#27. 죽빵 -- Punch them in the face

I love comic books. These are great to wind down a busy day with, because you don't have to do a lot of work to enjoy them. No need to imagine the scenes in my head, because they're already drawn in. And there is something inherently funny about the onomatopoeia that get used in comic books. I would never say "KAPOW" or "BLAM" or "ZAP" in real life, but I kind of wish that everyone would start using these words more often, because these words are so lively and full of dynamic energy, with a touch of vulgarity.

It turns out that the Koreans are actually better at using these words in real life. Sure, they shouldn't be used in formal settings. But to me, these words add a bit of slapstick spark to our lives when they do get used.

Here are a couple of Korean onomatopoeia that you will see in comic books, or 만화.

First is the word "주욱," which you might recognize better by its variations such as "주우욱," "주우우우욱," "쭉," "쭈욱," etc. This word means to reach out. For example, if a cartoon character was stretching, there might be the word "주욱" written in the background. Since you're reaching out, it sometimes makes sense to write out the longer version of the word such as "주우우우우욱" to describe the length of the stretch and the reach.

This word also gets used in everyday Korean, in contexts such as "주욱 뻗은 길" meaning "the (straight) road that stretches way out," or "쭉 뻗은 나무" meaning "the tall (straight) tree."

The second onomatopoeia doesn't need a lot of explanation; the word is "빵." Although I have just said that "빵" is an adjective for well-inflated objects, there is one other meaning for it. When you hit someone, "빵" is the sound you make.

So when you use these two words together to create a new slang "죽빵," first of all, it is vulgar (not in a profanity type way, but in the comic-book informality), and it means that you are reaching out (죽) to hit (빵). Well, when you reach out to hit, you usually end up punching people squarely in the face. It's slightly entertaining that you can count these things, and the unit of count is "대." So one 죽빵 is "죽빵 한 대," and two 죽빵 is "죽빵 두 대," etc.

When you dish out a 죽빵 to someone.

Remembering that we are using a comic book-style word, so whenever you use it, it's definitely going to be funny. So it's used mostly in an exaggerated way. For example, if your little brother is being annoying, you might threaten him by saying:

나한테 죽빵 한 대 맞고싶어?  (Do you want to get punched in the face?)

 If your friend 준호 accidentally hit you in the face, you might rant to your other friends about how you got beaten up by your friend by saying,

방금 준호가 나한테 죽빵을 날렸어 (준호 flew a 죽빵 at me; 준호 punched me in the face.)

If you got involved in a bar fight, and managed to get in a good one before you got broken up,  you might later brag to your friends by saying:

어제 싸우면서 죽빵 한 대 갈겼어 (I landed a 죽빵 last night in a fight.)

Note that various verbs describe the act of landing a 죽빵. As it was never a proper word to begin with, you can choose the verbs that seems to go well with the context. Even if it were not used previously, if the Koreans agree with you that the verb was appropriate, maybe it'll even catch on! As always, the important thing in Korean internet slang is to experiment, and to be creative.

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#26. 궁예질 -- Mind-reading

Here's a question that is perhaps a bit cliché, but fascinating nonetheless: let's say that you're the king of a nation. Unfortunately, as things go for most kings, there are a few people that you're not so fond of, and you'd like to get rid of them. How would you go about accomplishing such a task? One Korean man was so bizarre in his ways in trying to achieve this goal, that it ultimately led him to the internet fame of Korea.

You may remember the kingdom of 신라 (Silla) from an earlier post. In that post, 신라 was the driving force behind the destruction of the kingdom of 백제 (Baekje), and the cause of the death of (supposedly) three thousand palace maidens. Although 신라 lasted almost 300 years longer than 백제 after unifying the three kingdoms, it too eventually came to its demise by a man named 궁예. He was a supporting character (but really, more memorable than the main character!) in the wildly popular Korean drama "태조 왕건" about fifteen years ago, and most Koreans imagine 궁예 to look like this guy:

A quick biography: rumour has it that he was a prince of 신라, but due to various political reasons, he was thrown off a high building to be killed as an infant. Thankfully, his nurse was waiting at the base of the building and caught him as he was flung off, although she poked one of his eyes with her finger while catching him. He was raised as a Buddhist monk after this. As a result, 궁예 was very hostile towards 신라, which has already weakened considerably, and eventually claimed parts of 신라 as his own country (what the country was called isn't really important; the man couldn't make up his mind and changed the name of this country several times, and probably the Koreans don't remember this either.)

As a king, he focused heavily on strengthening his power against the nobles. He accomplished this by claiming himself to be the living Buddha (going by the name of "미륵"), and claiming that he could read people's minds. Of course, he then read that his political enemies were thinking about rebelling against him, which was good enough for him to execute them. Not surprisingly, people soon had enough of his antics, and they really did rebel against him, leading to the destruction of his country, and the establishment of 고려 (Goryo, which is where the name "Korea" comes from!)

While the opinions differ on what kind of a man he was (he even killed his own wife through his "mind-reading skills," but perhaps he was a very talented politician), the internet found its own way to immortalize this memorable figure.

For example, say that you're spacing out with no expression on your face. Your friend is walking by and sees you spacing out, and decides that judging by the expressionless face that you're wearing, you must have had a bad day. Not just a bad day, but since your expression looked sad, you probably broke up with your significant other. In fact, you must have been dumped since you look like you're on the verge of tears. In your annoyance, you could tell your friend:

궁예질 좀 그만해! (Stop trying to read my mind as if you're 궁예!)

The new word is "궁예질," made up of two parts "궁예" and "질." The word "질" is a derogatory suffix that attaches itself to nouns (usually body parts or job titles) with negative connotations. For example, "손가락질" is supposed to denote negative actions done with your fingers, so it means "pointing at someone to deride them." "선생질" is supposed to emphasize the negative aspects of being a teacher, maybe dealing with disrespectful students, or maybe having students with very low grades.

So in our context, "궁예질" is talking about the negative aspects of "궁예," or "mind-reading," in a derogatory way. Put in another words, the word "궁예질" is making fun (in a derogatory way) of the people who infer things from where there is no meaning.

For the people who blow things out of proportion by drawing incorrect conclusions because they were too imaginative, I might say (with a certain amount of sarcasm):

궁예질이 너무 심하다 (your mind-reading is really too much).

While 궁예 is really a well-known figure in the Korean history because of his antics, and most Koreans will pick up on your meaning if you use this word, there is a mix of sarcasm and condescension placed on this word, and you should only use it when you want to insult someone. Likely you will see this word online the most!

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#25. 포돌이 -- This wonderful Korean character has no parallel

Once upon a time, the Koreans got tired of the negative public image of the Korean police force. In order to ensure that the Koreans could perceive the police force as friendly and approachable, the Korean police force decided to re-brand themselves by creating a mascot. Below is the culmination of their efforts.

This adorable character's name is 포돌이 (the letter "포" comes from "police," and "돌이" is a suffix to describe an affectionate male nickname. For example, if you have a friend who eats ("먹다") all the time, you call him "먹돌이"; if someone sleeps ("잠자다") all the time, you call him "잠돌이". For women, use the suffix "-순이" instead of "-돌이" to get "포순이," "먹순이," and "잠순이.")  He looked cute, he looked friendly, and it seemed that the re-branding efforts would be a total success.

However, the police officials neglected to take one thing into account.

They forgot that they lived in Korea.

There was no way that the fun-loving Koreans would leave this character alone. First came pictures like below from the (presumably) part-time workers taking a break from masquerading in the 포돌이 costume:

They definitely look approachable, at least if you just need a cigarette.

However, the real boost in the status of the mascot came from a very unlikely place even within the internet culture. Here is a portion of the webtoon that brought 포돌이 to the elevated status that it enjoys today. This webtoon is extracted from a horror series called "공부하기 좋은 날" (A good day for studying). Its episodes often feature a dark motif or a ghost. The artist of this webtoon is renowned for his horrifying images that are sure to haunt you in the dark, especially if you try to sleep too soon after reading one of his episodes. I hesitate to prove my claim with real examples, but here are two connecting episodes that illustrate a typical work of this artist. WARNING: DO NOT CLICK IF YOU ARE NOT INTO HORROR. You will have no trouble understanding the rest of the post even if you do not read these. Here is installment #1, and installment #2.

