Reasons for Leaving Korea (1)
"No, I told you not to keep coming around!!"
Kim Jin-su bellowed, his anger boiling over.
Standing before him were a man and woman who looked to be in their sixties.
"Aigoo, why say it like that and hurt our feelings?"
They didn't flinch at Jin-su's shout, just grumbled on with shameless indifference.
That brazen attitude made Jin-su's stomach churn.
Kim Jin-su.
He had graduated from an agricultural college and, at a young age, chosen to return to the countryside for farming. He believed that if you farmed well, you could earn more than most big-corp salarymen.
Not being the studious type, he'd set his career path toward agriculture early on. He had a clear sense of his own limitations.
A quiet rural village near Hampyeong in South Jeolla Province.
A typical farming community.
The local government support was decent, so he'd picked this spot.
But with no savings at his young age, he'd scraped together loans for young farmers and started a modest container-style smart farm.
Things had seemed promising at first.
He'd paid his respects at the village hall and pitched in enthusiastically at village events or whenever hard labor was needed—good for good's sake.
But he never imagined that goodwill would come back to bite him like this.
The so-called rural hospitality, that jeong—it only applied to those born and raised in the village.
The smaller and more insular the village, the more their clannish selfishness defied imagination.
Kim Jin-su was, at best, an outsider who'd rolled in from elsewhere.
And in a countryside where young folks had long fled to the cities, a young man like him was nowhere to be found.
Before long, he was treated like the village handyman—or public property.
He should have drawn the line from the start.
Once he'd let them get familiar and flashed a smile, they started demanding his labor without shame.
And it was happening again right now.
Jin-su's smart farm specialized in leafy greens.
Things like lettuce and perilla leaves supplied to barbecue joints for wraps.
When the elders first came by out of curiosity, Jin-su had naively shown them around.
"Elders! See, the machines do all the farming here."
The beauty of a smart farm: 5% labor, 95% automation.
No strain on the body.
Liberation from toil, courtesy of technological progress.
The village elders marveled, "Times sure have changed for the better."
That was when the trouble began.
"Jin-su, lad. Lettuce prices are through the roof these days~ We're having a meat feast in the village. Can you spare some lettuce and perilla leaves?"
How could he refuse a village event?
Jin-su handed over boxes of produce he'd set aside for shipment.
That was the spark.
Once they'd tasted freebies, they showed up one by one whenever veggie prices spiked.
Their logic was simple: 'Why pay at the mart when I can just ask Jin-su and get it free?'
One act of kindness, and they acted entitled.
And it didn't stop there.
"Jin-su, lad~ We got no one strong around. Help with our field work~"
Rural areas have a fine tradition called pumasi—swapping labor when hands are short.
But that didn't apply to Jin-su.
His smart farm ran 365 days a year, rain or shine, on pure automation.
No time or reason to ditch his own work for theirs.
Above all, they weren't after an exchange.
They just hated paying wages and wanted to exploit a young guy's labor.
When Jin-su refused, their attitudes flipped.
"Selfish outsider prick."
"That young punk's got a yellow streak."
The gossip started seeping through.
Offended, Jin-su stopped giving away lettuce and skipped village events.
That's when the real harassment—bullying—kicked in.
Demanding absurd "village development fund" contributions was routine.
They even blocked his farm's access road with a tractor, claiming, "This is my land."
"Ha......"
Jin-su was done.
Farming wasn't hard—it was the people that made it unbearable. The saying hit home.
He finally shooed away the persistent elders, sighed deeply enough to cave the earth, and retreated inside.
A small prefab house right next to his container smart farm.
That was home.
Tiny, but cozy enough for one.
"Whew... My blood pressure's gonna kill me."
Forcing down his rage, he slumped at the computer.
Truth be told, in this barren countryside of empty fields, Jin-su had zero leisure options.
After checking the smart farm system and inspecting crops, he had free time—but nowhere to go, no one to see.
So he naturally spent it glued to the screen.
"Hmm... Movie time?"
He moved the mouse out of habit.
"Nah, check the communities first."
Sinking into his comfy gaming chair, he gulped ice-cold iced coffee loaded with ice.
Tap, tap.
As he scrolled with keyboard and mouse, Jin-su's hand froze.
"Huh? What's this?"
One post caught his eye.
