#137. 방구석 여포 -- Pick on someone your own size!

I spent my early childhood in Korea, when StarCraft and e-sports were on the rise. While I was more interested in K-pop idols such as H.O.T. and Fin.K.L. along with the other girls in my class, most of the boys spent their free time talking about StarCraft strategies. After school, they would go to internet cafes (PC방 in Korea, literally "computer room") and play against each other, and they worshipped pro gamers -- I have never played StarCraft myself, but I still knew that Terran was everyone's favourite mode to play StarCraft in my class, and that the best StarCraft player of the time was Ssamzang ("쌈장", the winner "장" of fights "싸움").

Ah, the good old days. Fin.K.L. was probably my favourite among all Kpop groups when I was a kid!

Needless to say, reading books was not high on the boys' list of priorities. That being said, the book "삼국지" (Romance of the Three Kingdoms) was the only exception to the rule. Every boy (and me!) had read some version of it by the time we were about 10 years old.

Making a literary reference is generally a risky social move, since the other person might not get it, and you'll probably come across as a book nerd (and "not cool" when you're a 10-year-old). But 삼국지 was different. You knew that everyone read it, and even if you hadn't, you heard daily references to the book that you knew about the three men 유비, 관우, and 장비 who swore to be brothers for life in the garden full of peach flowers (weirdly romantic). You knew about the genius strategist 제갈공명 who worked for the three sworn brothers, and the sly 조조 who fought to destroy the three brothers.

Here are some illustrations of the main characters of 삼국지, taken from an abridged version intended for children.

It was also popular among the adults. Having been the bookworm of my class, I had not only read the various versions for children (including a cartoon version!), I also read the version intended for adults, which is a series of 10 books with a serious amount of Hanja in it. It is actually one of the only books in Korean that I still own. There is a saying among the Koreans:

"삼국지를 세 번 읽은 사람과는 상대하지 말라." (Do not get into arguments with those who read 삼국지 three times.)

This is because 삼국지 details the history of three ancient Chinese kingdoms (Wei, Shu, and Wu in English; 위, 촉, and 오 in Korean) that emerged at the end of the Han dynasty (184 AD to 280 AD), and it is essentially an Asian version of the Game of Thrones... except that it actually happened.

The book deals with the intrigue, trickery, heroics, treachery, loyalty, and military strategies of those who were living in the uncertain times when the Han dynasty could collapse any day. It is said that if you read 삼국지 three times, you will be able to recognize anything that people might be scheming against you, because the characters in 삼국지 more or less use all of these against one another.

This is 여포, one of the characters in 삼국지.

여포 is an interesting character in 삼국지. It is said that his contemporaries used to proclaim,

"人中呂布 馬中赤兔 (인중여포 마중적토)" (Among the people is 여포, and among the horses is 적토)

여포, riding his horse 적토, was probably the strongest warrior of his time, so much so that it seemed that anyone who could get him to fight for them was sure to be in the running to be the first emperor of the next dynasty that would rise after Han Dynasty fell. He was such an attractive asset that many people offered to adopt him as a son and heir (adopting someone as a son was much more common in the ancient times, to carry on the family name, and it was also a way to show your complete trust). Aside from his biological father, 여포 was adopted twice, and eventually killed both of his adopted fathers. Brave but ruthless and without conscience, 여포 was feared in battles, and he is described as being able to run through a battlefield as if there was no one else in it, because he would just kill anyone in front of him without a second thought, and no one could actually fight him.

You can probably imagine that young boys would go crazy over this ridiculously strong character who seldom had a match, despite his serious personality flaw, especially if he came out as a video game character. Which he did.

This is 여포 as a video game character. On second thought, I wonder how many of my classmates had actually read 삼국지...

Unlike the Western countries where people mostly move out from their parents' homes when they attend university, Koreans usually live with their parents until they get married -- Korea is a small country, and if you're working or studying within commuting distance from your parents, it is the economical option. This also has the advantage that your parents are likely to be there to support you when you're going through the hard times of your early-to-mid 20s when you're often frustrated and unsure of your future.

The downside (aside from the obvious lack of privacy and possible lack of independence) of this living arrangement is that the easiest targets for taking out your frustration and anger are your parents. This paints a rather sad picture that is not so common in the Western world, where the yet-jobless 20-somethings, frustrated at the stream of rejections, are playing video games in their rooms to escape their reality for a while. Concerned parent looks in, and the 20-something unleashes their frustration at their mom, yelling "LEAVE ME ALONE, I CAN TAKE CARE OF MYSELF."

In Korea, where the Confucianism values still rule the society, this paints a serious ethical problem (and Koreans suspect that rather a large number of people have committed this sin at some point in their lives), and many people make an effort to point this out. In the usual Korean humour, the internauts have also made an attempt to do this. In particular, a very simple post by an internaut drew out a lot of empathy from the others:

First line: "When I'm out meeting other people"
Second line: "When I'm talking to mom at home"

The first photo is 유선, another character in 삼국지 who was known for being weak and meek in personality, and the second photo is obviously 여포. This internaut wanted to satirize the fact that many of these people would not dare to say anything negative in front of others, but that they would be ruthless and cruel like 여포 when they're talking to their mom.

