I spent three hours at the embassy for a ten-minute conversation

Getting lost in the paperwork for the F1 visa

I remember sitting at a cafe in Gwanghwamun just an hour before my scheduled appointment at the U.S. Embassy, staring at the DS-160 confirmation page like it was a holy relic. I had checked the information at least ten times, worried that a single typo in my father’s birth date or my middle school graduation year would end the whole process before it even started. The application fee of $185 felt strangely heavy, considering I had no idea if the interviewer would even look at the stack of documents I had organized in a clear plastic folder. It felt like I was auditioning for a role where the script wasn’t provided, and failing would mean canceling everything I had planned for the semester.

The endless waiting room atmosphere

Walking into the embassy felt like passing through a security checkpoint at an airport, but with much more tension in the air. Everyone was standing there clutching their folders, trying to look as normal and non-suspicious as possible. I looked at the person next to me, who was nervously practicing their English introduction, and suddenly felt like my own preparation was inadequate. There were people applying for J1 exchange visas and others just there for routine B2 tourist stamps, but we all shared that same distracted, wide-eyed look. I waited for what felt like two hours, just watching the numbers change on the screen and listening to the muffled sounds of people talking to the officers behind the glass windows.

The actual interview duration

When my number was finally called, I walked up to the counter and prepared for the interrogation I had seen in various online forums. The officer didn’t even touch the pile of bank statements and enrollment certificates I had painstakingly brought. He asked me three questions—what I was studying, where I planned to live, and who was paying for my tuition. I stuttered through my response, feeling my face heat up, but he just typed something into his computer and nodded. The whole thing couldn’t have lasted more than five minutes. I walked out into the sunlight feeling completely drained, almost confused that it had ended so abruptly.

Dealing with the follow-up anxiety

For the next few days, I kept refreshing the tracking page for my passport. I couldn’t help but wonder if I had sounded too hesitant or if the officer had noticed that my hands were shaking slightly while I held my ID. It’s funny how much energy we put into these few minutes of interaction. Some of my friends had it much worse—one person was asked for extra evidence of family income, which turned into a weeks-long struggle of calling the bank and rushing to get documents stamped and translated. I got lucky, I suppose, but the anxiety of waiting for the courier to deliver the envelope with the visa stuck to the page never really went away until it was physically in my hand.

Looking back at the preparation process

Looking back, the whole thing felt like a strange rite of passage that nobody really prepares you for properly. Most of the ‘expert’ advice I read online just stressed me out more, telling me to be ready for trick questions that never actually came. Maybe I should have just relaxed and treated it like a normal meeting, but when your entire life plan depends on a single sticker in your passport, it’s impossible not to feel like you’re walking on thin ice. I still don’t know if I would have done it differently if I had to start over, but at least I know why people look so exhausted after leaving the building.