It was Kim Ji-hoon's job ad.
Jin-su read it slowly.
"Whoa... Living the dream."
To Jin-su, Ji-hoon was an idol.
The guts to call out bullshit.
The grit to fight the government and win.
Success in America—and that stunning wife.
He'd nailed every male fantasy.
"Hmm...."
Jin-su propped his chin, lost in thought.
U.S. job offer.
Tempting for sure.
No more suffocating rural bullying, new opportunities in a wide world.
But.
"Pfft."
He chuckled dryly and shook his head.
"Not for me."
He was already a boss running a smart farm on loans.
Sure, debt-ridden—but farm well, and he'd rake in seven figures no sweat.
Even high U.S. dollars were for wage slaves.
His vision of building his own business empire was bigger.
Plus, sunk costs and effort here made leaving impossible.
"Ugh~ Time for a movie and some gaming."
He closed Ji-hoon's post without regret and fired up a streaming site.
He had no idea.
That the man he envied, Kim Ji-hoon—
Would soon have Jin-su walking right to him.
International marriage.
Right now, Korean men are obsessed.
Why?
Countless reasons.
Back in our mothers' generation, love alone sparked lives in single rooms.
Scraping by together, saving up, upgrading homes bit by bit, raising kids—the era of growth.
But today?
Skyrocketing insane housing costs.
Chronic job shortages.
Peak feminism and gender wars.
Plus divorce asset splits and false accusation risks.
Stats don't lie.
20-somethings' unmarried rate tops 95%, dating avoidance off the charts.
Learned behavior.
Men's collective intelligence at work: defense mechanism.
Fellas ruined by bad women, lives in the gutter.
One wrong marriage, slaving away as assets get stripped.
Internet piled those raw cases like a database; men learned.
'Better off solo than that.'
International marriage used to be for rural old bachelors.
Not anymore.
Now, solid young guys fire up dating apps, eye abroad, marriage rates exploding.
Men instinctively want heirs.
Women want capable providers.
Biological drive.
But Korea's gone overboard.
In Seoul—or metro area—an apartment runs billions.
Women demand it as baseline.
Unless you're loaded like Ji-hoon?
Average salarymen, fresh grads—impossible burden.
So men quit marriage.
Weddings delay, late births a crisis.
Irony: Korea's good men lower standards abroad.
Korean women whine, "No decent guys left~"
Their "decent": so-called hexagon man.
175cm+ tall.
Fit, likable looks.
Sweet, devoted personality.
Stable big corp or public job.
Seoul uni or top regional 4-year degree.
2-3 billion assets incl. parents, retirement secured.
Math: top 0.00168%.
Less than 0.1% unicorns—yet they cry "no guys" despite low demands.
And the magic phrase packaging this materialism?
"A man I can respect."
Dodge "shallow" by abstracting to "respect."
Why guys like Jin-su in rural sticks can't date or marry, no matter the cash?
Not in Seoul: out.
Farmer job: out.
No culture scene: out.
So Jin-su, young, had his dating cells neutered—chasing cash alone.
"Sigh, back to farming."
Another sad portrait from Korea's twisted marriage market.
The village natives were pissed at Jin-su.
A young, strong handyman drops in—great!—but now he won't listen.
"That outsider's gotten cocky. Tsk."
"Tell me about it. Rolling stone wants to displace the pillar."
Praise flowed when he shared crops and helped: "One of us! Best lad!"
Refuse? Instant switch.
Villages are tight-knit.
Town hall clerk's cousin next door, cop's son-in-law up the road.
Everyone kin one hop away—their league.
Band together, outsiders crushed. Dream-chasing young farmers flee to cities.
Then villagers whine: "No youth! Village dying!"
Their own doing.
Elders huddled at the village hall.
"How to screw that insolent punk?"
"Blocked the road, didn't budge. Tough bastard."
Someone slapped their knee.
"Hey, just harvest some of his crops, right?"
"Steal?"
"Yeah. Pinch a bit—what's he gonna do? Few leaves missing, won't notice."
Crop theft.
Legally special larceny, crime.
But to elders raised swiping watermelons from fields? No such concept.
Just nostalgia, fun, or pranking foes.
"Perfect! Raid tonight!"
They cackled.
Just mess with him, enjoy fresh wraps.
They had no clue the storm they'd unleash.