This post led to the creation of the phrase "방구석 여포" (여포 in your room). "방" means "room", and "구석" usually means "corner", although in this case, it is used as a derogatory diminutive (similarly, you can talk about your "집구석" which you can use to refer to your house in a negative way). It mocks the people who are tough only with their mother, while being a complete loser in the eyes of the others. And it is used in precisely this context only (but weirdly often). If you saw a friend who seemed rude to your mom, you could advise:

"방구석 여포 되지 말고, 엄마한테 잘 해드려." (Don't be like a 여포 in your own room; be nice to your mom).

If you saw someone particularly aggressive on the internet that you wanted to insult, you could try:

"방구석 여포같은 새끼야. 엄마 우시는거 안보이냐?" (You little b*tch acting like a 여포 in your own house, can you see that your mom is crying right now?)

Okay, definitely don't use the second phrase in real life. Aside from the bluntness and rudeness of this phrase, I really like this phrase because it is not every day that you see a literary reference used to really insult someone. Furthermore, it points out a pretty unique Korean phenomenon, so it only makes sense that the expression corresponding to it should also be uniquely Korean with no equal English translations!

This phrase is relatively new; I think I heard it for the first time maybe last year, but I am told that among the male users on the internet, this phrase was common since about 2016 (which makes sense since the men are definitely more into 삼국지 than women). Prior to the invention of this phrase, the word "강약약강" was used, which is a shortened form of

"강자 앞에서는 약하고, 약자 앞에서는 강하다." (In the presence of the strong, they are weak, and in front of the weak, they are strong)

which could be used like:

"준호는 전형적인 강약약강형의 인간이야." (Junho is the typical 강약약강 type)

 or

"야, 애들한테 강약약강짓좀 그만해. 보는 내가 다 창피하다." (Stop acting so tough in front of the small kids, and pick on your own size. You're embarrassing me)

This word is still used widely (for example, among women, who rarely seem to make 삼국지 references among themselves), and it also has variations like "강강약약" (strong in front of the strong, and weak in front of the weak).

Anyway, in the wake of COVID-19, hope that you all manage to stay safe. My school has just shut down; maybe I can use the time to read 삼국지 once more in the hopes of becoming invincible. I strongly recommend it!

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#109. 욜로, 골로가다 -- What the YOLO lifestyle will get you in Korea

#YOLO is something of a 2010 phrase in the English language (Drake used it first in 2011). While it is still occasionally used as a hashtag, the feeling that I get is that it is often used ironically.

In Korea, however, the word YOLO (욜로 in Korean) is still going strong. Generally, it takes a while for a foreign word to gain enough popularity, so the word was slow to rise in the Korean culture, so the word became popular after its English counterpart was past its peak, and it started being used in the Korean media around 2017.

Like many English-based slang in Korean, the word 욜로 actually changed its meaning at some point. While the anglophones use the word to justify reckless behaviour, the Koreans use it to describe something slightly different.

For the Koreans, 욜로 is a lifestyle. So, people who pursue this lifestyle are called 욜로족 (the YOLO tribe; the "족" here appears in words such as "가족 (family)," and "부족 (tribe).")

The Koreans who pursue the 욜로 lifestyle tend to live for the moment. These people, mostly in their 20s and 30s, spend most of their earnings on their hobbies. They see their spending as an investment in a better quality of life in their future. They save very little, if at all, and they immerse themselves completely in the activities they enjoy. For example, a 욜로족 might decide to quit their high-paying job and travel around the world until they run out of their savings. Or they might decide to spend thousands of dollars to pursue their ballet hobbies, by taking many lessons. They try to think as little as possible of the consequences of their decisions, because for them, living the moment is just as important as their future.

So, instead of the completely negative and derogatory nuance in the English language, the Korean version of YOLO is a mix of the positive and the negative. I would say that the nuance of "욜로" matches the phrase "carpe diem" much more than "YOLO."

Of course, there are many Koreans that disapprove of this lifestyle, especially among the older Koreans. While reading an article that describes this YOLO lifestyle, I saw a comment that made me laugh out loud. The comment was:

"욜로족 좋아하다 골로족 된다."

If you try to translate this sentence following its nuance, it could translate to something like "if you keep following the YOLO tribe, you'll become a part of the GOLO tribe."

This sentence was so appropriate that even the super-popular Korean celebrity 유재석 (Jae-Suk Yoo) made references to it.

The value of this sentence in this clever construction of the two rhyming words. The writer of this sentence managed to make the connection between the similarities of the two words "욜로" and "골로." So, what does "골로" mean, and why is this an appropriate and witty thing to say on the internet?

Well, the word "골로" in the above sentence (which is not actually a word) comes from the verb "골로 가다," and it actually has a sad history.

The word "골" means "valley." You may have come across this word in "산골짜기" which means a valley in the mountains. Or you may have seen this word in "고랑 (which likely comes from "골앙" although no one knows the exact etymology)," which means furrow (long narrow trench in the ground, to make the water flow through it).