Here are the summary of each of the episodes to ease the Korean translation. Drag your mouse over the blank space to reveal the spoilers:

Installment #1: A freelancer mother and her son move to a new apartment. The son loves the new apartment, and visits the playground in front of their house daily to play with his new friends. At first the mother does not worry since she can see and hear the playground from their house. but she comes to the realization that she can only hear her son's voice and no one else's.
Installment #2: When the mother looks out, she sees no one in the playground. In a panic, she goes outside to find her son, only to find him in front of their apartment returning to do his homework. When she interrogates him about no one else being in the playground, he says that everyone else left to do their homework too. She tries to see if the playground is cursed, but no one knows anything about it. That night, in her dream, she dreams that her son is going out to the playground to play again. She opens the curtain to see the playground only to see a terrifying figure appear in front of her window and faints. When she realizes that everything was a dream, she breathes a sigh of relief, only to realize that her son was the terrifying figure, and that it was not a dream.

This particular episode seemed like it was no different. A student begins by ranting about the reality of the high school English education in Korea:

The English classes are useless. Exactly what kind of abilities do they hope to measure by an English test?
It is impossible to measure the speaking skills, and one could maybe test whether some words or grammar points are memorized.
That's why one cannot be good at English through the classes provided at school. High school English is merely memorizing words, grammar, and sentences.

I won't succumb to such terrible curriculum. The society wants nothing more than good grades. That is, I just need to do well on the tests!!

By the way, the student's soliloquy aligns quite well with how the Korean students often feel about school subjects. They are not the most effective ways to learn, but as the school grades are so important in the university entrance exam, they have no choice but to follow the curriculum to get good grades. After all, the society cares only about good grades!

So the student decides to sneak into the teachers' office one night, and steal the exam papers in advance.

 

If you are a fan of this particular artist, this is the point where you nearly close your eyes and scroll very slowly, because this is about the point where a very horrifying ghost figure appears. It could be the ghost of a student who killed himself because of bad grades, it could be the ghost of a school caretaker rumoured to be roaming the school grounds punishing the bad students, etc. However...

Well, 포돌이 can be just as terrifying.

Don't cheat, people.

These last two cuts became quite famous in the Korean internet culture, because the irony in these scenes were too great. The contrast of the outrageously cheerful face of 포돌이 against the dark mood, along with the fact that a student is being arrested, was pure hilarity. To this day, these cuts are used over and over again in the internet culture, and 포돌이 became a real celebrity!

I end with one more related word: "철컹철컹." To many Koreans, this word should remind you of 포돌이 (the creepy version, I suppose). This is because "철컹철컹" is an onomatopoeia for the clang of metal, or in our case, the clang of the handcuffs as they close around your wrists. You will see this word appear when an internet user makes not-safe-for-work sexual remarks, especially in the context that might remind people of child pornography. Although the internet users are sending a serious warning towards the target, they are also reminding themselves of the cheerfully creepy face of 포돌이. Some people prefer to use the phrase "잡았다 요놈," or "I got you, you rascal," which is something 포돌이 might say, as he slaps those handcuffs on you. Both words are fairly humorous in nuance, although it is a word definitely reserved for close friends, or for the internet.

All jokes aside, 포돌이 is still the leading face of the Korean police force. As far as the re-branding efforts go, I would say that he is a huge success, as no other mascot has the popularity of 포돌이. And although we will never know what life would have been like without 포돌이, I like to think that he contributed to changing the image of the Korean police force.

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#24. 팩트폭행 -- The truth hurts

Believe it or not, according to the reports of the Korean internet users, the following conversation is said to have taken place in a Korean school during a history class.

Student: It really is too bad that polygamy is no longer a thing.
Teacher: Actually, you should be grateful that polygamy is no longer accepted.
Student: ???
Teacher: If we still practiced polygamy, you would never be able to marry because people like 송중기 will have 100 wives each.

This is 송중기, a very popular Korean actor.

Okay, that hurts, but that's also probably true, and that student definitely got pwned by his teacher, so to speak. His friends probably made fun of him after the history class was over, and they might have said something like:

선생님한테 팩트폭행 당했네 (You got pwned by the teacher bluntly telling you the truth.)

The word "팩트폭행" is made up of two parts, "팩트" and "폭행." The first word is the Koreanization of the English word "fact," and the second word means "assault."

To go a little bit deeper into the nuance of the second word, it is a pretty official word, as if you are charged with the assault of someone, you would be charged with "폭행죄" ("죄" means "sin" or "crime" -- as Christianity came into Korea fairly late, the word "죄" is used for both legal and religious contexts.)

As for the word "폭행," it has Chinese origins. The letter "폭" means violent (for example, "폭풍" means violent winds, or "storm"; "폭식" means to violently eat, or "binge-eat"; "폭행" is a violent "폭"action "행", or "assault.)

Putting these two words together, "팩트폭행" means that you have been violently assaulted by the means of the truth, which is a pretty accurate description of what happened in that history class. You can replace "폭행" with other words that describe violent actions, and get words such as "팩트폭력 (폭력 also means violent assault, but it pertains more to the bullying-type assaults, where one side is decidedly stronger)", "팩트폭격 (a bombardment of facts)," and so on.

Also remember that it is usually the case that when a new word is made by combining an English word and a Korean word (such as in 발퀄, 이불킥, or 프로 불만러) the resulting word is almost always pretty humorous. This is another instance of this claim, so there's definite sense of amusement and humour when you are using this word in a sentence. As usual, this word originated from the internet, and although not inherently offensive, I would play it safe and use this word only with my friends.

Finally, Koreans like to shorten words, especially if it's made up of multiple words. In our case, since "팩트폭행" is made up of two words "팩트" and "폭행," you will often see Koreans shorten this word to "팩폭" by just using the first letter of each word, especially on the internet. Since the Korean slang is very quickly evolving, it is actually not so easy for even a native Korean to guess the meaning of these shortened forms of words without looking them up! But then, it's kind of fun to try and guess what they mean as well.

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Listening exercise with transcript #4: What does he like about you?

Here is a short video clip. Without giving anything away, try to listen and see how much you can understand. The transcript is provided below. You may want to turn off the English subtitles. It is remarkably free of slang, and the informality of the dialogue is very much the kind of conversation that you could have with your close friends, so it might be worth it to practice!

진짜 싫다. 사람들이 알아? 너 평소에 이러고 사는거. 옷을 입었다가 더러워서 빨래통에 넣었다가 결국 입을게 없어서 그걸 다시 꺼내서 입고 심지어 그걸 밖에서도 아무렇지 않게 입고 돌아다니는거, 그사람은 혹시 아나해서. (이래봬도 쓸만해!) 너는 손이 많이가. 나정도 되니까 이런말도 해주는건데, (뭐지?) 너 이러면 사람들이 싫어한다니까? (가!) 좀 안흘리고 먹을수 없어? 이제 막 이유식 뗀 애도 아니고. 욕심은 또 왜 이렇게 많냐? 니가 잘못해놓고 니가 화내고. 먹을것만보면 환장하고. (나 한입만) 하. 안귀엽거든? (야, 우리 가위바위보해서 진사람이 우산사오기할래?) 불길해. 느낌이 안좋아. 아니 너같이 이기적이고 배려심없고 명령 잘하고 가식적이고 예쁜척하는 애가, 아.. 내 옆에 있다는게 불길해. (야, 너 내가 여자로 보인적 있어?) 내가 돌았냐? 내가 아무리... 내가 여자가 없어도. 근데 걔, 니 오빤지 뭔지, 걘 니 어디가 좋대? 좋긴 좋대냐?

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#23. 넘사벽 -- Try as you might

Superstitious people are everywhere. In North America, 13 is considered unlucky (I'm not really sure why; maybe because there were 13 people at the table during the last supper) and you sometimes see the 13th floor missing entirely from high-rise buildings.

In Korea, the number to avoid (along with 13, because why not) is four. This is because the number four, pronounced "사" in Korean, sounds exactly like the Chinese character 死 meaning death (for example, "사형" means the capital punishment, "사신" means the messenger of death, "사약" means the poisonous drink that people were required to drink in the olden days when they were given the death penalty). So in many Korean buildings, both the fourth and the thirteenth floors are missing.

