Korean Expat Community for National Disasters

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There are so many things in life that are impossible to predict, but somehow, around this time of year, nothing feels more unpredictable to me than the weather in Chuncheon. Every day starts with the same question: what should I wear today? The morning air feels cool enough to need a jacket, then by midday it suddenly turns warm, and by night the cold quietly returns again. Sometimes it feels like several seasons pass through a single day.

Even after living in Chuncheon for more than 20 years, I still haven’t gotten used to this kind of weather. You would think I would by now, but each year it catches me off guard in a slightly different way. What I used to brush off as just another seasonal transition now feels different. The changes seem sharper, less familiar, and harder to explain as something ordinary.

There was a time when spring felt more predictable — when the air slowly softened, and the seasons seemed to shift with a certain rhythm. Now, that feeling no longer seems guaranteed. Some days feel like early summer, others still carry the chill of late winter, and in between, people are left adjusting their clothes, their routines, and even their bodies to keep up. The more often this happens, the more the climate crisis stops feeling like an abstract phrase from the news and starts to feel like something deeply personal and present in everyday life.

Maybe the climate crisis does not only arrive through dramatic disasters, but also through these quieter changes — through the way the seasons we thought we knew begin to feel unfamiliar. And lately, whenever I experience Chuncheon’s unpredictable spring weather, I’m reminded that this is not just about deciding what to wear. It is also a sign that the environment we live in is changing, little by little, right in front of us.