So the verb "골로 가다" means "to go to a valley" (and this is why "골로" is not actually a word; it means "to the valley" and it is an incomplete phrase in the Korean language).

"너 골로가고싶냐?" might be a perfect caption for this photo -- remember how to use the conjugation -냐?

It turns out that this slang comes from the times of the Korean War in the 1950s. Back then, the Korean population was divided into two factions; the heavily left-leaning people (most of whom left to North Korea to see their communist ideals come to fruition), and the heavily right-leaning people (who had the political power right after the Korean War). Both sides tried very hard to kill off the other side. Back in these days, even the smallest act such as giving a bowl of rice to the "enemy" was enough to get you killed by the other side, whichever side that may be.

When one was pegged as the enemy by one of these sides, they would force one into a secluded area, to be shot and killed, then buried quietly. As Korea is a very mountainous place, the easiest choice for a secluded area were in the mountains, and often in the valleys as it would be difficult to escape from a valley. Therefore, back in the 1950s, if someone led you to a valley, you would know that something has gone very wrong, and you would have been fearful of your life.

So people in this era, and the years following it, used the phrase "골로 가다" to (playfully) threaten each other. For example, say that you were doing the dishes, then you slipped and almost broke one of the family heirloom dishes. Your younger brother, who watched the whole thing, might say:

"조심해. 엄마가 알면 골로간다." (Be careful. If mom finds out, she might send you to the valley.)

Or, if you failed your exam badly, you might say:

"나 오늘 집에 가면 골로 갈듯." (When I go home tonight, I might get sent to the valley.)

So, the phrase "골로 간다" means that you f*cked up big time, and your life is at stake (exaggeration, I hope!)

Of course, this phrase doesn't get used that much anymore, as it sounds fairly old-fashioned.

This screenshot is a bit funny; while "골로 가다" has a long history, it is still slang and not totally appropriate to use in a formal setting -- certainly I would not expect a uniformed police officer to use this word!

However, this phrase is so perfect for the situation that I described above, that it made a brief comeback. Now we can understand what this sentence means:

"욜로족 좋아하다 골로족 된다." (If you like the YOLO tribe too much, you might be sent to the valley.)

"골로족" is not actually a word; however, knowing that the suffix "-족" describes a clan or a tribe of people doing the activity in the root word together, the word "골로족" should mean a group of people who are getting sent to the valley (if you think about it, this word is a bit troubling, as many Koreans were indeed massacred in the valleys during and immediately after the Korean War).

So this clever comment is saying that if you try to hard to be in the "YOLO tribe," you might end up in the "GOLO tribe = 골로족," which are the people who get sent to the valley -- that is, the people who screwed up big-time in their lives. Of course, the speaker is trying to say that if you spend without any regards to the future, you will one day be sorry.

Except, the sentence sounds a lot catchy with this clever rhyme of "욜로족" against "골로족." To me, sentences like this really highlight the linguistic abilities of the Korean people -- what a clever yet appropriate witticism!

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#102. 병림픽 -- Battle of idiots

As a child living in South Korea, I was perpetually afraid of the Korean War II. I used to cry at night worried that North Korea will attack South Korea overnight, and that my family would be caught in the middle of it all without any preparations (this is how the first Korean war started -- North Korea invaded South Korea at 4am on June 25, 1950, and South Korea was not prepared for it at all.)

It also didn't help that instead of fire drills, schools used to have air strike drills. We were to hide under our desks, while the loudspeaker would announce possible scenarios about where the North Korean soldiers were, and what we were to do in these situations. Even as a young kid, I was pretty sure that hiding under our desks wasn't going to save us.

We used to call it "공습경보 훈련," and I guess Koreans still do this! (also effective for earthquakes, etc.)

In a sense, the recent events brought back those nightmares for me. While I was immensely relieved that my immediate family and I no longer live in Korea, I was extremely concerned and terrified about my extended family and friends, and all the other innocent Koreans who would be caught between the two nuclear powers -- North Korea and the United States.

But this time, it was frustrating to watch. As someone who really didn't want a war to break out, the exchange between Trump and Kim was terrifying to watch. Trump calls Kim a "Rocket Man," and Kim in turn condemns Trump to death. All the while, they are threatening to push the button. This may have been based in some politics, but to me, it felt stupid and reckless. And one comment I saw online deeply resonated with me. This Korean internet user wrote on one of the US/North Korea articles:

"병림픽이 따로 없네."

Here, "따로 없네" literally means "there is no other." So this above phrase says that there is no other "병림픽," or that whatever is going on between the US and North Korea is the very definition of "병림픽."

So let me explain the word "병림픽." I am normally offended by this word, which is a combination of the Korean insult "병신" and the English word "Olympics" (in Korean, the "s" in "Olympics" somehow got dropped, and Koreans write it as just "올림픽.")

Now, the word "병신" is frequently used in Korean profanity. If your friend asks out a girl who is way out of his league, and gets turned down in a spectacular way, you might say (in way of consolation)

"병신아, 아주 삽질을 했구나?" (You idiot, you totally wasted your time.)

In this usage, the word "병신" is just a friendly derogatory word, just like how you can insult someone without actually meaning it in English.

