I cover a wide range of stories about Korean society — one of the most dynamic places in the world. To me, journalism means being on the ground, uncovering untold stories and amplifying marginalized voices, especially in an era when AI is reshaping the media landscape. That’s why I’m always here to listen. Tips and stories are welcome — feel free to reach out via email. Before becoming a journalist, I traveled through 24 countries over 702 days, served two years as a military police officer in the Republic of Korea Air Force and later studied filmmaking at the Korea National University of Arts.
From daydreams to deadline: A reporter’s spaced-out saga
Let the silent games begin! Korea Times reporter Park Ung, front row second from left, takes part in a soul-crushing Space-Out Competition at Jamsu Bridge by southern Seoul’s Banpo Hangang Park, Sunday. Yonhap
By Park Ung
Korea Times reporter trades hard-hitting news for hardcore gazing at nothing
“You’re joining a competition you can’t win,” my girlfriend said when I told her I’d be one of 126 participants in Seoul's annual Space-Out Competition, a celebration of the underrated art of doing absolutely nothing.
I'm always busy doing something, even in my spare time. The last time I truly zoned out was in 2019, during my final winter as a sergeant at a remote Air Force radar base.
Back then, I spent hours gazing at flickering CCTV feeds and the unmoving silence of the mountains beyond. Sometimes I’d space out without even realizing it. But after I was discharged — and a smartphone landed back in my hand (back then, getting caught with one in the barracks could land you in the brig) — that kind of stillness disappeared.
So when I signed up for this year's Space-Out Competition, it had been six years since I last took a moment to truly zone out.
Now in its 11th year, the Space-Out Competition has become a cultural phenomenon, offering exhausted modern individuals a rare chance to do nothing, on purpose. This year, 126 participants from 80 teams — including soldiers, train operators and swimmers — made the cut, beating the odds of 57 to 1, with some 4,547 teams having applied.
The rules are simple: Zone out for 90 minutes. Winners are chosen based on heart rate stability and votes from the on-site audience.
Seoul's Jamsu Bridge becomes a brain-free zone as participants take part in Seoul's annual Space-Out Competition near southern Seoul’s Banpo Hangang Park, Sunday. Yonhap
When I arrived at the venue 90 minutes before the 4 p.m. start, it was already buzzing. A testament to the event’s popularity, the place was swarming with reporters. As I later found out, even a New York Times reporter had shown up — not just to cover the event, but to space out alongside us.
I was the second person to complete on-site registration. After filling out the required paperwork, I strapped a heart rate monitor to my left arm so organizers could track my score.
The first to register was Choi I-ro, a 62-year-old paralegal who arrived two hours early. I found him next to me, crouched inside a box made from law books, already settling into zoning out.
Choi I-ro poses settles into a box before beginning Seoul's annual Space-Out Competition at Jamsu Bridge near southern Seoul’s Banpo Hangang Park, Sunday. Korea Times photo by Park Ung
“I came out here because I wanted to feel just how important it is to pause and rest,” he told me, explaining that he built the box to reflect his profession. Burned out from late-night shifts and mounting work, he said he signed up for the competition as soon as he saw it advertised online.
Another companion by my side for the 90-minute space-out session was a young girl who radiated confidence in her ability to do nothing.
“I realized I’m really good at spacing out while just playing in the playground,” said 8-year-old Kim Ju-ha. “That’s why I joined the competition.”
At 4 p.m., the event officially kicked off.
After a 15-minute introduction and a light stretching session, the long-awaited 90 minutes of zoning out began. As soon as the contest was underway, I stretched out on the ground, using my work bag as a pillow — bringing one of my everyday mottos to the competition: “Don’t stand when you can sit, and don’t sit when you can lie down.”
Korea Times reporter Park Ung takes breaking news to a whole new — horizontal — level on Jamsu Bridge near southern Seoul's Banpo Hangang Park, Sunday. Yonhap
The first thing that hit me was a wave of nervousness.
I had rarely spent a full 90 minutes doing absolutely nothing, and I feared the time would crawl by. I couldn’t shake the worry about needing the bathroom — despite making several trips beforehand, I still felt anxious. Leaving for a restroom break would almost certainly mean forfeiting.
But soon, I began to settle in. Sunlight streamed into my eyes, a gentle breeze passed over me and the ambient sounds of people enjoying the riverside park washed over me. Time passed more quickly than I expected. Although I never checked the clock, when the host announced that 40 minutes had passed, I found myself thinking, “Already? Has it really been that long?”
As time went on, participants began dropping out one by one. One woman cited hunger, saying she was off to eat a cup of instant noodles — a completely understandable choice. Food trucks lined the area, and the smell of crispy fried chicken hung in the air, testing my focus as I tried to zone out.
Throughout the competition, staff dressed as doctors periodically checked my heart rate to calculate the score. Others, wearing traditional magistrate costumes, roamed the field to ensure everyone was properly spacing out. One warning was given for breaking focus, and a second meant disqualification. This year, only one person received a warning.
The most awkward part was the photography. Photographers often came in close for shots while I was zoning out, and I wasn’t sure whether to ignore them or make eye contact. Just as I started to feel a bit bored, the 90-minute zone-out session came to an end.
After about 30 minutes of scoring and deliberation, the winners were announced: the three members of a Seoul punk band called Pogo Attack.
“We're Pogo Attack, and we're here to take over the world,” the members said, standing on stage with their children. “Today, we’re thrilled to have conquered the art of spacing out. Even before the competition, we kept saying in interviews that we were going to win. And we’re so happy that the prediction came true. Thank you!”
Members of the punk band Pogo Attack, the winning team of the 2025 Space-Out Competition, pose with their children at Jamsu Bridge near southern Seoul's Banpo Hangang Park, Sunday. Courtesy of Seoul Metropolitan Government
Now one of Seoul’s signature festivals, the competition began with the personal experience of Woopsyang, the visual artist behind the event, who prefers to go only by her pseudonym.
“About 10 years ago, I was completely burned out as an artist and couldn’t do anything,” Woopsyang told The Korea Times. “Doing nothing made me feel strangely anxious. I began to wonder why that was, and realized everything around me was moving too fast.”
Even when we try to slow down, it’s hard to hit pause in a world that never stops. So she wondered, "What if we all paused together, in the same place, at the same time? Maybe then, we wouldn’t feel so alone in our restlessness. That’s how the competition was born."
Now, her dream is to make the whole world stop, even if just for a moment, through spacing out.
“My ultimate dream is to create a World Space-Out Day, where people across the globe pause at the same time,” she said. “Imagine people zoning out in Hong Kong, Paris and New York all at once. It would be like the whole planet taking a moment to stop together.”