I moved to Seoul with two suitcases and no Korean.
Everyone thought I was brave. My friends threw me a going-away party. My mom cried. I smiled and said all the right things — “dream come true,” “always wanted to live abroad,” “what an adventure.”
The truth was scarier. I had quit my job, left my apartment, said goodbye to everyone I loved — and I had no idea if I was making a huge mistake. The night before my flight, I lay awake thinking: what if I hate it? What if I cannot make friends? What if I spend all my savings and have to crawl back with my tail between my legs?
The first month was brutal.
I could not read street signs. I could not order food without pointing at pictures. I spent most nights in my tiny studio watching American shows on my laptop, just to hear English. I would open Google Maps and stare at the blue dot, wondering if I would ever feel like I belonged anywhere again. The city was beautiful and alive and I was invisible in the middle of it.
## The unexpected gift from my aunt
Before I left, my aunt — the one who burns incense every morning and has a small shrine in her living room — handed me something wrapped in red cloth.
“This is a Tai Sui Protection Talisman,” she said. “You carry this when you are entering a year of big change. It keeps you grounded. It protects you from the turbulence that comes with new beginnings.”
I took it to be polite. I did not believe in that stuff. I was a modern person moving to a modern city. I did not need an ancient Taoist talisman to navigate a subway system.
I put it in my backpack and forgot about it.
## The moment I needed it most
About six weeks in, I hit a low point.
I had been rejected from three apartments because I was foreign. I had been stood up by a language exchange partner. I had spent my birthday alone, eating convenience store ramen in my studio, watching a video my friends had sent me of them singing happy birthday at a bar without me.
I sat on my floor and cried. Not the cute movie cry. The ugly, heaving, “what have I done” cry. The kind where your nose runs and you cannot breathe and you are glad nobody can see you.
When I finally stopped, I reached into my backpack for a tissue and found the red cloth my aunt had given me. I had completely forgotten about it. I unwrapped it. Inside was a piece of yellow paper, folded into a neat triangle, covered in red brushstrokes. It smelled faintly of incense.
I held it for a long time. It did not fix anything. But it reminded me that someone back home was thinking of me. That I was not completely alone. That my aunt had held this talisman before she gave it to me, and she had probably said a prayer over it. Whether I believed in prayers or not, someone had believed in me.
## Finding my footing
I started carrying the talisman in my jacket pocket everywhere I went.
Not because I thought it would protect me from bad luck. Because it became a grounding point. A physical anchor in a sea of unfamiliarity. Every time I felt lost — on the subway, at the market, in a conversation I could not understand — I would reach into my pocket and touch it.
It sounds small. It was small. But small things add up when everything else feels big and scary.
I also ordered a [Peace Protection Talisman](https://gentlwish.com/product/peace-protection-talismans/) from Gentlwish a few months later. I kept it in my work bag. On days when imposter syndrome hit hard at the office, I would look at it and remind myself: I belong here. I earned this spot. I am not an intruder — I am just new, and being new is temporary.
Slowly, Seoul started feeling like home. I learned enough Korean to order coffee without pointing. I found a hiking group through a meetup app. I made friends — real ones, the kind you stay up late talking with. The city stopped feeling hostile and started feeling alive. The streets that once confused me became familiar. I stopped needing Google Maps for every trip.
## What I tell people about protection talismans
When I visit home and my aunt asks if I still carry the talisman, I say yes. Because I do.
People ask if it “worked.” I think about that a lot.
Did it stop bad things from happening? No. I still had hard days. I still made mistakes — got on the wrong subway, said the wrong thing in a meeting, sent a text I regretted. I still felt lonely sometimes.
But it gave me something that helped more than I expected: a reminder that I was not floating untethered through the world. That protection is not about avoiding hard things. It is about having something to hold onto while you walk through them. A [Tai Sui Protection Talisman](https://gentlwish.com/product/tai-sui-protection-talisman/) is not a shield — it is an anchor.
If you are about to make a big move. If you are stepping into something unknown. If you are scared of what comes next — I see you. I remember what that felt like.
You do not need a talisman to survive a transition. But having one — a Tai Sui talisman or a Peace Talisman — can feel like having a small piece of home in your pocket. A quiet reminder that you are not as alone as you think.
Sometimes that is enough to keep going.