Now you must be able to guess that the word "병림픽" means an Olympic of the idiots, where two 병신s (in the lighter sense of the word) duel to see who is the bigger idiot (fairly appropriate in the case of Trump and Kim, and you can easily see cases like this in Korean life too, such as in the case of 현피).

However, the word "병신" actually has a clearly established meaning: it comes from two Hanja letters "병" (illness) and "신" (body), so it refers to a body with an illness; i.e. someone who is disabled. No one should use this word in its full meaning, as it is incredibly offensive. Technically, if someone could not walk, you could call them a "다리병신" (since "다리" means leg, it means that the person has an illness in his legs). But remember that "병신" is also an insult in Korean, so you are insulting a disabled person in the worst possible way. You will NEVER see a Korean use such a word in real life (but you might see it in K-drama, or in some old literature, where this usage seems to have been more common, before the word "병신" became a widespread insult.)

And this original meaning of the word "병신" makes the meaning of the slang "병림픽" incredibly offensive. My issue with the word "병림픽" is that in the literal sense of the word, it is in fact synonymous with the Paralympic games.

Here's one other instance where you can definitely use the word "병림픽," to talk about that Olympic game where the figure skater Yuna Kim lost to Adelina Sotnikova. Koreans were so enraged, and I think they still are.

It seems that the Korean population is divided on this issue; some people will be very offended for the same reason that I just explained. But some argue that the word "병신" is not being used to describe the handicapped, and that one should not even be thinking about this real meaning.

In any case, I would refrain from using this word around most Koreans. Among close friends (who you know are foul-mouthed) I can see it being OK; but I would use this word with extreme caution.

In closing, here's a fun fact. The Chinese calendar uses sixty different words to describe each year (these words cycle, so the same name is given to different years spaced 60 years apart.) By this calendar, the word given to the year 2018 is "무술" ("무" means "yellow" and "술" refers to "dog", hence the year of the "yellow (golden) dog.") Similarly, 2017 was 정유년 (year of "red rooster") and 2016 was, amazingly, "병신년" (the year of "red monkey.")

But of course, the more common usage of the word "병신" is the insult for disabled people. To make matters worse, the word "년" has two common meanings; it can refer to the year, but it is also a derogatory suffix for a woman, so that "미친년" is a "crazy b-tch," and "짜증나는년" is an "annoying b-tch." And what was supposed to be "the year of red monkey" because "disabled b-tch." So, 2016 was an interesting year for the Koreans!

Koreans waited for 2016 just for this. It says "We have entered 2016, the year of the monkey," but of course, the more common meaning is "We have entered 2016, the year of the crazy b-tch."

Although the word "병신" have absolutely nothing to do with the insult "병신"as they are based on different Hanja, the Koreans didn't miss this funny coincidence. Not only that, 2016 was the year of the Olympics in Rio, so this Olympic Games was dubbed "병림픽." I guess this is one of the reasons I can't stay away from the Korean internet. They can be ridiculously politically incorrect, but at least you can count on them to be witty and hilarious!

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#96. 오지라퍼 -- your business is my business

The Western society has come a long way.

When I imagine a peaceful medieval town, I imagine a small community of maybe a hundred families. Many of these families probably had children of similar age, and they probably all played together. Their parents probably took turns providing snacks for these children when they got hungry. If one child was not around for a few days, they would be concerned for the child, and also for his parents. They would pay them a visit, and make sure that everything is alright. Maybe they'll bring some bread and soup, just in case. In these towns, everyone would know everyone, and if something happened to one of the families, the news would travel quickly throughout the entire town. If a young couple eloped, the entire town would stop by the parents' house to offer their unsolicited advice.

With time, this familiarity with your neighbours started to fade in the West. Now, the invasion of privacy is a crime. Spreading gossip indiscriminately can be prosecuted as slander. It is impolite to be discussing your neighbours.

The increase of the radius of your personal bubble ensures your privacy. However, with it, you lose the familiarity with your neighbours. You lose the sense of community. And you lose the trust. It's always that if you win some, then you lose some.

The Korean society started out in a very similar way as a Western medieval town.

A very typical imagery for a traditional Korean town. The roof made of hay was extremely common for the middle and lower class families!

While the Koreans grew to value privacy a little bit more, they also clung to the idea that the sense of community, and knowing that your neighbours care about you is still very important. It is still common to have very close neighbours who will stop by unannounced to make sure that your children had snacks while you are out working. They may bring over a portion of their dinner, because they cooked so much and the dinner turned out great. To thank them, you may ask them over to have a bottle of beer. Like the Koreans say, you may get so close to your neighbours that you know how many spoons they have in their household.

But this also means that you are subject to a lot of unsolicited advice. They may have something to add to your spending habits. They might think that your children could do better, if it weren't for your terrible parenting, and take it upon themselves to lecture you on how to raise your children better.

The Koreans have a word for this. When someone sticks their nose in your business one time too many, you can say:

"저사람 정말 오지랖이 넓네." (He has a very wide shirt-front.)