Anyway, there's a Korean internet slang word "넘사벽." It is often used in the context such as this: Say that you figure skate as a hobby, and a friend compliments you on your skating skills, going as far as saying things like how you skate like the famous Yuna Kim (김연아.) Then you are embarrassed because you're not actually that good, and you say something like, "Oh, I will never even come close to catching up to Yuna Kim." In Korean, you could say:

김연아는 넘사벽이야.

If you were chatting on the internet, you might have typed instead:

 김연아 >>>>>>>넘사벽>>>>>> 나 (Yuna Kim >>>> 넘사벽 >>>>> me.)

When I first heard the word in a sentence, it was clear that the word "넘사벽" was clearly a shortened form, because I didn't see how to break up "넘사벽" into different words. Before reading on, try to guess what this word means -- it wasn't completely obvious to me, even as a native speaker (and the exact meaning of the catchiest internet slang can usually be interpreted!)
 

The famous skater Yuna Kim, whom every Korean can recognize.

From the context, it seemed obvious that the word "넘사벽" should mean "incomparable," or "way beyond my abilities." But in the word "넘사벽," I only recognized one word inside it, namely "벽" or "wall." Combined with the context, it felt like the word should come from the well-known phrase "넘을수 없는 벽" or "insurmountable wall."

That took care of the letters "넘" and "벽," but where did the letter "사" come from? At this point, I was left completely on my own to take a stab in the dark. My guess was that the letter "사" came from "death," combining to suggest that the word "넘사벽" means "a wall that you can't overcome, even if you died trying." Satisfied with this meaning, I happily went about my way around the Korean internet world (and I suppose you could use this word with anyone, since it's not offensive and the meaning is guessable.)

A few years later, though, I learned that the original intended meaning of "넘사벽" was not a wall that you cannot overcome even in death, but actually a shortened form of "넘을수 없는 사차원의 벽," or "an insurmountable four-dimensional wall."

Oh well. I was a little bit off, but I wasn't the only one, and many Koreans guessed that the letter "사" came from "death" rather than "four." Plus, the meaning still wasn't lost. Such is the way of the Korean internet slang.

Apparently, this word presented more of a challenge to some than the others, though. Some people thought that this word meant "넘을수 없는 사랑의 벽," or "an insurmountable wall of love," but that really shouldn't have made sense from the context (although it would be pretty hilarious in the right context!) In any case, I thought you might enjoy seeing how a native Korean speaker goes about figuring out the new slang word that they encounter on the internet (and get it wrong!)

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#22. 만렙 -- You're the best

I was an elementary school student in Korea in the late 90s and early 2000s, when Starcraft was just gaining its popularity. I was never a teen in Korea, and I was more interested in comic books and cute K-pop boy bands, so I never played Starcraft. Despite this, I heard about Starcraft daily from my classmates. If we were to form groups for some projects, our group name was invariably going to be Protoss or Terran, or some variation thereof (apparently, Zergs were too ugly to be considered a good name!) I listened to my classmates brag about their actions per minute, or the latest strategy, and none of this was strange to me. It was a bit of a shock to realize that the gamers were fairly rare in the Western world, when practically everyone in Korea could be considered a gamer.

Well, gamers naturally end up spending a ton of time on the internet, so when most of your population is a gamer, gamer lingo is sure to seep into your internet slang. Now that I reflect on it, I am surprised that I managed to avoid talking about the gamer slang for the majority of my posts so far. The only words coming from gamer language so far would be "항마력" and "용자."

But here is another word that clearly comes from the gaming culture.

When I was living in Korea, I had a friend who never got anything other than 100% on her math exams. Although this expression did not exist then, if I see her now, I'd want to tell her that:

넌 정말 수학에 있어서는 만렙이다. (As far as math is concerned, you are really the best.)

The slang here is the word "만렙." The word "렙" is a shortened form for "레벨," or "level (as in, the level of a game; the Koreans never use it like in the sentence 'level the ground.')" Koreans really like to shorten words, and this is just one instance of such contraction. So for example, in gaming language, if someone has just started playing and has pretty low stats, you could call them "0렙 (level 0)," "1렙 (level 1)," or "저렙 (low level; "저" is a Chinese letter meaning "low," as in "저지대 (low-lying area)," "저원 (low-lying field)," or "저퀄리티 (low quality)")." In contrast, someone who has high stats can be called "고렙 (high level; "고" is a Chinese letter meaning "high," as in "고지대," "고원," "고퀄리티," etc.)"

The word "만" comes from Chinese, and it means "full." The most common usage you see in Korea, of course, is how the Koreans count their age. When the Koreans want to talk about their age in the Western sense (where you age one year when you have lived out a full year), they will say:

제 나이는 만으로 스물 두 살이에요 (I have lived twenty-two years in full; I'm 22 in the Western sense.)

Putting the above two words together, "만렙" means that your stats are full; that is, there is no room to improve. So, if I were telling my friend that she is "만렙" in math, I'm telling her that no one is better than her in math, and that she pretty much has nowhere to improve. In short, I am giving her the highest compliment.

You can also use this word in the gaming setting (or any situation that reminds you of a gaming setting.) When someone achieves the highest level in a game, the correct way to use this slang is to use the verb "만렙을 찍다." For example, you can say:

너 어제 만렙 찍었다면서? (I heard that you got to the final level yesterday.)

Unfortunately, this word has such strong gamer origins that it is inappropriate to use in a formal setting (although no one would be offended by it, it would be pretty strange to use this to your grandparents, for example!) But it's a widespread word nonetheless, and given the affinity to video games in Korea, most people who use the internet will understand the word!

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#21. 한강물 차냐? -- Should I just go kill myself? (just kidding)

While I was fooling around on DC Inside (it's the Korean version of Reddit, but the people are the most vicious and mean, hence it is often my website of choice!), I read a pretty sad post of one of the users, where he really messed up his chance with the girl of his dreams. He misread signals, he was too eager, and it was a disaster overall. Everyone was mocking his failure, and in his depressed state, yet clearly being a good sport and playing along with the others, he asked:

한강물 많이 차냐? (How cold is the water of Han river?)

This phrase is actually used fairly often, when someone has screwed up badly, and doesn't see any way to rectify the situation. It is, of course, spoken in jest, but the concreteness and the precision of the phrase shocks me a lot more than just saying something like "죽고싶다 (I want to kill myself)." Yet the phrase is fairly humorous, because the speaker is almost surely joking.

But people really do kill themselves a lot on the bridges of the Han river. So much to the point that the railings actually have phrases written on them, to try to discourage people from jumping into the river (and apparently it works).

It must have been so difficult for you. I know, even though you never said it out loud.

Did you remember to eat?

It seems to me that each culture has its own way of dealing with difficult subjects. The Korean way feels a lot more blunt than the North American culture that I am used to, and making the situation humorous is also something that is not often done in North America, to the point where it seems almost taboo. But I suppose that this is something that one needs to see as "틀린게 아니라 다른" (not wrong, just different.) After all, sharing a laugh in even the most miserable situation can make it seem better.

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#20. 안드로메다 -- What is this, I don't even

So, I'm in the process of experimenting with my blog's layout. I'm not convinced that what I have now is better than what I had before, but it turns out that HTML is difficult to learn, and no template perfectly fits my dream. I'm going to continue to experiment for the next while, so if my blog is out of order, please visit again in a few minutes! Also soliciting any kind of advice and help that you can give on how to make my blog more readable, and more navigate-able (leave them in the comments below!) This is my first time blogging and I think the inexperience is definitely showing. Sigh. I promise that I'll improve. I also got a Twitter account! You can follow my Twitter account here.

Moving onto the actual post...

For some weird reason, every Korean knows about the Andromeda galaxy. This knowledge of the Andromeda galaxy is such a staple in our everyday life that there is even a neologism to honour this galaxy. In everyday Korean conversations, "안드로메다" means "very far away." For example, I was talking to a friend of mine the other day, who used the following brilliant exaggeration:

여가시간은 안드로메다로 관광보냈지 (I sent my free time on a trip to the Andromeda galaxy.)

