In South Korea, military service is not a matter of personal choice for most men—it’s a mandatory national duty. But beyond the statistics and legal terms lies a much more complex, human story. I served from May 2021 to November 2022 in the Army as a vehicle maintenance technician stationed in Gapyeong. Through my experience, I learned not just how the system operates, but how it shapes the people within it. In this article, I want to explore Korea’s military system through three lenses: what it is, what it was like for me, and what I believe should change.
Understanding Korea’s Military Service System
South Korea’s military conscription system is one of the most established and strictly enforced in the world. It is grounded in the need for national security, particularly in the context of a still-volatile relationship with North Korea. All able-bodied men between the ages of 18 and 28 are required to serve, typically for 18 months in the Army, with varying durations for the Navy, Air Force, or Marine Corps.
Conscription isn't merely a legal requirement—it’s a cultural expectation. From a young age, boys grow up knowing that their turn will come. It's a national “pause” button that young men must press, often during the most crucial years of their personal and academic development.
The structure is strict: Basic training lasts several weeks, followed by assignment to a unit based on needs and specialties. Most soldiers perform roles in infantry, logistics, administration, or technical support. Some are assigned as public service workers or industrial defense personnel if deemed unfit for active duty.
Over the past decade, the government has made efforts to modernize the system—improving meals, increasing off-base privileges, and emphasizing human rights. But these changes often affect only the surface. The deeper issues—emotional fatigue, unclear purpose, and mental health—still persist.
Between Duty and Debate: Why It Matters
Military service in Korea exists at the intersection of national defense, individual freedom, and societal fairness. On paper, it’s about patriotism. In reality, it's also about hierarchy, delay, and in many cases, inequality.
There’s constant debate over why only men serve. While some defend the tradition as necessary for defense, others argue that in a modern society, this gender imbalance creates resentment and systemic unfairness. The social and professional cost for men is real: a full 18 months out of school or work, while their peers—often women—continue to progress uninterrupted.
The emotional cost is just as heavy. Returning to civilian life can feel like re-entering a world that moved on without you. Many soldiers experience a subtle but deep-seated sense of being “left behind.”
In my case, I returned and saw my peers advancing in their careers, saving money, and even traveling abroad. I, on the other hand, had just resumed my life from where I left off—only everything else had moved forward. That invisible gap is something statistics don’t capture.
On top of that, military culture still holds onto a rigid structure. It promotes hierarchy and silence. While physical abuse has decreased, emotional suppression remains. Many soldiers hesitate to speak up about mental or physical health out of fear of being labeled weak or problematic. And the army isn’t fully equipped to support those who do.
My Service Story: Gapyeong, Maintenance, and Me
I served from May 2021 to November 2022 in Gapyeong, a mountainous region northeast of Seoul, as a vehicle maintenance technician in the Army. What made my situation unique was that I was the only vehicle mechanic in my unit.
That meant if I wasn’t there—on vacation, at the hospital, or even sick—everything related to vehicle maintenance paused. From early on, I felt a constant pressure to be available. I barely took my vacation days at first. Not because I didn’t want rest, but because I didn’t want to be a burden.
Even in the military, there are interpersonal dynamics you can't escape. There were people who didn’t like me, who made things difficult. But unlike civilian life, I couldn’t avoid them. I had to live, eat, work, and sleep in the same space with them, 24/7. The mental toll was significant.
And yet, I still tried to be enthusiastic. I remember one day during weed removal, I was leading the group when I disturbed a wasp’s nest. I got stung badly and rushed to the infirmary, only to find the military doctor just as scared as I was. We screamed and flailed while catching wasps together. That night, my body swelled. I didn’t tell anyone because I was still a private. It wasn’t until my throat started closing the next morning that I was rushed to a hospital.
Later, around my ninth month of service, I went through a breakup. There’s even a phrase for it: “Il-mal-sang-cho”—a common time for soldiers to break up with their girlfriends. My friend didn’t take it well and went through counseling and medication. I buried myself in work, volunteering for tasks nonstop. My officers noticed and quietly supported me. That silent kindness meant a lot.
Moments That Shaped Me: From Wasps to Breakups
Looking back, those intense moments—both physical and emotional—shaped me more than I realized at the time.
For example, I had overnight shifts from 10 p.m. to midnight. Without a phone or much to do, I started reading books. That quiet time with just a flashlight and a paperback changed me. It was the healthiest period of my life. I slept and ate regularly, exercised daily, and lived in a structure I’d never maintained before. The discipline stuck with me.
I also picked up real skills. Before service, I had no idea how vehicles worked. By the end, I was fixing engines and managing routine maintenance confidently. That knowledge has already helped me in civilian life.
But I also carry a fair amount of ambivalence. Did military service make me a better person? I’m not sure. I don’t believe people who haven’t served are somehow incomplete or immature. The biggest benefit I gained was probably social legitimacy. In Korea, if you haven’t served, you’re subject to judgment—sometimes subtle, sometimes overt.
Thoughts on Reform: What Needs to Change
If I could change one thing, it would be how we handle people who aren’t fit to serve. I saw soldiers with serious physical or mental health issues being forced to push through simply because we needed more hands. That’s not acceptable.
The army doesn’t take full responsibility for your health. Once you’re in, you’re expected to perform no matter what. If you break down? You’re replaced. But until then, you’re squeezed for everything you’ve got.
We need smarter systems—not just more bodies. Automate what can be automated. Reduce unnecessary labor. Reevaluate which roles require conscripts at all.
The declining birthrate means fewer eligible men. That’s not going to change. So why isn’t the system adapting? Clinging to outdated expectations isn’t tradition—it’s negligence.
From Soldier to Civilian: What I Took With Me
Coming back to civilian life felt surreal. I thought I’d be free and limitless. But I soon realized how much I had missed. Friends had moved on. Life had progressed. I had to play catch-up in a game where the clock had kept ticking without me.
What stayed with me, though, was something quieter. I’m no longer afraid of doing dirty, difficult, or thankless work. I take initiative. I finish what I start. I understand the value of structure.
But I also question whether those lessons needed to come at such a cost.
My story isn’t exceptional. It’s one among thousands. But I’m sharing it because behind every “duty” is a person. Behind every “service” is a story. And if we want military service to truly serve the country—not just the system—we need to start listening to those stories.