbap, banana milk, yogurt, and onigiri. It was filling enough to tide us over until breakfast at 8 AM.

And there we were in a Korean barbecue restaurant in downtown Incheon a few hours later, being embraced by the aroma of galbitang—clean, clear, a little tangy, and, strangely enough, a comfort food that reminded us of home. This dish of boiled beef, complete with tendons, bone marrow, scallions, and enoki mushrooms, is South Korea’s equivalent of our bulalo. The only difference I can think of is the rich and savory flavor with which we season our bone soup. Ah, and we put in a lot of vegetables too: potatoes, cabbage, pechay, sometimes corn and saba, even string beans. My Mama would put in all the vegetables I mentioned, especially when she was feeling generous on salary day. I couldn’t help but feel nostalgic and appreciative of this cross-cultural connection as I sat beside my grown-up children.

ARMY Daughter smacked her lips while Kuya raked in the side dishes that justified the bland but bracing clear soup of beef bone and tendons. I was sniffing halfway through mine when ARMY Daughter asked:

“Are you crying?”

“It’s the hot soup,” I replied. “It clears the nostrils.”

Our Tita ARMY friend, who seemed to have been reading my mind all along, spoke up.

“This dish is like our bulalo,” she said. “Did you see that one of the staff looked Pinoy?”

“What if he’s the cook who has learned to cook Korean dishes?” I wondered.

Tita ARMY quipped, “Taga-Tagaytay!”

I laughed and added, “Baka Batangueño?!”

It was then that ARMY Daughter asked, amused and curious, “Bakit Tagaytay?”

“Maraming bulalohan sa Tagaytay at bakahan, pati na rin sa Batangas,” I said.

Tita ARMY affirmed, “Punta ka sa Tagaytay!”

And I agreed right then and there. Galbitang, this humble and bracing dish, welcomed us weary travelers to Korean soil, only for us to talk about and remember bulalo, a dish that reminds us of hearth and home. If ever we can’t make a day trip to Tagaytay and dine in one of the bulalohan restaurants there, I will cook the dish the way my Mama cooks it, with all the vegetables I loved to eat then and now.

This is the inheritance I hope to share with my children: not merely a recipe or a food trip, but the memory of home carried from one table to another.

#BTS_Arirang #bangtanpilgrimage2026 #Festa2026 #foodtrip #southkoreatravel

Heart and Seoul Travel Log: Food for the Soul Series 1 Entry #1- Korean Bulalo, Kimchi and Injeolmi

Our trip to Seoul for BTS’ 2025 Festa was truly one for the books. Our Purple Hearts are still glowing lilac from the experience, deepened in more ways than one. The journey didn’t just offer us a glimpse of the Korea that our Bangtan boys grew up loving; it let us taste it. We savored the food that has nourished their bodies and souls.

As a K-drama fan, this was more than a fangirling experience and BTS Pilgrimage. It was a tour with cultural and historical relevance. With each meal carefully curated by our guide, I finally experienced the flavors I had only seen through a screen. Sure, I’ve had Korean dishes back home in Biñan, but nothing compares to eating authentic Korean food, prepared by Korean cooks and chefs, in the land where these dishes were born. It was not just delicious; it was unforgettable. A once-in-a-lifetime experience.

 Seolleongtang (설렁탕) – Korean ox bone soup, with white rice and kimchi

Fresh from Incheon Airport and enduring the 18–20°C weather, our one-hour bus commute offered us a short nap and a quiet moment to settle in. My expectations upon arriving at our first Korean restaurant (I forgot to ask our tour guide for the name) were high and thankfully, they were met.

My first taste of Korean ox bone soup with kimchi: cabbage, radish, and white rice was comforting, grounding, and rejuvenating. Beside me was Zoe, my ARMY daughter, softly humming in approval.

The soup had just the right amount of beef, glass noodles, and green onions. It isn’t as savory as our bulalo, but the tang of the beef lingers. The side dishes, especially the cabbage kimchi, carried a subtle sweetness that stayed long after the next bite. No frills, just nourishment. The kind of food that steadies the soul. With each spoonful, it seemed to whisper, “You’ve made it.” 

Conversations about how tasty and filling the dish was floated around our table. Some asked for salt, even searched for patis or toyo, but for me, the broth’s gentle blandness gave full justice to the kimchi, the starchiness of rice, and why ox bone soup is ever present in K-dramas like Dr. Romantic and Weak Hero Class 1. Life is a battle. In the emergency room or at a hospital bed, seolleongtang  becomes both cure and balm. In The Glory, when the female leads meet over ox bone soup, they are preparing for revenge.

All of a sudden, it occurred to me: we, too, were about to face something. The fight to make the most of our five days and four nights in Seoul: the push and pull of desire, fatigue, wonder, and the resilience of fangirls in pilgrimage.

Watermelon Bingsu → 빙수 (literally means "shaved ice") and Injeolmi → 인절미 (a type of rice cake coated in roasted soybean powder) in Hangang-daero

The first official stop of our tour was the HYBE building in Hangang-daero. A throng of ARMYs from all over the world was already gathered along the sidewalk, hoping to catch a glimpse of RM and V’s black cars entering the building. After taking our customary group photos, we decided to visit a café nearby to extend our rest. A four-hour flight was manageable, but the six hours of prep time at the airport had worn me out.

Luckily, Zoe loves hanging out in cafés, so we picked one near HYBE. The vibe was electric and joyful. Where ARMYs gather, there’s always that boundless energy of camaraderie. Needless to say, we met many international ARMYs who had flown in for the 2025 BTS Festa.

At Mealtop Café, I ordered injeolmi, and my Tita ARMY friend chose bingsu. This was both our snack and dessert rolled into one. After a hearty bowl of seolleongtang and white rice, the soft, chewy rice cake dusted in roasted soybean powder was the perfect follow-up. Injeolmi grounds the palate—it’s mellow and earthy, with a texture that reminded me of tikoy and espasol.

Later, I admittedly regretted indulging in such a calorie-laden snack, especially when we were soon served veggie bibimbap for our late lunch. Still, this traditional Korean treat left an impression. Like Seoul itself, injeolmi is practical, grounding and steady.

That first day in Seoul reminded me that food isn’t just about filling the stomach—it’s about grounding the spirit. It’s amazing how foreign food can do this. Despite the differences, I found unexpected connections to the home-cooked Filipino dishes we love. From the warmth of seolleongtang to the quiet comfort of injeolmi, every bite carried a story, a memory, a beginning. And as we walked back to the bus stop, I knew this journey would nourish more than just my appetite.

Up next: bibimbap, Jeyuk Bokkeum (제육볶음), Doenjang-guk (된장국), Ssam veggies, rice, banchan