 She was trying to tell me that she was so busy that her free time could have gone on a trip to the Andromeda galaxy, and she wouldn't know. So by sending something on a trip to the Andromeda galaxy, the speaker is telling me that she has none of that something, in a very strong negation. Just saying that "I have no free time" is nowhere as strong as "All of my free time is having some fun in the Andromeda galaxy."

 Knowing this, we can try using it in many different contexts. If someone cuts the line in front of you while you're waiting for the metro, you could tell them:

이봐요, 매너는 안드로메다로 관광보냈어요? (Hey, are your manners having fun on the Andromeda galaxy?)

If you're about to go into a haunted castle with your friends, and you want to appear tough, you could tell your friends:

무서움 따위는 안드로메다로 보내버렸지 (I sent my fear away to the Andromeda galaxy.)

If you feel that Andromeda is a teensy bit too far for what you're trying to say (because, who is not scared of going into the haunted castle, really?), you could maybe settle for not necessarily the Andromeda galaxy, but just out of our own galaxy, which is the Milky Way galaxy. You could have said instead:

무서움 따위는 은하수 너머로 보내버렸지 (I sent my fear away beyond the Milky Way.)

 Again, you could be creative and replace the Andromeda galaxy by other things that are sufficiently far away (Jupiter, Pluto, or Asteroid XXIV, whatever it is, are all good candidates, as are a bunch of other things).

While this expression is not offensive at all (you would sometimes see this expression in some TV shows), because of the gross exaggeration, I would not say that this is necessarily appropriate for the elders.

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#19. 강철멘탈, 유리멘탈 -- How much insult can you withstand?

I spent most of my formative years in Canada, and really consider myself a Canadian. And true to the Canadian stereotype, I love hockey.

If you have spent any amount of time watching hockey games, you would have heard of the "Green Men" of Vancouver, two men in green body suits who mock the opposing team players in the penalty box. Some take the insult better than the others, and undoubtedly, the performance given by the Green Men has some of the hockey players fuming as they leave the penalty box. This is what they do:

Apparently, it is not good enough to be just good at hockey to become the top player of the team nowadays; you have to have that unwavering determination and concentration, regardless of what is going on around you. If the Koreans saw this clip, they would say:

 와, 저사람들 정말 강철멘탈이네 (Wow, those people have nerves of steel.)

 The word "강철" means "steel," and "멘탈" comes from the English word "mental" (although "mentality" is perhaps a better translation), so quite literally "강철멘탈" means "nerves of steel." As usual, you can replace "강철" with any hard and durable object, such as "다이아몬드멘탈" (nerves of diamond.)

The opposite of "강철멘탈" is "유리멘탈," where "유리" means "glass." That is, they are so easy to rattle that their ego, their self-esteem, or whatever is holding them together at the moment (this is really the correct nuance for the word "멘탈") could shatter easily like glass. Once again, you can be creative, and use other easily shattered objects in place of "유리." Some of the most commonly used words include "두부멘탈" (mentality easily shattered like a tofu), "쿠크다스멘탈" (couque d'asse is a the name for a thin cookie you can get in any grocery stores in Korea, and it is notorious for almost never keeping shape because of its thinness,) "종이멘탈" (mentality like a paper.)

When these people of glass mentality have a meltdown, the Koreans call this "멘붕," which is short for "멘탈붕괴," or "destruction of mentality." As a verb, you can use various forms, such as "멘붕을 일으키다," "멘붕이 오다," or "멘붕하다." As it is a neologism, people seem fairly generous with what kind of conjugation you can use!

Some examples:

다연이는 너무 유리멘탈이라 교수님이 이름을 호명하자마자 한마디도 못하고 멘붕을 일으키더라. (Dayeon had the mentality of glass, so that as soon as the professor called on her, she seemed completely destroyed.)

파티가 끝난 후 어지러진 집을 보고 멘붕했다. (I went through a mental breakdown after seeing the messy house after the party.)

와, 그 스캔들은 정말 장난 아니더라. 진심 멘붕. (Wow, that scandal was no joke. Seriously, a total mental breakdown.)

 Although this is a neologism, it's been around for a while, at least a few years at this point. It seems that the mainstream media also picked up on this expression, so it is not that weird to use this in most context, except in formal writing.

Note that an English word (멘탈) is combined with Korean words (강철, 유리, or 붕괴) to form these neologisms, so when this word first came out, there was a strong undertone of intended humour. However, as this word is becoming more and more accepted in mainstream language, the nuance of humour is on the decline towards just a neutral word. Of course, all that depends on the context. If your friends are joking around and you use this word, clearly there will be some humour. If you talk to your boss about your last episode of 멘붕, there isn't a lot that is funny about it!

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#18. 용자 -- Brave or stupid?

Back when I was a schoolchild in Korea, in-classroom discussions weren't really a thing. A part of the reason why was because most of us believed that the most important thing for the students was to do well in tests. If you know anything about the Korean school system, it makes sense -- where you go to university determines your life's trajectory; to go to a good university, you must score well in tests.

The majority of the questions given to us in these tests were multiple choice questions, called 객관식 문제 (The word "객관" comes from the Chinese "客觀," meaning the perspective of a guest: 객 means guest, think "고객 (VIP)" or "호객 (trying to attract guests)"; 관 means perspective "낙관 (optimistic)", "비관 (pessimistic)", or "세계관 (world view)." So this means "from the perspective of a third party," or "objective questions") As you must also know, your opinions really don't matter when you're trying to solve multiple-choice questions, because there is only one right answer.

There were the occasional 주관식 문제 (questions in the perspective of the host -- "주" means the host, as in "주인(owner)"), but although these should translate to "subjective questions" in English, they weren't really about our opinions. In the Korean school system in the 00s, 주관식문제 often just meant fill in the blanks, or answering in one sentence what the question was asking, and the questions had a definite correct answer.

Therefore, in some ways, in-classroom discussions were a waste of time. They contributed nothing to improving our performances in tests, so they simply did not take place. We were almost never invited to share our opinions, and the only way we spoke in class was to mutter a one-word answer to a close-ended question that our teachers posed.

And this makes sense. I am not trying to judge a culture. In fact, I think that given that the end goal is to do well in school by obtaining good grades, this is probably the most efficient way to get to that goal.

As this was the norm, volunteering to speak out in classes was seen as a huge anomaly, and it was just not done. If you did speak out, your classmates would call you out for being a 루저 (loser), or a 범생이 (it is a diminutive form of "모범생," or a "model student." They're treating "모범생" like a typical Korean name, where "모" is your last name, and "범생" is your first name, and they are calling you just by your first name for a little bit of humour.)

To some degree, this must be a formative experience. Even after they leave the school system, I have always found that the Koreans are a bit hesitant to express their opinions. When they do, it is almost never done with the absolute terms such as "It is definitely true that...," or "This is totally not okay to..." but rather "What do you think about...," or "I think it might be true that..."

Given this trend, bluntness or directness is not really a trait that is particularly prized in the Korean culture. (Actually, this probably goes up even further in the Korean culture, as the Koreans tend to value the good of the community over the individual gain. There is even a Korean proverb that goes "모난 돌이 정 맞는다," or "the stone that juts out gets the next strike of the chisel.")

On the other hand, this makes the Korean internet a particularly fascinating place for me. On the internet, all of the usual Korean reservedness and hesitance give way to blunt and vicious humour, and it makes me realize that there are many facets to being a Korean, and that they are capable of expressing themselves in the Western style. They just choose not to do it for the most part.

Anyway, for these reasons, speaking up requires more courage for a Korean than for a Westerner. And not surprisingly, Koreans have a word for this too. Say that someone is being annoying. Maybe they're slacking off and not pulling their weight in a group project. Maybe someone is not being very considerate of the others and taking up two seats in a crowded bus. Everyone hopes that someone says something, but they don't want to be the one speaking up, because it is such an uncomfortable experience. Then all the Koreans are probably thinking in their minds,

한마디 해줄 용자 어디 없나요?

 Or in English, "Isn't there a brave soul who is willing to say a word?"

"마디" is pure Korean, which means a unit of length, usually about as long as one joint of your finger, but it sometimes depends on the context (referring to the smallest unit of length). "한마디" is one such unit. In our context, since we are looking for someone to say something, the smallest unit of speech is a word.

