My horrible shitty working holiday in Australia

*This essay covers the period from April 2023 to April 2025

The original title of this piece was "The Shy Homebody’s Half-Baked Australia Working Holiday." I had to laugh at how carefree and lighthearted it sounded—no hesitation, no doubt. On April 26, I left for Australia, and now, two weeks in, I’ve already felt a storm of emotions. I’ve often faced uncertainty in life, but this time, it feels like I’m navigating the toughest road yet. Every morning, I try to tell myself that all of this will make me stronger, but the tight anxiety in my chest just won’t go away. I wanted to keep writing, but the hostel's common area was packed with people draining my energy, and my bunk bed offered nothing to do but lie down and overthink. Then today, I found a small mat that my little one (who will appear again later in this story) secretly packed for me. With it, I finally managed to sit in the hallway and pour out my tangled thoughts onto the page.

Who Am I?

Since I was a kid, I’ve romanticized the idea of living abroad. I wanted to speak English fluently—but not badly enough to actually study. Even when I traveled to New York four years ago and struggled due to my poor English, I still stubbornly refused to open a textbook. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I clung to a ridiculous fantasy I’d once read: a person who got struck by lightning and suddenly became fluent. Honestly, studying felt more painful than getting hit by lightning. If I had just started back then, maybe I wouldn’t be struggling so much now.

When a friend who had studied in Canada got permanent residency and later moved to Australia for another adventure, I just envied them from afar while wasting my own time. I had all sorts of excuses—not enough purpose, no clear reason—just vague daydreams. Going abroad without knowing what I wanted felt like giving up too much. I’m someone who needs alone time and personal space, and just imagining life without that was overwhelming. Rent would be higher, and I knew I wouldn't be able to afford a place as nice as my current one. At home, I could support myself and my two dogs on a modest salary, but I doubted I could survive alone overseas. As my dogs grew older, the idea of leaving them became even harder to face. I had a hundred reasons not to go—and no real reason to go.

I’ve always had this deep longing to meet my soulmate. I’m not fixated on marriage, but I’m not completely against it either. Ideally, I’d marry someone from another culture—someone untainted by Korea’s patriarchal norms. But I also didn’t want to leave the country, and I didn’t want to meet a foreigner living in Korea either. For three years, I deluded myself into thinking I could meet someone while on a short trip abroad or just by chance. Eventually, I realized that was pure fantasy—wishful thinking that would only lead to emotional damage.

At the time, my job felt like a dead end. I couldn’t go home, couldn’t quit, and the whole place was soaked in a fake holiday spirit that felt more suffocating than festive. My boss paid the bare minimum and made a huge show out of every little thing, acting ridiculous on the regular. My coworkers were all older, and I had no one I could actually talk to. I kept asking myself: What am I doing here? Is this the life I want? If I were to get hit by a car or struck by lightning tomorrow, would I regret anything?

I was addicted to this boring, stagnant peace, slowly rotting in place. Whatever I wanted, I knew I wouldn’t find it here. So, I made up my mind—I was leaving, no matter what. I applied for a Working Holiday visa to Australia on the spot.

Things I Thought I Needed to Prepare:

International driver’s license

Extend my digital certificates

Cancel unnecessary services or downgrade (e.g. mobile phone plans)

Severance pay (which I missed due to an impulsive U.S. trip before completing one year of work)

Remove skin tags at a Korean medicine clinic

Lose weight

Buy a suitcase

Get Brazilian laser hair removal (???)

And more…

What I Actually Did

Some things—like getting the license, renewing certificates, removing spots—were easy. I also finished my prepaid laser sessions just two days before flying out. I was mentally overwhelmed but still rushing around to meet people. Right before leaving, I even squeezed in a trip to Ulleungdo and Dokdo. One thing that really nagged at me was whether or not to sell my house. I didn’t even know if I’d stay in Australia for the full year, so keeping it felt wasteful. But the idea of leaving it empty was oddly unsettling. In the end, I cleared it out—sold the appliances and gave away most of the furniture. I had way too much stuff for someone who started living alone with just a four-piece dinner set.

Naturally, I didn’t manage to completely empty the place. I also sold my washing machine too early and ended up with heaps of laundry at the last minute. I was supposed to take care of it at the coin laundry the day before—but I got drunk. ^^… So on my last day, I scrambled to pack, walk my dogs, do laundry, pay bills, eat at my favorite lakeside restaurant, grab coffee from my favorite café, and squeeze in a dental scaling. The dryer left my clothes damp, and I had to run another cycle. In my panic, I forgot to pack my underwear properly—some came out damp and had to be thrown away… ^^… I thought I’d buy some at the airport, but two weeks later, I’m still wearing the uncomfortable, ugly ones I brought with me.

Finally, I headed to the airport. I said goodbye to my dogs, who looked up at me with dark, searching eyes. My heart sank. I’d wanted this so badly, but I still felt like I was betraying them. I told myself I’d made peace with everything before leaving, but I hadn’t. I’d neglected the ones I loved most. I knew it then—I just didn’t take it seriously enough. That guilt stayed with me as I left.

On the way to the airport, we stopped at a gas station where an old man started cursing us out. I wasn’t sure if he was crazy or just pissed at someone else, but I remember thinking, At least I won’t have to deal with people like that for the next year. That turned out to be a lie.

As we drove toward Incheon, the sunset was beautiful. I felt strangely calm for a moment, but then tears started to fall. I was walking into the unknown—into a place where I didn’t even speak the language properly. I used to think the dull comfort I had was slowly killing me, but now, it felt like I had complained too much. I’d miss my dogs. I wouldn’t be able to talk to the people I love as easily, even if the time zone didn’t change. I thought quitting my crappy job would make leaving easy, but I hadn’t realized how much I was giving up until the very end.

At the departure gate, I messaged my friend who’d already been in Australia for six months. I told them how weird life was—that I’d always dreamed of living abroad but never had the guts to try. Yet here I was, boarding the last train on impulse. They replied, “Let’s crawl out of the well together.” They were right. Letting go of something gives you room to invite something new in. So I decided not to look back, and just keep going.

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