The last weekend of May arrived with perfect weather and questionable decision-making.
"Remind me why we're doing this?" Min-Ji asked as we loaded camping gear into Yoo-Na's car.
"Because you've never been camping and that's a crime," Yoo-Na said, shoving a cooler into the trunk.
"I've made it twenty-two years without camping. I could've made it twenty-two more."
"Where's your sense of adventure?"
"Dead. It died in vet school."
I threw my borrowed sleeping bag into the car. "It's one night. We can survive one night in the woods."
"Famous last words."
Bok-Jin pulled up in his car with more supplies. "I brought the cooking equipment. And extra bug spray. And a first aid kit because I don't trust any of you not to hurt yourselves."
"Very prepared," I said, kissing him hello. "Did your father give you grief about taking the weekend off?"
"Oh, he tried. Said I should be 'networking' or 'building connections' instead of camping. I told him team-building was a valuable business skill."
"Smooth."
"I'm learning to speak his language."
By 10 AM, we'd packed two cars—Yoo-Na's sedan and Bok-Jin's—and were heading out of Seoul toward the campsite two hours away.
I rode with Bok-Jin, and we spent the drive talking about his first week of interning.
"It's exactly as corporate and soul-crushing as I expected," he said. "Lots of meetings where people talk in circles. Lots of strategy sessions that accomplish nothing. Lots of everyone trying to impress my father."
"Are you learning anything?"
"I'm learning that I definitely don't want to do this for the rest of my life."
"That's valuable information."
"My father would disagree. He keeps asking when I'm going to 'show initiative' and 'demonstrate leadership potential.'" He made air quotes while driving, which was slightly terrifying. "I've been there one week. What does he expect?"
"He expects you to be him. At twenty-two."
"That's not possible. He's had forty years to become himself."
"Logic doesn't work on parents. Trust me."
We arrived at the campsite around noon—a clearing near a lake with designated camping spots and basic facilities. It was beautiful in a rustic, slightly intimidating way.
"Okay," Yoo-Na said, surveying the area. "We need to set up tents, start a fire, and figure out food."
"I vote someone else does all of that and I supervise," Min-Ji said.
"Everyone helps. That's the rule."
Setting up tents was chaos.
Min-Ji had borrowed her brother's tent but didn't actually know how to assemble it. Yoo-Na had a fancy new tent that came with forty-seven pieces and incomprehensible instructions. Bok-Jin's tent was practical and straightforward, which he set up in ten minutes while the rest of us struggled.
"How are you so good at this?" I asked, wrestling with tent poles.
"Military service. We did field training exercises. Lots of tent assembly."
"Useful skill."
"Finally. Something practical I learned in the army."
An hour later, we had three tents set up—one for Yoo-Na and Min-Ji, one for me, and one for Bok-Jin. We'd debated briefly about sharing tents, but Yoo-Na had pointed out that "couple camping" was different from "friend camping" and we should keep it simple.
"Now what?" Min-Ji asked, collapsing on the ground dramatically.
"Now we enjoy nature," Yoo-Na said. "Hike. Swim in the lake. Sit around the fire like normal people."
"I'm not normal people. I'm indoor people."
"You're camping people now. Embrace it."
We decided to hike first—there was a trail around the lake that supposedly took two hours. It was beautiful and mildly exhausting, winding through trees and along the water's edge.
"This is actually nice," Min-Ji admitted around the halfway point. "I'm surprised."
"Nature is nice," Yoo-Na said. "That's why people do this."
"Nature is nice in theory. In practice, there are bugs."
"That's what bug spray is for."
At one point, the trail opened up to a view of the entire lake, and we stopped to take pictures. Yoo-Na insisted on a group photo, and Bok-Jin set up his phone on a rock with a timer.
"Everyone smile!" Yoo-Na commanded.
We smiled. The photo captured us mid-laugh, slightly sweaty, completely happy.
"This is going in the group chat," Yoo-Na said, already posting it.
"What group chat?" I asked.
"The roommate group chat. Obviously."
"We don't have a roommate group chat."
"We do now. I just created it." She typed rapidly. "And... sent. Now it's documented. Our first camping trip."
"Assuming we survive the night," Min-Ji muttered.
By the time we got back to camp, it was late afternoon. Bok-Jin started working on the fire—another military skill that proved useful—while the rest of us prepared dinner.
"What are we making?" I asked, pulling ingredients from the cooler.
"Samgyeopsal," Yoo-Na said. "And vegetables. And ramyeon. Basically, camping food."
"That sounds amazing."
We set up a portable grill over the fire pit, and soon the smell of grilling meat filled the air. It was perfect—good food, good company, no academic pressure, no family drama, just existing together in the woods.
"This is nice," I said, echoing Min-Ji's earlier comment.
"Right?" Yoo-Na said, flipping meat. "We should do this more often."
"Let's survive this trip first before planning the next one."
As the sun started setting, we sat around the fire eating and talking about everything and nothing. Min-Ji told horror stories about vet school—animals with bizarre injuries, owners with even more bizarre theories about what was wrong with their pets.
"Someone brought in a cat," she said, "insisting it was possessed by a demon. Turned out the cat had eaten too much and was just bloated. But the owner wanted an exorcism."
"What did you do?" Bok-Jin asked.
"We gave the cat some medicine for digestion and suggested the owner maybe not watch so many horror movies."
Yoo-Na talked about her internship starting Monday—the dread of working for her father, the inevitability of dealing with Min-Woo.
"I have a plan," she said. "Professional but cold. Polite but distant. If he crosses a line, I document it."
"That's very strategic," I said.
"I learned from watching my father. Everything is strategy."