"용자" is the slang I really want to talk about. "용" comes from Chinese, and it means "brave." You see it in words such as "용사" (warrior), "용기" (courage), "용맹" (bravery), "용감하다" (brave). "자" is also Chinese, and it means a person. You see it in everyday words, such as "남자" (man) and "여자" (woman), "승자" (winner), "패자" (loser, not in a derogatory way), and also in archaic setting: "의자" means "healer" (nowadays we say "의사" instead).

"용자" also has an archaic undertone. It would not be used in a normal usage of Korean, but if you were relating a fairy tale (or in a fantasy game), and a brave peasant (who has no training as a warrior) steps up to save a princess from a dragon, he would be called a "용자." In short, the only quality that sets him apart from the others is his bravery and courage.

This is a perfectly acceptable usage of "용자," although perhaps it is a bit humorous since the speaker is speaking as if the modern Korean society is akin to some medieval or archaic background.

Nowadays, especially on the Korean internet, but also among the Koreans within a similar age bracket, the word "용자" sometimes doubles as "stupidly brave." For example, if a person jaywalks while a police cruiser is parked just a few metres from her, you may say:

와, 저 사람 정말 용자네.

You're really saying, "Wow, she is really stupidly brave."

Some other cases where you might call someone a "용자" includes: openly showing your love for animes of questionable quality or content, by bringing and showing off various products (with the exception of few very popular animes, you run the risk of being branded an otaku and a loser if you are too open about your anime tastes); betting on a sports team that almost always loses, or... solving a math problem like this:

The question says: Given a sequence that goes 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 3, 4, 4, 4, 4, ..., what is the 400th term of the sequence? This student has not only solved the question, he wrote on top of the paper "존나 쉽네," which is a very vulgar way of saying "f-ing easy."

So, to sum up, "용자" is a humorous and not super offensive, although informal. So you should be able to use this word in most settings, even to the elders as long as you're not trying to insult them!

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Listening exercise with transcript #3: Execution in North Korea

One of the privileges that you get from speaking Korean is the fact that you have access to a ton of interviews by the North Korean refugees (we call them "탈북자": the letter "탈" is Chinese for "exit." For example, "to escape" is "탈출" in Korean; to wring out water is "탈수". The letter "북" means "north," and "자" means "person": "남자" means "man," "망자" means "the departed (the dead).") The vast majority of these interviews are not translated into any other languages, so speaking Korean means that you have extra insight into the lives of the North Koreans that is otherwise unavailable.

The following short clip is a part of a TV show called "이제 만나러 갑니다" (Now we go meet them). Most of the people on the show are 탈북자. They all have heart-wrenching stories of how they left North Korea, risking their lives, as well as their families' lives, and now they are very outspoken about educating the public about the realities of living in North Korea. They do have a slight 북한 사투리 (North Korean accent), but they are barely detectable, so see if you can pick up what they're saying. The transcription follows:

Host: 반동 (this is a North Korean word; it does not mean "reaction," but rather it refers to anything anti-communism) 행위로 죽는 사람이 있는거죠? 총살당해서 사람이 죽는걸 보신분? 어렸을때부터.
Woman 1: 중학교 3학년부터 단체로 가서 봐요.
Man 1, talking to people around him: 나도 가서 봤어. (그래요? 진짜로요? 네. 공개처형이요? 네. 공개처형.)
Woman 1: 다 봐요. 학교에서 줄서가지고 뭐한대 막 종 때려요. 그렇게되면 총살한대 그러면 가서 봐요.
Woman 2: 장마당 (this is an old word in Korea now, it refers to a large open space "마당" where a market "장" opens at a regular time interval; of course, there aren't so many of these in Korea, but it seems that this tradition still exists in North Korea) 이나 학교 운동장같은데 가보면 표고문이 있어요. 몇월 몇일 몇시에 어느 장마당 운동장에서 총살 한다고 그렇게 붙여놔요. 그러면 온 동네사람들 아이들까지 다, 애기엄마 애기업고 다 와서 봐요.
Host: 몇명이 쏴요 총을?
Woman 2: 우리가, 우리 삼촌 사형할때는 일곱명이서 네명을 사형하더라고요.
Host: 한번에 다 쏘는거에요?
Women 1&2: 예.
Woman 1: 보통 규정이 세명의 사격수들이 한 사형수에게 세발씩 각각 아홉발을 맞아요.
Man 2 그럼 유현주씨 (this is the name of Woman 1), 그걸 봤을때 한번이 아니라 여러차례 몇번 봤을것 아니에요. 볼때마다 무서워요, 아니면 그냥 그러려니 해요?
Woman 1: 그러려니 해요. 처음에는 꿈에서 나타나고 그러는데 두번째부터 보고 또 세번째 보고 네번째 보잖아요. 아무렇지도 않아요. 어우, 죽는구나. 난 저렇게 죽지 말아야지. 그냥 이런 생각이에요.

You may have doubted your ears about what you're hearing; they often talk about these cruel and inhumane topics in a completely nonchalant way. This breaks my heart to realize that these kinds of things were so commonplace that they are immune to the usual reaction.

Anyway,  I hope that you take advantage of your Korean knowledge, and educate yourself about the goings-on in North Korea, because it seems like a real privilege to be privy to all these information. The information available in English is really a fraction of what you can readily find using Korean!

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#17. 사골 -- Beating a dead cow

A friend of mine took me out to a very nice fusion restaurant this past weekend. While looking through the menu, I was a bit grossed out by an item called "roasted bone marrow." Even though I'm Korean by birth, I have never been an adventurous eater, so I flat-out refused to try it.

I later talked to my mom on the phone about the strange things that people eat these days, and she looked at me strangely, and told me that one of my favourite Korean dishes is also made from ox bones (which made me instantly regret my decision to not get the roasted bone marrow.)

The dish in question, of course, is what the English speakers call "oxtail soup," or sometimes "ox bone soup." In Korean, it is called "사골국." You may be more familiar with similar dishes such as "설렁탕" or "곰탕" instead -- depending on the ratio of bones to meat that goes into this dish, they go by different names. "사골국" is mostly bones, and "곰탕" is mostly meat.

The way to make these hearty soups is very simple. You put ox bones (usually leg bones are used, this is why we call the soup "사골," or "four bones." "사" is "four," and "골" means "bones." For example, "해골" means "skull," and "골다공증" means "osteoporosis.") and some meat into a huge pot along with water, then you let simmer for several hours. Eventually, you are left with milky broth that is pure deliciousness. This process of slowly extracting broth is called "우려내다" in Korean, meaning "to simmer and extract flavour."

The really interesting feature of 사골국 is that when you're almost finished with the broth, you can pour more water into the pot, boil a while longer, and repeat the process several times to get a large quantity of delicious soup!

And this idea of using the same ingredient to make more and more of the soup gave rise to a new internet expression. Suppose that a comedy sketch keeps trying to get laughs out of the same joke for weeks, with just slight variations. At some point, you get fed up with their gimmicks, and you might exclaim in Korean,

 우려먹기가 너무 심한거 아냐? (Aren't you simmering for flavour far too much?)

농담으로 사골국 끓여먹냐? (Are you planning to make a 사골국 with that joke?)

Both of these expressions make comparison of the fact that a joke is used over and over again (just like the bones and meat in 사골국) to try to get laughter out of people (just like how we keep trying to get some flavour out of the bones and meat).

These expressions get used a lot in the evaluation of creative content, when the same topics keep coming up. They also get used when a broadcasting company keeps airing re-runs of the same episodes. When you're fed up with the same thing happening over and over again, these expressions are probably appropriate to try out.

Perhaps it is a bit of a 무리수 to say this, but I can't help but notice some similarities to an English expression, "beating a dead horse," in that there is a repetitive action being done to a dead animal (of course, I the context is different!) But it always amazes me to see any kinds of similarities between two completely unrelated cultures. It's as if the amount of understanding that humans share without needing the use of languages is actually quite a lot.