The word "오지랖" doesn't seem to be commonplace in English. We talk about the tail of a shirt, which is the bottom part of the shirt in the back which hangs below the waist. "오지랖" is the corresponding counterpart in the front. If you have a very wide shirt-front, then it will end up covering your pants, leading to an unwise fashion choice. Your shirt is invading the space that rightfully belongs to your pants, just like your annoying neighbour who doesn't know when to leave you alone.

While the grammatically correct idiom is to use it as an adjective "오지랖이 넓다," now "오지랖" itself can be used in many different form. For example, "오지랖" itself can be used as a noun meaning "butting into situations where one is not welcome." For example, in the picture above, the common type of 오지랖s that most Koreans experience are written:

when you're a student, the 오지랖 is whether you're getting good grades;
when you graduate, the 오지랖 is to ask whether you have found a job;
when you're over 30, whether you will marry;
when you marry, that you should have kids;
when you have a son, that you should have a daughter because it's nice;
when you have a daughter, that you should have a son to feel secure;
when you have a son and a daughter, that you should have a third child since two children of different gender (남매) are rarely close to each other;
when you have two sons, that you should have a daughter;
when you have two daughters, that you should have a son;
when you have three kids, that you won't be able to afford having three kids...

It seems incredible, but most Koreans do deal with these kinds of 오지랖! An appropriate response to these unsolicited concerns might be:

"쓸데없는 오지랖이야" (These are useless worries, and none of your business.)

The word "오지랖" itself is completely standard, and you can use it to Koreans of any age (although if you use it to the offending party, they will find it insulting!)

However, the cute neologism popular among the younger Koreans that I have been seeing a lot lately is the word "오지라퍼." And perhaps you can already guess what it means. Well, a "rapper" is a person who "raps," so an "오지라퍼 = 오지랖+er" is a person who doles out generous amounts of "오지랖" to people. As always, the combination of a pure Korean word and an English word has a humorous effect (since it destroys the beautiful Korean language!) so it intensifies the nuance of sarcasm.

It also feels trendy in the sense that the word itself sounds a bit similar to "rapper," almost like "my bro the busybody." This means that you do not want to use this word with your superiors or elders, in case they get offended (although I think most Koreans, except the very elderly who did not have an English education, should understand it). So, if you want to exaggerate your feelings of sarcasm, you could say:

"세호야말로 진정한 오지라퍼야." (Seho is the true busybody, man.)

This has the effect of sounding a bit more vulgar and sarcastic than just saying it in the standard way:

"세호는 오지랖이 참 넓어." (Seho has a very wide shirt-front),

 which sounds relatively polite and almost gentlemanly compared to the slangy sentence using "오지라퍼."

Finally, there is a very similar (and fairly standard) clothing-related slang for "helicopter moms." The helicopter moms tend to hover around their children, and become involved in all of their childrens' businesses. The Koreans call these women "치맛바람," literally meaning "skirt winds." They are so busy chasing their children that their skirts cause wind! :) You can use it in various capacities, such as just as a noun (just like how you would use 오지랖), or you can use it as an adjective by saying "치맛바람이 세다" (her skirt winds are strong), or you can say it as a verb via "치맛바람이 분다." I close this post with three examples:

"요즘 어머니들 치맛바람때문에 못살겠다." (I can't carry on my day-to-day activities these days because of the skirt winds of the helicopter moms.)

"슬기 어머니는 치맛바람이 너무 세서 아이가 불쌍하다." (The skirt winds of Seulgi's mother are too strong that I feel bad for the child.)

"요즘은 학원가에도 치맛바람이 분다." (Nowadays, the skirt winds reach even the hagwons (private academies).) 

If anyone is given the description of "치맛바람" they will of course be annoyed. However, the word itself has become completely standard, appearing in newspapers and other news outlets.

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#94. 지리다 -- so awesome that I peed my pants (or worse)

I stared at the blank screen for nearly half an hour, because after such a long hiatus, I have no idea how to start again.

I guess I should start by apologizing. With my full-time job, I realized that writing a blog frequently was going to be harder than I imagined. The prospect of doing something on a schedule scared me and although this blog was on my mind almost every day, I couldn't bring myself back to it. In fact, I was too afraid to sign into my account for months, for some reason. When I finally signed into my email attached to this blog post, I had so many emails and comments from the readers encouraging me to continue, and I decided that I would give it another shot! :) This blog really is something that I cherish, and I would never let it die completely. So, if you're still subscribed, or if you're still reading this blog (I was surprised that I was still getting a ton of visitors even though I didn't write for three months). Sorry for being away for so long.

Sorry!

Here is a word that seems to have become popular on the Korean internet during the past three months that I was gone. It is mostly used among the 급식 of the Korean internet (that is, immature middle schoolers!) to express their admiration.

Say that you are watching a game tournament (as you should, if you're a proper K-lover!) and one gamer seems to be miles above everyone else. No one is able to even put up a fight against this gamer. Usually these one-sided games are boring to watch, of course, but this gamer is just so otherworldly in his skills that you're past the point of being bored -- you're fascinated and you cannot look away.

