From a distance, Hyeopjae Beach was the picture of perfection. The sand shimmered like powdered gold, and the water stretched endlessly in shades of turquoise and deep blue. The sky above was so clear it looked freshly painted. Tourists strolled along the shore, laughing, taking photos, and collecting shells. If you only glanced at it, you’d think this place was untouched—pure.
But beauty can be a clever disguise.
As I walked closer, I noticed the first signs that something was wrong. A crumpled snack wrapper half-buried in the sand. A bottle cap wedged between two shells. A thin plastic straw tangled in seaweed. Then, like a curtain being pulled back, the truth revealed itself—trash was everywhere. Plastic bags clung to the rocks like forgotten kites. Fragments of styrofoam broke apart in my hands like fragile snow, scattering into smaller and smaller pieces that I could never fully catch. The closer I looked, the more it felt like the beach was quietly bleeding.
The Weight of What We Carried
We began picking up what we could, each of us armed with a pair of gloves and a garbage bag. At first, I thought we were making progress—one bag filled, then another. But the tide kept bringing more. It was like bailing water out of a sinking boat; no matter how fast we worked, the problem never seemed to shrink.
At one point, I found a tangled fishing net, heavy with damp sand. Pulling it free felt like dragging up a ghost—something that didn’t belong here but had been stuck for far too long. I imagined a sea turtle or a fish caught in it, struggling until it couldn’t anymore. That thought stayed with me, settling in my stomach like a stone.
I noticed the beach had two faces: the cleaned section, which looked almost perfect, and the untouched section, still scattered with plastic like wounds on pale skin. My arms grew tired from bending and lifting, but the heaviness I felt wasn’t just physical—it was the weight of knowing that tomorrow, the tide would probably bring it all back.
A Beach That Wants to Breathe Again
The sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the water. The waves whispered against the shore, as if thanking us in their own quiet way. Tourists were still taking photos, framing only the clean parts of the beach. I couldn’t blame them—it’s human nature to look for beauty and ignore what’s broken.
But as I looked back at the sand, I realized I couldn’t unsee what I had seen. The beach’s beauty wasn’t gone—it was still there—but now I understood that it lived side-by-side with pain. And that pain was not the beach’s fault. It was ours.
When I left, I felt a mix of pride and sadness. Pride that we had helped, even if just for a day. Sadness that the ocean’s burden was far greater than a few volunteers could carry. Hyeopjae Beach, with its endless horizon, deserves to breathe freely again. I just hope the world starts listening before it’s too late.
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