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#16. 의자왕 -- The Korean Casanova

백제 (Baekje) has always had my sympathy. It formed a part of the Three Kingdoms Era of Korea, along with 신라 (Silla) and 고구려 (Goguryeo), but it seems that 백제 was decidedly the weakest of the three kingdoms. 신라 eventually destroyed the other two kingdoms and unified Korea; 고구려, at its heyday, controlled a large part of China and Mongolia, occupying about five times the land the size of the Korean peninsula.

백제, on the other hand, never seems to have had that golden era comparable to its two rivals. Instead, the most remembered figures of this sad little kingdom lived right as it was going through its final moments, destroyed in the hands of the allied forces of 신라 and the Tang dynasty of China. Whether it really did not have a golden era, or whether the records were destroyed in the hands of the victors, we will never really know, as 백제 fell in 660AD, more than 1300 years ago.

One man's name lives on, however, and his name is arguably used more frequently than any other figures from 신라 or 고구려 in modern-day Korea. His name is 의자왕 (King 의자, "의자" was just his name, and does not mean a chair or a healer. His parents named him, hoping that he would be just and merciful; "의" means "just" as in "정의롭다", and "자" means "merciful" as in "자비롭다."), and his legacy is admittedly questionable, as he was the last king of 백제.

According to the popular legends that most Koreans know, he was actually a decent king. 백제 prospered under his rule, and he was politically talented. But he gradually became interested in the decadent lifestyle, holding parties, drinking nightly, in the company of three thousand beautiful palace maidens (궁녀). When 신라, allied with the Tang dynasty (당나라), attacked 백제, he was not able to defend the country, and surrendered to the allied forces. He was eventually taken prisoner of the Tang dynasty, and died there within the year.

The three thousand women decided to throw themselves from a cliff into a nearby river, preferring to take their lives themselves rather than be captured by the allied forces. The cliff where they supposedly killed themselves still exists in the city of 부여, and it is called 낙화암 (It means "the rocks of the falling flowers:" "낙" means to fall, as in "낙하산 parachute"; "화" means a flower, as in "조화 artificial flowers" "국화 chrysanthemum" or "무궁화 rose of sharon"; "암" means rocks, as in "암벽등반 rock climbing," "화강암 granite.") It is a beautiful little place, and if you can visit, you should!

I remember visiting here as a child, and feeling down all day thinking about all the poor women who fell to their deaths.

Koreans managed to insert some humour into this sad story, however. Nowadays, if a man seems to be surrounded by many women, he will likely have been called an "의자왕" by his friends. For example, if a man always seems to be in the company of several women (whether romantically or not!), his friends might say something like:

니가 의자왕이냐?

 or, "Do you think you're King 의자?"

There is definitely a lot of humour in this expression, and it is one of those expressions that will make people laugh. What's better, because it is derived from history, Koreans of any age will get your reference, and it's not offensive at all! So this expression is used both online and offline.

That being said, this notoriety of 의자왕 saddens me a little bit, because it seems that there are no actual records in history that King 의자 was actually into that luxurious and decadent lifestyle. Rather, in the official records, he seems to have fought until the very end, and decided to surrender because he did not want any more sacrifices of his people, and in fact, 백제 was at one of its most prosperous periods under his rule. In particular, the mention of the three thousand women appears first in a 20th-century literature (there may have been a few women, but probably not three thousand!) But as people say, history is written by the victors, and he really did not have any choice in the matter. And for better or for worse, he is still remembered, and at least some people believe that he was a good king.

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#15. 낚시, 떡밥 -- Trolling, or fishing for reaction

The anonymity of the internet sometimes tempts us to do strange things. We are safe to prank people, we can mock people, and we can get involved in a fight. What's the worst that could happen? Some people might get mad at us, but all we have to do is turn off the computer, and all that is behind us. In the anglophone culture, we call this type of behaviour "trolling."

There are two theories for the origin of this word.

The first hypothesis is that these internet rogues are named after the Scandinavian monster "troll" that is often hostile and aggressive. I am all for this hypothesis -- what a wonderful way to describe that dark corner of our minds that propel us to do strange things on the internet!

The second hypothesis is equally compelling as the first. It says that "trolling" came from the word "trawling," which means to drag the net in the ocean to catch the fish. This is exactly what the trolls do on the internet. Stir up the vast ocean of the internet in hopes of getting lots of reactions from other internet users.

Shockingly, although Korean is completely disconnected from English in terms of linguistics, the Korean word for "trolling" comes from an identical background as its English counterpart. If you wanted to see if someone was trolling on the internet, you might say "Are you trolling?" In Korean slang, the appropriate thing to say would be:

낚시하냐?

"낚시" is Korean for "fishing," so it seems that the Korean internet users decided that the second hypothesis for the origins of "trolling" was more appropriate, or at least, more humorous (It often seems to be the case that the most important requirement for a successful Korean internet slang word is in its humour, so the second hypothesis is just so much more promising!) When you're intentionally trolling, you can use the verb "낚다" or "to fish" to say things like "오늘도 한번 낚아볼까?" (shall I try to fish people again today?)

When the Koreans have fallen into a clever trap, they tend to acknowledge the humour in the situation, and concede defeat by saying "낚였다" (you have fished me). When the Koreans spot someone successfully being fished by another internet user, they sometimes write "파닥파닥," which is an onomatopoeia that describes the sound that a freshly caught fish makes, to mock the hapless victim.

The Korean internet users might upload pictures like this to mock those who reacted to the trolling.

When a particular user is particularly skilled at trolling the other users, he might be dubbed "강태공." This 강태공 (강 is his last name, and 태공 is his governmental title, similar to a marquis) was a very gifted Chinese politician who helped King Wen overthrow the Shang dynasty and establish the Zhou dynasty. However, he waited for years for King Wen to recognize his talent and to hire him, by studying politics on his own in the countryside, and fishing in the nearby river to provide for himself.

And just like in English, if some internet user seems to be looking to muddy up the waters (we would probably call that "baiting," as in "clickbait,") the Koreans would say "떡밥을 뿌리다," or "scatter the bait." When someone reacts to the bait, this is described as "떡밥을 물다," or "take a bite out of the bait."

Staying true to the original analogy, though, the word "떡밥" now means any material that has the potential to stir up a reaction among the others. These two words, "낚시" and "떡밥" have become so commonplace that they even left the internet. In particular, "떡밥" is often used in dramas or webtoons, when an episode introduces a new element that has the potential to significantly impact the future events.

For example, suppose that your favourite drama ended by zooming in on a mysterious new character. This is definitely a bait that lures you to watch the next episode, to find out who this new character is. The Koreans would say, "떡밥만 뿌리고 끝나네," meaning "they just baited us and ended the episode." When all loose ends are tied up and all conflicts cleared, the Koreans would say "떡밥 회수 완료," or "the collection of all bait has been completed." On some of the comments, you might see some Koreans begging the writers or producers to tie up all the loose ends, by saying, "떡밥은 언제 회수하실겁니까?" (when will you take back all the bait?) or "아직 떡밥이 너무 많이 남았네" (still a lot of bait remains.)

All of the above expressions, although still slang, is not particularly offensive, and you could probably use it with anyone (but avoid using these at very formal occasions, just in case!)

Finally, the Koreans also use the "troll" analogy as well, although it is not as extensive as the fishing analogy. There is a word called "병먹금," which just takes the first letters of the phrase "병신 먹이 금지" (idiot feeding forbidden). It quite literally means, "Don't feed the trolls!" This expression is a bit more offensive, since "병신" (in the literal sense, it means a cripple, although most of the time it's more natural to interpret it as an idiot) is nested squarely in the swear word category. The word "병먹금" really is only for the internet!

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#14. 프로 불만러 -- How to say "he complains all the time" in five letters

Once, when I was frequenting a small DC Inside gallery (a Korean equivalent of a subreddit), I got to recognize the handle of this one particular user. He came by the "갤" (how the Koreans call galleries on DC Inside) all the time,  always armed with a new story of how the world has done him some injustice. He was very good at extracting hidden meaning from a mundane gesture. How this stranger walked past him on the street without acknowledging his presence, probably because this stranger was hell-bent on offending him. How his professor assigned him an unfair grade. How his lunch portion was smaller than his friend's portion.

We soon took to mocking him by saying things like

프로 불만러 또 오셨어요?

The word "프로 불만러" is made up of three parts: "프로 + 불만 + 러."

