I have two homes: Seoul, South Korea, where my mom grew up, and Buenos Aires, Argentina, my dad’s birthplace. Moving between them as a kid let me experience two beautiful, distinct climates—but now, I watch both change in ways that break my heart a little.​ Winter in Seoul used to be like a fairy tale. Every December, soft snow would cover the rooftops of my grandma’s neighborhood, and the Han River would freeze just enough for kids to skate on small, safe patches. My grandma would make hot tteokbokki (spicy rice cakes) after we played outside, warming our cold hands. But in the last four years, the snow has been scarce. Last winter, Seoul only had one snow day—and it melted by noon. My grandma looked out the window and said, “When I was your age, we’d have snow up to our knees by Christmas.” In Buenos Aires, winters are never snowy, but they used to be cool and damp, perfect for drinking mate (a traditional herbal tea) with my dad’s family. Now, the winters feel warmer—some days reach 20 degrees Celsius! My aunt, who’s lived in Buenos Aires her whole life, says she hasn’t needed her thick wool coats in years. The parks that used to stay green all winter now have brown patches because the usual light rain doesn’t come as often. I miss sitting outside with my cousins, sipping mate while the wind had a gentle chill.​ Summer brings even bigger worries. In Seoul, the monsoon season used to bring steady, gentle rain that refreshed the city after hot days. But now, the rains are violent. Last July, a heavy downpour flooded parts of the city—my mom’s old school had water up to the first floor, and some subway stations closed for days. My mom cried when she saw the photos: “That school was where I learned to read. It never flooded like this before.” In Buenos Aires, summers used to be warm but not unbearable, with cool breezes from the Río de la Plata. Now, heatwaves hit every January. Last summer, the temperature stayed above 35 degrees Celsius for two weeks. My little cousin got heat exhaustion from playing outside, and we had to keep the curtains closed all day to stay cool. My dad says when he was young, they only used fans in summer—now, everyone needs air conditioners, and the power grid sometimes shuts down because of the demand.​ But these changes also push me to act. Growing up with two cultures taught me that caring for one home means caring for the other, too. In Seoul, I walk to the market with my grandma instead of taking the bus when the weather is nice, to save fuel. In Buenos Aires, I help my dad plant drought-resistant plants in our backyard, since the rains are less reliable. I know these are small steps, but I hope they add up.