Waiting for the visa interview felt longer than the actual flight

Sorting out the paperwork for the F1 visa

I remember sitting in my room, surrounded by a mountain of papers, wondering if I had printed the right version of the DS-160 confirmation page. It felt like I was trying to build a bridge with paperclips. My friends were already talking about their packing lists and which neighborhoods near their campus were safe, but I was stuck staring at the embassy website. The visa fee alone, which was around $185 at the time, felt like a significant chunk of change just to get a chance to walk through those heavy metal doors in Gwanghwamun. Every time I refreshed the page, the waiting time for an available appointment slot seemed to shift, making me paranoid that I was somehow doing it all wrong.

The day of the interview at the US Embassy

When the morning of the interview finally arrived, I felt strangely underdressed in my button-down shirt while others stood in line wearing full suits. I ended up standing there for about two hours in total. The security checks were tedious—no electronics allowed, which meant I had to leave my phone with a random storage service nearby for a few thousand won. It’s funny how you spend months preparing for a few minutes of conversation, and then, in the blink of an eye, the consular officer is asking you questions that you’ve rehearsed in front of your mirror a hundred times. I kept repeating in my head that I shouldn’t sound like I was reciting a script, but my voice definitely cracked when they asked about my financial support documents.

Hearing mixed stories about re-entry and regulations

After getting the visa, I started reading these news updates about how things are constantly shifting in the US. I saw an article about a webinar held by the LA Consulate where they explicitly told students to carry their transcripts during re-entry. It made me feel like I was walking on eggshells. You spend all this energy getting the permit, only to realize that maintaining it is a whole different beast. Some people were talking about the complications of doing a second master’s degree or the fear of being denied entry at the airport over minor technicalities. It makes you feel like you aren’t really a ‘student’ but rather a person on a temporary, fragile status that could be revoked if you aren’t careful about every single grade or credit hour.

Watching the costs add up

It’s not just the visa, obviously. When I look back at the initial planning phase, I remember checking out various exchange programs or private school tuitions. Some of the public exchange programs were quoted at around 18 to 19 million won for an academic year, which is a massive commitment. Then you hear stories about universities facing financial trouble or not returning deposits to international students, and you start to wonder if the gamble is even worth it. I remember reading about a situation with a university in Gyeongju where students couldn’t get their money back after their visa plans fell through, and that just stuck with me. It’s a strange feeling, investing so much time and money into a system that feels like it could change its rules while you’re mid-air.

The lingering feeling of uncertainty

Even now, when I think about the next time I have to renew something or travel back, I don’t feel entirely confident. There’s no handbook that tells you exactly how to handle every single bureaucratic hiccup you might encounter. You just kind of hope that the officer on duty that day is having a decent morning. My documents are packed in a dedicated folder, always in the same spot in my bag, just in case. Whether or not it’s overkill, I don’t really know, but I’m not willing to find out by leaving them behind.