The word "프로" comes from the shortened English word "professional." While the shortened form "pro" is only used in informal context in the anglophone culture, it can be used even in formal context in Korea. For example, a professional golfer is called "프로 골퍼," and this word is acceptable even in your school report. When you want to compliment someone's professionalism, you could also say "정말 프로네요," and this usage is also completely sanctioned in any setting.

The word "불만" is a standard Korean word meaning "complaint."

The word "-러" comes from the English suffix "-er," which denotes the person doing a particular activity. For example, someone who calls is called a "caller"; there are many other usages in English, such as "swimmer," "golfer," "player," and so on. It is unclear why "-러" was chosen instead of "-어" or "-머," but it just seems that the "-러" ending sounds the best in most contexts.

Putting these words together, you can see that we were mocking this particular user that he was a "professional complainer."

This is a word that combines English and Korean. Usually the words that contain both English and Korean have a humorous undertone (for example, 발퀄 or 이불킥). While this word also has a slight humour to it, there is also a lot of overt sarcasm, and I would say that this sarcasm is the dominant feeling in this word.

As usual, the Koreans are masters at modifying and adapting internet neologism. You should also feel free to replace the word "불만" by other words of your choice to appropriately describe your situation! Here are some other examples that are commonly used on the internet:

• 프로 불편러: The word "불편" could mean "inconvenience," but in this case, it refers more to the word "discomfort." These people find offense in every statement uttered in the name of some cause. For example, someone might be upset that the women's bathrooms are always on the left-hand side of the men's bathroom, whereas gender equality should mean that they should be on the left side only half the time...? This is a word with a fairly negative connotation, and they are only used when someone is being unreasonable, not when that someone is advocating for a just cause.
• 프로 질문러: When someone is full of questions, you could call this person "프로 질문러." Because there is no negative connotation in the word "질문," (compare this to "discomfort" or "complaints"!) this word has a more humorous undertone compared to the previous two examples.
• 프로 실망러: These kinds of people find disappointments in everything. Maybe because they have high expectations, or maybe because of their personality. Depending on the context of how the "실망" or "disappointments" are found, this word may be humorous or more sarcastic, so you have to make the judgment call on whether it is appropriate to use it.
• 프로 불참러: The word "불참" comes from two parts made up of Chinese letters. "불" is a negation prefix. "불공평" means "unfair" (you might be on the winning side or the losing side; but the two sides are not equal); "불리" means "not gainful," so something is unfair, and you have the short end of the stick. The letter "참" comes from "attendance." For example "참석" means to attend an event. So "불참" means to not attend. A "프로 불참러" is someone who misses all the events!

These words are definitely neologisms and are the most suitable for informal internet conversations, or among very close friends. However, definitely take into account that depending on the context, the person on the receiving end of this word might be offended. It really depends on what meaning you are trying to get across!

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#13. 이불킥 -- Looking back to the most embarrassing moment of your life

Any wise person knows that reflecting on the most embarrassing moment of your life right before you try to sleep is a terrible idea. You relive that moment, such as that moment when you felt the need to show some 허세, feel the blush creeping up your neck to your face, and you writhe lying on bed and burrowing into your blanket. UGH. How could I have been so stupid?

Koreans have the perfect word to describe your embarrassment. If they see you doing something stupid that they just know you will regret later, they might tell you:

오늘밤에 이불킥 할 각인데?

Remember that "-할 각이다" means "setting oneself up for something." Therefore, your friend might be telling you that "You are setting yourself up for 이불킥 tonight."

The word "이불킥" is made from two words: "이불," meaning blanket, and "킥," which is just the English word "kick." So the word literally means "kicking the blanket." That is, as you lie in bed tonight, you will be embarrassed by the stupid thing that you did, and in your flailing of embarrassment, you will end up kicking your blanket to vent your anger. Pretty appropriate.

The memories of that embarrassing moment.

Although it is not always the case, when an English word and a Korean word compound to form a single word, the resulting word is often quite humorous, especially when there was an easy Korean substitute. As a rule of thumb, the vast majority of formal Korean words are made up of Chinese or pure Korean, and when English or Japanese appear (there are two languages other than Chinese that influenced the Korean language the most, although we see some French and German influence as well), they are usually there for the humorous and vulgar (without being offensive) effect.

"이불킥" is one of these words that give off a humorous nuance ("kick" could have easily been replaced by "차다," but if you do that, it's not as funny.) While not offensive, "이불킥" is also far away from being formal Korean!

Below is a Cyworld (early Korean version of Facebook) post of a Korean student that went viral many years ago. The student was likely in middle school or high school, and likely a sufferer of 중2병. Many Koreans suspect that the writer of this post kicked many a blanket to compensate for his post below (translation follows).

 

Right this moment, I am slowly going mad.

I entrust my entire body and my soul to this headphone,

As music is the only drug

that this nation will allow me

This is me, right now. 

As a Korean reading this, you might say things like

저분 요즘도 이불킥하시겠지? (Do you think he still kicks his blankets?)

저거 생각하면 자다가 벌떡 일어나서 이불 걷어차실 듯. (I think he would wake up in the middle of the night to kick his blankets whenever he thinks about that post -- note that instead of using "킥," the speaker chose to use the corresponding Korean word "걷어차다.")

You can also focus on the fact that "이불킥" just means "venting your embarrassment on the blanket." Using this, you can be creative. For example, you could have instead said:

자다가 일어나서 이불 불질러야겠다 ㅋㅋㅋ (He should probably wake up and set his blankets on fire).

Feel free to experiment; Koreans are witty people, and they will appreciate your creativity!

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#12. 역주행 -- Every underdog's dream

In looking back at some of my earlier posts, I realized that there is a word that, in theory, means the polar opposite thing of the word "정주행." The word that I have in mind is "역주행." While the letter "정" means "correctly," the letter "역" means "in reverse." Therefore, if "정주행" is describing the movement of a car going forward, "역주행" describes the movement of a car going backwards.

In the context of internet slang, however, it means something completely different from what you might think. While "정주행" means binge watching dramas or reading webtoon episodes starting at episode #1 and moving on, no one starts at the last episode and works their way to the first episode! But there's a context in which the word "역주행" makes sense.

That context is the K-pop scene. It is amazingly fascinating how the competitive nature of the Korean society drives the K-pop groups to come up with better music, better dances, and better entertainment. There are several large charts that track in real-time (in Korean, that's "실시간," literally real-time) how the new single releases are doing; some of the more popular ones are 가온차트, 소리바다, 멜론차트, and 벅스차트. Each K-pop group pays a lot of attention to it; they count how many days, if not hours, their songs stayed at the top of the chart, and who they had to beat out to rise to the top. While it is usually normal to debut their new songs near the top of the chart, and the ranking moves down as the time passes, sometimes a miracle happens.

The word "역주행" was brought into light by a K-pop girl group called EXID. They were barely noticeable among hundreds of groups that debuted in 2012. For nearly three years, none of their songs grabbed the public attention, and "위아래," or "Up-down," the song that would eventually make them become famous, was ranked at #90 for one week, then disappeared altogether from the chart (Koreans call this "차트아웃되다," or "outed from the chart.")

Before their fame, no one wanted to meet them. When they announced a fan-meet, only about 10 people showed up.

Then, two months after "위아래" came out (and disappeared from the charts), everything changed, when a fan took a video of one of the members dancing to their song "위아래," and put it up on YouTube. Something about her looks and the dance just seemed right to many people, and the video went viral. You can see for yourself what was so special about the video below:

 

Their song, formerly not even in the charts, made a re-appearance. For a culture that loves the newest things, this was extremely unusual. Not only did the song "위아래" make it back into the chart, it kept creeping up on ranks. About five months after the initial release of the song, and three months after the viral YouTube video, their song did a "역주행," and made it to the top of the Korean music charts.

Now, EXID is one of the best-known Korean girl groups, and doing quite well in the entertainment industry. And all for that one video, and the touching story of their "역주행." For many years to come, the word "역주행" will make the Koreans think of EXID. Of course, this word now gets used in the media all the time, and so you could use it to anyone, although the older generation might not know the context.