Then after a particularly awesome gameplay, you might hear some Korean teenager who was watching the game next to you exclaim:

"와, 저사람 지린다" (Holy shit, that person is f-ing awesome)

His friend might agree with his friend by saying:

"진짜 지렸다 ㅋㅋ 나 지릴뻔" (That really was f-ing awesome. I nearly peed my pants)

As you can tell from this dialogue, the verb "지리다" made its way into the teenage vocabulary in the past few months, and it is used to describe something that is seriously awesome.

This word, unlike many of the trendy slang, is actually not a new word at all. As far as I know, even my grandparents would understand this word if they heard it, because it is a dialect of the Jeolla province in the southwestern tip of the Korean peninsula. Its major cities include Gwangju and Jeonju, and it is known for having particularly delicious food (but it is also home to the famous fermented skate, called 삭힌홍어, that sometimes make its way into the Korean entertainment programs).

In Jeolla province, you can order something like this with 30-40 side dishes for yourself for not that much money, around $20-30 USD (tip/taxes included!)

Anyway, Jeolla province is known for its characteristic dialect. I promise to do a listening exercise on it very soon! But for now, the word "지리다" is a long-standing Jeolla dialect that means "to pee or poop." While I am not from the Jeolla province and I am not sure how it is used there, but from a native Seoulite's perspective. this word carries a negative connotation -- to me, it means to pee or poop in a place where you shouldn't have done so.

For example, if you get very very drunk, and decide to pee in an alley, the Koreans might derisively say:

"걔는 술먹고 담벼락에 오줌지리고있더라" (I saw him get drunk and pee on someone's wall.)

More commonly, and related to the current slangy usage of the word, this verb can be used to describe someone soiling one's pants, like this:

"소영이는 너무 놀라서 바지에 오줌을 지렸다." (Sohyoung was so surprised that she peed her pants.)

Usually not actually this.

In fact, the context above is where the modern usage derives. It is commonly accepted and understood in the Korean culture (much more so than in the western culture) that if you're surprised or frightened, then you soil your pants.

And this particular cultural understanding, along with the hilarious fact that there is a separate verb for peeing in one's pants, is where the modern usage of the word comes from. Now the word "지리다" means that someone (or something) is so frighteningly awe-inspiring that it made the speaker pee his/her pants (or worse!)

Of course, as it is currently very popular in Korea, it doesn't have to be actually awe-inspiring to use this word. It is mostly used in exaggeration. For example, you score an 80% in a test, and your friend who only scored 60% might say:

"너 80점이야? 와 지린다!" (You got 80%? That's f-ing awesome!)

Unfortunately, the adults, knowing the meaning of the word, very rarely (if at all) would use this word, and it is popularized only among the very young -- if I had to guess, college students would already view this word to be fairly immature. While it is not a particularly offensive word (as it is ultimately a compliment), I imagine that most people are not excited to evoke the imagery of themselves in soiled pants. However, used in the appropriate situations, it could bring out some explosive reactions -- no pun intended!

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#90. 박쥐 -- You're an opportunist

Browsing the Korean internet, and not having contact with real Koreans often always puts me under the impression that the Koreans are the most vulgar, foul-mouthed human beings that ever graced the surface of the earth. But then I meet the Koreans in person, and they are pretty much the polar opposite of what you expect from your interactions with them online.

In particular, the one thing that always shocks me is that the Koreans are amazingly literate. People often quote a random piece of literature as a part of their everyday conversation, and they are not always well-known from the anglophone point of view.

This past weekend, I was spending time with a good Korean friend who lives in New York City. The city traffic is always crazy, but we had a number of annoying situations where the cyclists refused to stop for pedestrians while our light was green. After we had one too many of these run-ins with the cyclists, my friend exclaimed in exasperation,

"진짜 박쥐가 따로 없네" (I'm having a hard time telling them apart from the bats!)

The Korean word for "bat" is "박쥐." It is said that this word originates from "박 (comes from "밝" as in "눈이 밝다" which means "to have sharp eyes," which makes sense since they fly around at night)" + "쥐 (rat)." So "박쥐" literally means "rats that can see well" in Korean.

This reference, which most Koreans will immediately get, comes from one of the stories in Aesop's Fables. The story goes that there was a huge war between the birds and the beasts. The bat, not wanting to get stuck with the losing side, watched the progress of the battles and eventually decided that the beasts were likely to win. So he folded up his wings and joined the beasts, convincing them that they were cousins of rats.

But then the situation turned and the birds began gaining major advantage. So the bat abandoned the beasts and went over to the birds, convincing them that since he had wings, he was one of the birds. Unfortunately for the bat, the war ended in a truce, and the animals found out that the bat had been attaching himself to the winning side. As a result, the bat was shunned by both beasts and the birds, and was forced to go into hiding, only coming out at night when everyone is asleep.

So, as this story stuck in many Koreans' minds, they began calling someone who changes sides based on what he can gain from it a "박쥐." For example, if your friend ditches your group and joins another group that has the smartest person in your class, you could call him

"박쥐같은 놈" (A bastard who acts like a bat.)

While this is certainly an insult, it lacks vulgarity! I mean, it's hard to bring vulgarity into speech when you're quoting literature, and the listener won't be as offended as he could be -- as long as it's not a direct insult, it could be used even in polite company.

