Reflection: Working at Hanwha Finance

My summer internship at Hanwha Finance left me exhausted, exhilarated, and probably 30% caffeine. I arrived as an AI data scientist with an unhealthy addiction to coffee and only a vague idea of what the world of finance had in store for me.

Off to Wonderland

Developing a Retrieval-Augmented Generation (RAG) system for the insurance domain felt like slipping through the looking glass. I was in unfamiliar territory, armed with barely any guidance (far less than I had expected, mind you) and a growing collection of papers written in what I can only assume was a secret financebro dialect. I threw myself into building the tool anyway. Before long, the RAG system became my digital sherpa through the insurance literature, which was useful, considering I’d built it partly because I was so hopelessly lost in that literature to begin with.

And where was this quest unfolding? In none other than the 63 Building, one of Seoul’s landmark skyscrapers. Having come from sleepy lecture halls and campus cafes, I was immediately taken by the place. Maybe this whole corpo thing wasn’t too bad after all. I’d make my way through the gleaming lobby, step into elevators that moved fast enough to make me question the laws of physics, and somewhere between the first and sixtieth floors undergo a magical-girl transformation. Suddenly I was no longer a student running on caffeine and deadline anxiety. At least on the surface, I was one of the sharp-suited professionals rushing around the building. By the end of the internship, I’d almost convinced myself I wasn’t just pretending.

What really got me was the contrast with university life. Back in Illinois, looking out the window meant watching dancing cobs of corn for miles in every direction. Here, I looked out at Seoul. There were no classes to wander into late, no lectures where I could get away with looking half awake. People had meetings to attend, decisions to make, and an alarming ability to sound as though they knew what they were talking about. I was trying to keep up.

The whole environment was somewhat intoxicating, at least until the caffeine wore off. Conversations hummed over the tap-tapping of keyboards, and every day seemed to bring some new problem I hadn’t known existed. I pushed myself hard, sometimes until it felt as though my brain was running on fumes. In retrospect, the fact that I found this exciting probably says something about me.

The Meat Grinder on Wheels

Warning: The following section contains public transport, heat, and a frankly unreasonable amount of bodily moisture. Proceed at your own risk.

The daily commute was a meat grinder on wheels. In the sweltering summer heat, subway platforms turned into saunas, with air that seemed to consist mostly of damp polyester and stress-induced sweat. Boarding meant squeezing into a train full of groggy salarymen and disheveled students, everyone pressed together in silent misery. I had never felt so close to so many strangers, and I would have preferred to keep it that way.

The buses were no better. Every lurch and swerve turned us into human pinballs as the driver navigated Seoul’s streets with all the finesse of a rally racer late for his wedding. I clung to the nearest pole for dear life while the bus took corners at speeds that seemed incompatible with remaining upright.

And after surviving the subway and bus, I still had a fifteen-minute walk under the full glare of the sun. The humidity clung to me like a second skin. By the time I reached the office, my shirt was plastered to my back and my shoes had developed what I can only describe as a small internal ecosystem. I’d enter the gleaming lobby looking less like a finance professional and more like a survivor of some cruel, corporate Hunger Games.

The commute was miserable. It also made reaching the office feel like an achievement before I’d even opened my laptop. Every time I walked through those lobby doors, I felt I’d earned the right to sit in air conditioning for the rest of the day. It’s one thing to say you worked in the 63 Building; it’s another to say you survived getting there.

The City of Yin and Yang

After long days wrestling with outdated documentation and pretending to understand financial gobbledygook, I’d throw myself back into commuter chaos and eventually emerge in Hongdae. The neighborhood seemed to run on neon lights, sizzling street food, and a collective refusal to go to bed at a sensible hour. Music poured out of bars, buskers set up on corners, and karaoke rooms remained busy well after I should have been asleep. It was hard to tell where one party ended and another began.

Walking back to the dormhouse each night, I passed bars overflowing with revelers and the occasional DJ booth blasting bass into the street. It was a peculiar contrast to the spreadsheets and KPIs I’d left behind at the office. Against my better judgement, I started to love it. Even on the nights when all I wanted was to collapse into bed.

Mornings were another story. The sidewalks were strewn with evidence of the previous night’s festivities: empty bottles, cigarette butts, and the occasional pair of abandoned pantyhose. Storefronts were shuttered, the music was gone, and only the low hum of delivery bikes broke the silence. Every so often, an elderly couple would seem to spawn into existence once the youngins had left the map. I found something strangely charming about this hungover version of Hongdae.

Walking through those streets in the morning made me nostalgic for parties I hadn’t even attended. By night, Hongdae was a festival; by day, it was the messy aftermath, with everyone too tired to care. I liked getting to see both sides on my way to and from work.

Outside of work, I made a point of getting into Korea’s art scene. I watched plays in dimly lit theatres, sat mesmerized through a musical, and ended up in jazz bars where, for once, I could just listen without having to pretend I understood the financial jargon. And then there was the temple dedicated to the one and only Faker, where I found myself praying for blessings on my next gacha pulls (because why not?).

For all the noise and questionable pavement hygiene, the dormhouse eventually felt like home. I even grew fond of those quiet morning walks through the wreckage of the previous night. Though I can’t say I ever grew fond of the commute.

Rediscovering the “College Experience”

The Global Internship Program (GIP) introduced me to people from all over the world. We bonded over studying abroad, Korean barbecue, and the identical sweat patches on the backs of our shirts when we arrived at the office. I ended up learning enough about myself from those friendships to write a separate post.

Ironically, it took a corporate internship for me to understand the ‘college experience’ everyone kept talking about. I was a college student already, but I’d never felt especially involved in that busy, communal social life. Spending the summer with peers who were just as ambitious and curious as I was finally gave me a taste of it.

It felt a little like living out a coming-of-age movie, if coming-of-age movies included business meetings capable of putting an entire room to sleep. We worked hard, went out together, and became friends without having to schedule networking sessions to make it happen. I’d always liked the idea of being surrounded by people who cared about what they were doing. That summer, I got to see what it actually felt like.

The Royal Treatment

Just when I thought I had the internship figured out, Hanwha sent us to the beach. For a week, we worked on a consulting project during the day and bonded over horror movies and intense karaoke sessions at night. I left with a tan, newfound respect for one board executive’s singing ability, and, at long last, the ability to ride a wave as a San Diegan. Better late than never.

Hanwha had set the bar high from the start. The week-long orientation felt more like a luxury retreat than corporate onboarding, complete with fantastic food and team-building games that ranged from mildly embarrassing to downright ridiculous. I don’t know what I expected from a finance internship, but it certainly wasn’t this.

Looking back, I remember the long days trying to make sense of insurance documents, the absurd elevator rides, the friends I made, and the genuinely dangerous quantities of sweat produced along the way. I learned a lot, though I’m still not convinced anyone should have to endure that commute. Would I do it all again? In a heartbeat. Just maybe with a bit more deodorant next time.