To finish off, here's what Hani did, when she met the fan who propelled her group to stardom again at a later event:

You can see her recognizing the fan, then mouthing "고마워요!"

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Listening exercise with transcript #2: Let me tell you about the 경상 dialect

On the first listening exercise, I provided the transcript for the first part of a series of two advertisements below. I would like to provide the rest of the transcription today. But before doing so, I need to talk about the dialects ("사투리") of Korea so that you can understand exactly what is going on in that clip.

There are several different dialects in Korea, roughly corresponding with the provinces of Korea, and even within the provinces, there are different dialects corresponding to major cities. Most Korean that you hear on TV is the "standard language" or "표준어," which mostly derives from the Seoul dialect. The Seoul dialect is so close to the standard language that the word "서울말" (서울 + 말 = Seoul language) is often synonymous with the "표준어." However, there are some minor differences!

In your Korean studies, you might have noticed an interesting verb change. The verb conjugation "-(으)려고" signifies your intention to do something. For example, in standard Korean:
"먹다 (to eat)" + "-으려고" --> "먹으려고" (I'm going to eat)
"자다 (to sleep)" + "-려고" --> "자려고" (I'm going to sleep)
However, you might see many Koreans write instead "먹을려고" or "잘려고." This inclusion of "ㄹ" in your verb conjugation derives from the Seoul dialect! But in general, these are minor differences, and the Seoul dialect mostly coincides with the standard language.

The Seoul dialect or the standard language is perceived by the speakers of the other dialects to be gentle and soft (for example, North Korean refugees often remark on just how gentle the Koreans must be, based on their soft accent, or 부드러운 억양.) There are almost no inflections or accents placed in any part of the sentences, and unless the word itself calls for it, no accented strong consonants (such as ㄲ, ㄸ, ㅃ, ㅆ) are substituted.

On the other hand, the 경상 dialect (the major cities using this dialect include 부산 Busan, 대구 Daegu, and 울산 Ulsan, and in Korean we would call it 경상도 사투리) makes heavy use of inflections and strong consonants!

For example, the number "2" and the English letter "E" are both written as "이" in Korean alphabet. So using the Seoul dialect, the two things sound exactly the same. However, in the 경상 dialect, they sound different.

First of all, the inflection is different. The "2" is pronounced at a slightly lower tone than "E." Secondly, while "2" is pronounced in the usual Seoul dialect fashion, "E" is pronounced by trying to make the "ㅇ" a strong consonant by closing your throat completely before releasing the sound (think about the difference between "E" and "Yee.") This distinction enables the 경상 dialect to distinguish the following four mathematical expressions, which the standard Korean speakers cannot do! (Quick note: "a to the power of b" is read "a의 b승" in Korean.) When the Koreans realized this, this blew up the Korean internet for a few days!

Below is a video clip of a speaker of the 경상 dialect pronouncing these four things, compared with the speaker of the standard Korean. Note the strong consonants and a much more exaggerated inflection, not just in these four pronunciations, but also when they are speaking!

By the way, since you cannot describe some of these difference over text, some Korean internet users will use arrows to informally describe the inflectional differences (you might have seen these on the internet!) For example: to pronounce "E," the Koreans will describe its pronunciation as "이↘", signifying that it starts high and ends low. For "2", the right description might be "이→" or "이↗", emphasizing the relative lower starting point of the pronunciation.

Even without these inflections, there are major differences between the standard Korean and the 경상 dialect. For one, 경상 dialect is very short and to the point (leading to the stereotype that the men of 경상도 are the strong and silent type.) For example, it often omits non-essential particles:

"니가 그렇게 하니까 내가 이렇게 하지 (Seoul dialect: It's because you're acting that way that I'm acting like this)" becomes "니 그카이 내 이카지." I first encourage you to read this out loud. Even Koreans won't understand many dialects when it's written out, but usually pronouncing it out loud helps a lot with understanding. The particle "가" is completely suppressed, and only the essential parts of the pronunciation of "그렇게 하니까" seems to have survived!

Another difference that I will mention is that the 경상 dialect uses very few compound vowels, especially the ones such as ㅝ, ㅘ, ㅙ, etc, so "뭐라고? (what did you say?)" would be pronounced closer to "머라꼬?" (note that the ㄱ can become a strong consonant, another characteristic of the 경상 dialect). The people speaking this dialect often has difficulty distinguishing the last names Choi (최) and Chae (채) as well.

Finally, most sentences will end in -다, -라 if it's an assertive sentence, and -나, -노 if it's a question. For example, in Seoul, you may have a dialogue such as "A: 밥 먹었어? B: 응, 먹었어 (Did you eat? Yes, I ate)" while in 경상 dialect, you might hear "A: 밥 뭇나? B: 뭇다." (Again, please read it out loud!)

This is becoming a long post, so without further ado, we turn to the following clip, beginning at 1:26. Here, the two speakers are having a frustrating time, because of the 경상 dialect. First listen, and see how much you can pick up. Try to notice the inflection, the strong consonants, and very short sentences (another characteristic of the 경상 dialect). The transcription and the explanation follows. For some cases, I will provide the corresponding Seoul dialect version as well:

Man: 와? (Seoul: 왜?)
Woman: 오빠, 엄마가 반찬 갖다주란다.
Man: 잘댔네. 이따 올때 내 가면 가온나. (Seoul: 잘됐네. 있다가 올때 내 가면좀 가지고 와.)
Woman: 응? 오빠 가면? 오빠야 니 어디가는데? (Seoul: 응? 오빠 가면? 오빠 어디가는데?)
Man: 머라노? 내가 가긴 어딜가? (Seoul: 뭐? 내가 가긴 어딜 가?)
Woman: 오빠가 니 가면 오라메. (Seoul: 오빠가 방금 오빠가 가면 오라면서.)
Man: 아니, 내 가면 가오라꼬. (Seoul: 아니, 내 가면 가지고 오라고.)
Woman: 그니까. 오빠야 어디가냐고?
Man: 아니, 그게 아니라, 내 가면!
Woman: 그래, 니 가면!
Man: 그래, 내 가면!
Woman: 그래, 니 가면!
Man: 그래, 내 가면!
Woman: 니 지금 내랑 장난하나? 그니까, 니 어디가냐고? (Seoul: 오빠 지금 나랑 장난해? 그러니까, 오빠 어디 가냐고?)
Man: (trying to speak in a Seoul accent) 사랑하는 내 동생 나진아, 이따가 니가 올거잖아, 응?
Woman: 아, 근데?
Man: 그때 내 가면 가 오라고!
Woman: 그니까, 니가 가면 오라메. 그니까 어디가냐고!
Man: 내 가면!
Woman: 어딜?
Man: 가면!
Woman: 어딜?
Man: 가면!
Woman: 어딜?
Man: 가면!
Woman: 아 어딜?
Man: 가면! 가면!

Man: 아우 이게 진짜 오빠한테 진짜!

Man: 이쪽, 이쪽!
Woman: 이쪽?
Man: 아니, 이쪽말이야!
Woman: 아, 쫌!

The issue that is causing the confusion is the fact that the man is using the phrase "내 가면." In standard Korean, this means only one thing, "my mask." However, because the 경상 dialect tends to suppress particles, it picks up a secondary meaning "내(가) 가면," meaning "when I leave."

So while the man is trying to tell his sister "bring my mask when you bring banchan," the sister keeps understanding it in the secondary meaning "bring the banchan when I leave," and wants to know where he's going, leading to massive frustration on both parties. It's a clever ad, no?

As an aside, many speakers of the 경상 dialect would find this advertisement unsatisfactory! It is likely that both actors (the woman for sure!) are not actual speakers of the dialect. In fact, the inflection of "가면" is different for the two meanings, so it would have enabled you to distinguish the two meanings of "내 가면" even with the suppressed particle. To say "mask," the right inflection is "가면↗" while "to go" is "가↘면," so there is a touch of artificiality in the above ad (but most Koreans won't pick up on it, so it doesn't matter, right?)

You could write an entire book about dialects of Korea (and many such books have indeed been written), and these dialects often amuse the internet because even the Koreans themselves are not aware of all of its interesting facts. I hope to write more about the dialects in the future, but in the meantime, if you have any questions, please leave them in the comments and I will be happy to answer them!

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