So, why do the Koreans end up referencing literature so much? I think it's because of the Korean education system. As there is exactly one standardized exam each year that gets you into college, the school curriculum is extremely standardized. This means that the Koreans grow up reading the same books. Koreans also tend to emphasize studying a lot more than most other countries, so the amount of these books read is a lot more than other countries (for example, my Canadian high school required us to read two books together, and two books individually each year -- but even the recommended books varied by teachers.)

I suppose if you're confident that your listener also read the book that you're about to reference, then there is no reason to do it! And Korea's centralized education seems to have succeeded in injecting a little bit of class into the Koreans' everyday life.

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#88. 하드캐리 -- Playing the hero

When people start introducing foreign language into their own language, mistakes invariably happen. For example, apple pie à la mode should mean "fashionable apple pie" but we use it to mean "apple pie with ice cream." And what about words like maître d' which makes no sense in French?

When I hear the Korean word "하드캐리," I feel that this is a bunch of mistranslations rolled into a single word. This word is often used in gaming communities (it is said that this word originated from League of Legends), to describe someone who played a crucial role in leading the team to victory. Its verb form is "하드캐리하다."

So for example, you can say:

"이번 게임은 니가 하드캐리했다." (You pretty much won this game for us.)

 This usage within a game has been expanded into various other situations in life. For example, if a particular comedian is full of hilarious 드립 and makes an entire episode of the entertainment clip alive, then you can also say:

"이번회는 그 코메디언이 완전 하드캐리했네." (That comedian really made this episode.)

The origins of this word is admittedly a bit random. It seems that this word has English as its origin, as in "hard carry." The word "carry" comes from the newspaper articles that sound like this:

While the word "carry" is not an essential part of headlines such as this, it seems that the Korean gamers decided to focus on the word, and brought it over to Korean. So in the Korean gamer language, it means "to lead to victory."

There are a couple of hypotheses about the word "hard." One says that it is supposed to be an adjective to "carry" to emphasize it, so "hard carry" should mean that someone really lead the team to victory. Another hypothesis says that this used to refer to the team members who were weak at the beginning, but became stronger (=hard in the Korean mistranslation... oops!)

As far as its usage goes, it seems that most young-ish people tend to understand it, as it sometimes even makes an appearance as the subtitles of entertainment shows. With the older generation, however, it may just lose its meaning, although it is in no way offensive.

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#86. 의문의 1승 -- How Koreans do sarcasm

Let me begin this post by talking about one of the Korean soccer heroes.

The name of this dreamy man is 안정환 (Jung-Hwan Ahn). He scored the most number of goals (3) in the Korean history during World Cup over his career. And he is considered to be one of the most good-looking soccer players in Korea. Despite looking like he grew up like a prince, his family was very poor and dysfunctional, so his grandmother raised him (he was so poor that he begged on the streets when he was young, and had never tasted an orange before he was selected to the national youth soccer team.) Even after his debut as a professional soccer player, his team manager was greedy and did not give him a good salary.

Despite all the trials and tribulations of his life, he still managed to be an extremely successful soccer player, who holds an iron-clad 까방권, and a hero of many Koreans.

안정환 often appears on TV shows after his retirement. Times have flown, but he is still a good-natured 아저씨 with a great sense of humour!

Then there is your friend, who just openly cheated in her exams. She talks about how poor her family is, how she would lose her scholarship if she failed this exam, and so on. You soon get sick of listening to her self-justifying excuses.

While you'd love to say something, unfortunately you are currently in Korea. It turns out that the Koreans are incredibly polite. Sure, they may push and shove strangers in the subway, but between the people who are actually acquaintances, you see almost no displays of rudeness. Most Koreans prefer to avoid confrontations and take a small personal loss, and standing up for oneself seems rarer than in North American culture.

So, you don't want to say things like:

"그래도 컨닝은 나쁜거야." (But cheating is wrong nonetheless -- Koreans say 컨닝 (cunning) for cheating.)

This makes you sound like you are engaging in a bit of 선비질, which Koreans generally don't appreciate. You also don't want to say things like:

"이세상에 너만 있냐?" (Do you think you're the only one living in the world?)

This is far too direct for most Koreans' tastes. As the Koreans tend to walk away from fights (often saying that both sides are terrible), this attitude won't win you any friends, either.

 

It seems frustrating, but there are probably many reasons for doing this. They probably don't want to be the subject of gossip -- Koreans really hate to stand out as the community is valued above the individual. The consequences of confrontations could be greater in the Korean culture as well -- stand up to your manager who wants you to put in an extra hour's work tonight? You might become a 왕따 in your company. Between losing an hour's sleep and having none of your coworkers speak to you, I would probably choose to not stand up for myself and just do that hour's work, too.

As a result, any behaviour that could result in burned bridges or social repercussions is highly discouraged in the Korean society (and many people would make these choices by themselves without pressure, because they have probably seen the consequences of the alternative).

This doesn't mean that the Koreans aren't sarcastic people. In order to create good sarcasm, you need it to be more obscure, and you need a lot more humour. 

