I woke up at 4:30 a.m.—not because I had to, but because some restless part of me still believes in fire. The kind that burns across the sky in brilliant pinks and oranges, the kind of sunrise that makes people stop dead in their tracks and remember, “Oh right… I’m alive, and I live on a goddamn planet spinning through space.”
But let’s be real—my tired, groaning body doesn’t exactly leap into action like some Instagram adventurer. No, it negotiates. It stalls. It needs a reason to move, and this morning the reason came in the form of a fresh bag of coffee beans I’d been saving like some sacred offering to the gods of caffeine. I brewed it strong. The kind of brew that slaps your brain around a little before it hugs it.
And then? Metallica. …And Justice for All. Full volume. That intro to “Blackened” hit like a war cry. It wasn’t subtle, it wasn’t delicate—and neither was I. I threw my gear in the SUV, made a shameful but necessary detour through the fluorescent purgatory of McDonald’s (because nothing else is open at that hour in Ulsan), and hit the road.
The plan was simple: drive to the coast, find something beautiful, and shoot it. I had that photographer’s itch—an itch that doesn’t go away just because the conditions suck or the clouds won’t play nice. And as the morning light started bleeding into the sky, I knew. I just knew. This wasn’t going to be that kind of sunrise. No symphony of light. No golden hour glory. Just a flat sky and the distant hiss of disappointment.
“Any seasoned photographer will tell you, you can feel the weather before you even open your eyes. And sometimes, you go anyway.”
The waves were there, slamming the rocks like they had a score to settle. The wind came in sideways, sharp enough to wake the dead. And standing there—caffeinated, slightly greasy from my fast-food penance, ears ringing with leftover Metallica—I thought of Dave.
This morning felt like that. A little unhinged. A little pointless. But real. I took maybe 15 shots. Nothing earth-shattering. No masterpieces. But they’re mine. Little trophies from a battle with the dawn.
And that’s the part nobody tells you about photography—or maybe just about life. It’s not always about the result. It’s about being out there. It’s about fighting the inertia, the doubt, the warmth of your bed and the voices in your head that say, “It’s not worth it today.”
It Is. It Always Is.
Because even if the sky doesn’t burn for you, the world still moves. The ocean still breathes. The wind still punches you in the chest and reminds you you’re here. Alive. Awake. Unapologetically present.
So, yeah—no fire in the sky today. But I got what I came for.
And that’s enough