Living Alone (1)

created: 2024.08.17. 06:19 · modified: 2024.10.09. 15:38 ·  · license

This post was automatically translated and has not yet been reviewed by me. Please read with discretion.

The Saturday before last (I started writing this in mid-August), I made a day trip to Daejeon and signed a lease on the place where I’ll live during my master’s program. It was actually my second trip to Daejeon to look for a home. Two weeks earlier—about a month ago now—I had already gone down to view some places. As I wrote in my previous post, I searched everywhere from Eoeun-dong and Gung-dong to Bongmyeong-dong and Wolpyeong-dong, willing to drive farther if it meant finding a place that met all my requirements. But nothing felt quite right. Every place failed to meet at least one of my criteria, so I came back without making a decision.

The real estate agent who had taken me around to see the places was remarkably enthusiastic. Even after I returned to Seoul, they kept sending me photos of newly listed places that matched what I was looking for. The first few were nothing special, but eventually one caught my eye. I hadn’t realized how much I liked terraces. This place had a private terrace, and although it faced northeast, I thought I could live with that if it meant having a terrace. I went back to Daejeon two days later.

The place looked just like the photos. It was relatively new, and the rent wasn’t especially high. Since I was there, I looked at a few other places too, but none seemed better.

After viewing five or six places in the blazing sun, I was exhausted and increasingly set on that one. Then I remembered an apartment listing I’d seen online with my parents the night before.

I’d actually lived in an apartment near the university before. As an undergraduate, I lived on my own in two places in Gung-dong: first, a studio of about 3 pyeong, and then an apartment with a 24-pyeong floor plan(!). Now, before you call me a rich kid, hear me out.

I’d originally been looking for another studio to move into after the first one, just a larger one of around 8–10 pyeong. At the time, though, most studios in Gung-dong were 3–4 pyeong, or 5–6 at most. The newer buildings with larger studios in Gung-dong are a more recent development than you might think. Once I ruled out the listings under 7 pyeong, the next available option was, bizarrely, a 24-pyeong apartment. It was in one of the few apartment buildings in Gung-dong, which had both 17- and 24-pyeong units. There weren’t many 17-pyeong units, and none were available.

The rent wasn’t high, either. In fact, per unit of floor area, it was dramatically cheaper than a studio. If you apply the statutory deposit-to-rent conversion rate to the deposit and rent on the 24-pyeong apartment I lived in, its terms come out exactly the same as those of the 9–10-pyeong studio I saw this time. Even allowing for the three-year gap and the higher maintenance fees, the increase in cost was small compared with the extra space.

That’s how I ended up living in a 24-pyeong apartment. Even so, this time I started by looking at studios again, because living in that apartment had taught me that a good home needs something important besides space and an affordable price.

The problem was furnishings. The apartment came with none. The built-in kitchen was about the only thing provided in the apartment I lived in as an undergraduate. Amazingly, my family home had a spare refrigerator and washing machine, so when I moved in, I hired a small moving truck to bring them from Seoul to Daejeon, along with two assemble-it-yourself desks, a bookcase, a clothes rack, and a mattress. Unsurprisingly, those few pieces, scattered around the apartment, weren’t enough for a comfortable life. But if I bought more furniture, I’d have trouble getting rid of it when I moved out after graduation, which wasn’t far away.

So for a full 16 months, I lived in that 24-pyeong expanse with just seven pieces of furniture. I slept on a mattress directly on the floor, without a bed frame, and got through two summers without air conditioning¹. It was a pretty bare-bones existence, but not buying more furniture turned out to be an excellent decision. When I moved back to Seoul, I sold everything that wouldn’t fit in two cars rather than hire a moving truck. You wouldn’t believe how much trouble even that was.

1. Granted, the apartment was right below a mountain, which kept it cool, and I get cold very easily but tolerate heat well. Still, looking back, how did I manage?

I didn’t want to go through all that hassle again, so I hoped to find a studio this time if I could. Plenty of new buildings had gone up since then, and I thought I’d be able to find a decent place. Even when my mother found a few apartments for rent online the night before, over in Wolpyeong-dong near the university, we ultimately decided to look for a fully furnished studio if possible.

Back on the sun-drenched streets of Gung-dong, I was sorely tempted to sign a lease on the studio with the terrace. But I’d come a long way, so I set off again to see everything I could and avoid regrets. Besides, I wasn’t entirely satisfied with the terrace studio. Sunlight matters a great deal to me, and a place facing north was hard to accept.

There were three apartments I wanted to see. The agent handling one was on vacation, and the tenant in another couldn’t accommodate a visit right away. That left just one I could view.