"That sounds exhausting."
"It is. But it's survival."
As it got darker, the temperature dropped. We pulled on sweatshirts and moved closer to the fire.
"Can I tell you all something?" Yoo-Na said suddenly. "And this stays between us?"
"Of course," I said. Min-Ji and Bok-Jin nodded.
"I don't want to work for my father's company. I don't want the internship, I don't want the career path he has planned. I want to do brand strategy for creative industries—entertainment, fashion, art. Things that are interesting. But if I tell him that, he'll cut me off financially and I won't be able to finish school."
"So you're trapped," Min-Ji said quietly.
"Basically. I have to play along until I graduate and can support myself. Then I can make my own choices."
"That's two more years," I said.
"I know. But it's the only way." She poked at the fire with a stick. "Sometimes I'm jealous of you, Ji-Mang. You have freedom to make choices because you're not dependent on family approval."
"I'm dependent on family need," I said. "That's its own trap. If they need money, I have to provide it. I can't just pursue my dreams without considering them."
"Different cages," Yoo-Na said. "But cages all the same."
"Very philosophical for camping," Bok-Jin observed.
"Fires make people philosophical. It's a known fact."
"Is it though?"
"It is now."
We sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the fire and listening to night sounds—crickets, wind in the trees, the lake lapping against the shore.
"I'm glad we did this," Min-Ji said. "Even though I complained the entire time."
"You complain about everything," Yoo-Na said fondly. "It's your brand."
"My brand is being realistic."
"Same thing."
Around 11 PM, we started getting ready for bed. The tent situation was less than ideal—sleeping bags on the ground, sounds of nature very close, the knowledge that only thin fabric separated us from the wilderness.
"I'm going to die out here," Min-Ji announced from her tent.
"You're not going to die," Yoo-Na said. "Stop being dramatic."
"Something's going to eat me."
"Nothing's going to eat you. Go to sleep."
In my tent, I texted Bok-Jin even though his tent was literally five meters away.
Me: You awake?
Bok-Jin: Yeah. Can't sleep. Ground is uncomfortable.
Me: Same. Want to sit by the fire for a bit?
Bok-Jin: Yes. Meet you out there in 2 minutes.
I crawled out of my tent and found him emerging from his. We sat by the dying fire, wrapped in blankets, looking at stars that were actually visible away from Seoul's light pollution.
"This is nice," he said. "Just us. No pressure."
"No internship stress?"
"I'm choosing not to think about internship stress for twelve hours. Tomorrow it can come back."
"Very mature of you."
"I'm growing as a person. It's concerning."
I leaned against him, and he put his arm around me. "Can I tell you something?"
"Always."
"I'm worried about your father. About what he said about me."
"You don't have to worry. I don't care what he thinks."
"But you do care. He's your father. And he has power over your future."
"He has power over my career. Not my personal life. Those are separate."
"Are they though? For people like you—"
"For people like me, my father expects control. But that doesn't mean I have to give it to him." He turned to look at me. "I meant what I said. You're not going anywhere. I choose you. My father's opinion doesn't change that."
I wanted to believe him. But I'd seen how powerful family pressure could be. How it bent people, shaped their choices, made them give up things they wanted.
"Just promise me something," I said.
"Anything."
"If it gets too hard—if choosing me means losing too much—promise you'll tell me. Don't sacrifice everything for a relationship."
"You're not 'a relationship.' You're you. And you're worth everything."
"Bok-Jin—"
"I mean it. Stop waiting for this to fall apart. We're good. We're solid. Trust that."
I kissed him instead of arguing. Because maybe he was right. Maybe I was borrowing trouble that didn't exist yet.
We sat by the fire until it died completely, then went back to our respective tents.
I fell asleep to the sound of wind and the knowledge that, for right now, things were good.
Even if I couldn't shake the feeling they wouldn't stay that way.
Sunday morning we woke up sore and slightly damp from morning dew.
"I hate camping," Min-Ji announced, emerging from her tent looking miserable. "I'm never doing this again."
"You loved it," Yoo-Na said.
"I tolerated it. There's a difference."
We made breakfast over the fire—eggs and toast and coffee that tasted better than it should have just because we were outside.
"So," Yoo-Na said, "verdict? Should we do this again?"
"Yes," I said immediately.
"Absolutely," Bok-Jin agreed.
"Under duress," Min-Ji said. "But fine. I'll come."
"That's the spirit."
We packed up camp—taking down tents, loading cars, making sure we left no trace. By noon, we were heading back to Seoul.
In the car, Bok-Jin and I were quiet, both processing.
"That was good," he said finally. "We should make time for things like that more often."
"Agreed. Normal things. Fun things."
"Things that aren't work or stress or family pressure."
"Exactly."
My phone buzzed. The roommate group chat Yoo-Na had created.
Yoo-Na: First camping trip: SUCCESS. Next trip: TBD but definitely happening.
Min-Ji: I want it documented that I protested.
Me: Protest noted but overruled.
Yoo-Na: This is a democracy and the majority wins. Democracy has spoken.
Min-Ji: Tyranny by majority. This is oppression.
Yoo-Na: You'll thank us later.
Min-Ji: Doubtful.
I smiled at my phone. These people—my roommates, my boyfriend, my chosen family. This was what made everything else worthwhile.
We got back to Seoul around 2 PM. Tomorrow, summer jobs started. Yoo-Na would be at her father's company. Min-Ji would be at the animal hospital. Bok-Jin would be back at Hansung headquarters. And I needed to figure out my own summer employment.
But for today, we'd had this. One weekend away from everything, just being normal people doing normal things.
It was enough.