When I arrived, a newlywed couple greeted me. I liked the apartment a lot. The building was over 30 years old, but the interior had been remodeled and was fairly tidy. At 13 pyeong, it was plenty big enough for one person², and the deposit and rent were exactly the same as for the terrace studio! It also had a south-facing balcony, though not a terrace.

2. The old 24-pyeong apartment had honestly been far too much. That was when I first learned that a home can be too big. Cleaning spaces I didn’t even use—the two small rooms besides the living room and main bedroom, the balcony, and the main bedroom’s bathroom—nearly broke my back. I’d been thinking that somewhere in the low-to-mid teens in pyeong would be perfect.

As I thought, “This would be perfect if it came with furniture,” I noticed the wall-mounted air conditioner humming away. I asked the couple whether it had come with the apartment. The husband said they’d brought it when they moved in and offered to leave it behind for roughly the cost of installation if I wanted it. He added that they were moving to a bigger place and planned to sell most of the furniture there, including the refrigerator and washing machine, on Karrot.

Wait, what? I could hardly believe my ears. My mind started racing with possibilities. If I could buy that furniture cheaply, wouldn’t the apartment’s one drawback disappear in a stroke? Trying to contain my excitement, I asked, “Could you sell me everything you’re not taking with you?” Their answer was even more cheerful: “That would make things easier for us too. We’d appreciate it.” !!!

We agreed to work out the details later. I left the apartment beaming, called my parents, and told them, “Hahaha, I think I’ve hit the jackpot.” It was as if the sweltering heat had vanished.

Back at the real estate office, I made a thorough list of the furniture I’d like to take. I looked up the cost of disposing of furniture and found it was less than I’d expected, so I figured I might as well take whatever I could, even if I didn’t like every piece. I replayed a video I’d taken during the viewing with the couple’s permission and started writing down the items:

I was prepared to negotiate the price myself, but the agent offered to do it for me, and I wasn’t going to say no. When the agent saw my list, they asked how I expected to get a low price with everything spelled out at such length. But that was a hundred times better than being vague and then, on moving day, upsetting someone over a disagreement or having the deal fall through. I asked the agent to pass it on as written and have the couple reply with a price for each item they were willing to leave.

How much would they ask? After about 20 minutes of nervous curiosity, the reply finally arrived:

Oh. I’d asked them to do it, but it was still fascinating to see a message with every item accounted for. Alongside the prices, they’d marked things they could give away with a 0 and things they couldn’t leave with an x. They’d answered my questions in the list, too. They’d even added the washing machine I’d forgotten. I could almost picture the couple putting their heads together while I waited, having a rather endearing(?) discussion about what to charge for each thing. I also marveled at how efficiently the three of us had settled a negotiation that might have dragged on: just one exchange of messages.

Best of all, though, were the prices themselves! Refrigerator + washing machine + air conditioner + bed frame/mattress/bedside table + sofa + desk + chair + tray + clothes rack + dressing table + shoe cabinet—all for 230,000 won! I hadn’t had a particular figure in mind, but it was definitely less than I’d expected. Before the couple could change their minds, I quickly told them I’d take everything on those terms.

Not long afterward, the tenant called the agent again. I waited nervously beside the agent, wondering what they wanted. It turned out they were offering to leave me their electric kettle as well for 10,000 won. I don’t drink coffee and would barely use a kettle, so I was giving the question serious thought when I heard the tenant through the phone: “We’re letting all that other stuff go so cheaply—what’s there to think about?” Hahaha. It was practically a hard sell! But, generous soul that I am (heh), I agreed to take the kettle without much more deliberation. I later learned it was the exact model my mother had bought for our family home after a fairly thorough selection process. It normally sold for 50,000–60,000 won.

With that deal settled, the apartment became my new home. I was incredibly lucky. I still wonder whether that couple were angels sent down from heaven just for me. But if I’d given in to the brutal weather and decided not to view the apartment, I’d never have had the chance to get so lucky. So if any younger students reading this are looking for a place of their own, I want to tell them this:

1. Look seriously at apartments. They’ll generally cost more than studios, but the improvement in quality of life can more than make up for the extra expense. You might even find one that costs less.

2. Go and see places in person, no matter what. Housing is one of those things where comparing and analyzing more options greatly increases your chances of finding something better.

3. Take a video when you view a place. If the current tenant still lives there, ask permission. There are so many things to consider that it’s hard to check everything on the spot. And if you’re following point 2 thoroughly, similar-looking places will start to blur together in your memory. A video helps enormously then.

Continued in “Living Alone (2)”.