So what is the best course of action for venting your frustration? I think a reasonable action taken by many Koreans is to first walk away from the girl (creating the setup for 왕따), then making a light and obscure about her online. Don't vent all of your anger, don't obsess, just say it once and move on, people will remember. Here is a lighthearted remark that gets used often online:

"안정환 의문의 1승이네 ㅋㅋ" (It looks like a mysterious score 1 for Jung-Hwan Ahn).

Basically, you pulled out the obscure fact that 안정환 had a childhood even more difficult than your friend; either this reference will lose some people, or it will evoke such strong comparison that it will convince your listeners that your friend is complaining about nothing.

Furthermore, it is a humorous remark, as you are randomly entering your friend into a match against the Korean soccer god. As it's funny, most Koreans won't feel so uncomfortable at this, they will laugh and move on, secretly harboring their discontent deep inside them, taking solace in the knowledge that someone else also hates her for cheating.

There are other instances where you can use this slang. In K-pop, idol groups have a fairly short lifespan. They sign a contract for seven years, and by the time seven years are up, they are either fed up with the entertainment industry, their company, or with themselves. Most of them are ready to disband, and they do.

This is the K-Pop group called 신화, Shinhwa.

In this case, you could make a remark such as:

"신화 의문의 1승" (It looks like a mysterious score one for Shinhwa)

 The K-Pop group Shinhwa (신화) debuted in 1998 and they are still going strong, setting a great example that most other groups fail to follow. So every time some group fails to follow in their footsteps, Koreans like to say that Shinhwa has yet again triumphed.

As this is getting to be a pretty long post already, I will return to this post in the near future to talk about a few more funny examples, but feel free to experiment and pull out some obscure references! It will be cool if someone gets it, and if no one gets it, it'll be a conversation starter.

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#84. -냐 -- Conjugation of the badass tough bros

For the first time, I want to talk about how to conjugate verbs in a slangy way. You have probably noticed that there are countless ways of conjugating a Korean verb, and each conjugation has a slightly different nuance. For example, "피곤하다 (to feel/be tired)" can be conjugated in various ways, including:

"피곤하세요?" (Are you tired?) -- to elders and superiors

"피곤해?" (Are you tired?) -- to friends and younger people

"피곤하신가봐요." (It seems that you are tired) -- to elders and superiors

"피곤하구나." (I see you are tired) -- to friends and younger people

"피곤하시겠어요." (You must be tired) -- to elders and superiors

"피곤하겠다" (You musts be tired) -- to friends and younger people

Here is one more way to conjugate this verb, and you probably didn't learn it in classes (although what do I know, I have never taken a Korean class!) This conjugation has two usages, so let me give scenarios for both.

A friend of yours that you have a huge crush on is yawning and dozing on the bus. She must have spent all of last night studying again. You want to cheer her up a little, so in the classic K-drama style, you take out a can coffee (yes, you can buy coffee in a can in Korea), and approach her. You want to give it to her, but you don't want to look like a clingy and weak person who is hopelessly in love with her. Rather, you convince yourself that you don't even care about that girl, but you happen to have this can coffee that you don't even want to drink, and since she looks like she might need it, you're going to give it to her. Because you're a generous person. No other reason. So you tap her on the shoulder, and say:

"피곤하냐?" (You tired?)

 Then you hold out your coffee and give her a quick smile. Perfectly executed.

Awww.

You're playing the part of a tough person who doesn't have a care in the world, and it turns out that this "-냐" conjugation works very well in this context. It conveys extreme familiarity (so don't use this conjugation to your elders and superiors), as well as the air of nonchalance and manliness(!) So, a lot of men use this conjugation in front of girls that they know well, as well as within their close friend group. Women very rarely use this conjugation; this conjugation is perceived as fairly masculine, and women might feel offended if a fellow woman uses this conjugation towards another woman. If you think about it, this kind of nonchalant bro-feeling is conveyed more often among men even in the English language!

Some other examples of this conjugation (among male friends):

"이번 주말에 뭐하냐?" (Yo, what are you doing this weekend?)

"안자냐?" (Dude, aren't you sleeping?)

"밥 먹었냐?" (Hey, have you eaten already?)

And all of these convey that familiar nonchalant bro-y feeling.

Now, here is the second usage of this conjugation. As a manager of a company, you are in charge of several employees. But you can't seem to deal with this one employee. He is frequently late to work, his productivity is way down, and he falls asleep during meetings.

One day, you are so angry, but you try to suppress your anger and talk to this employee in a reasonable way. While you are trying to tell him nicely that he should not fall asleep during meetings because it is rude to his fellow employees, this employee, incredibly, falls asleep again.

You are livid. Is this a direct challenge? Does he even realize that you're his boss?

In a menacing low tone, you ask one last time:

피곤하냐? (So you're tired, huh?)

The undertone that is omitted here is something like "Are you trying to challenge me?" or "Do you want to get fired?"According to gender stereotype, male language is of course more aggressive and straightforward. So it makes sense to be aggressive using this masculine conjugation.

You can also threaten people in other ways using this conjugation:

"죽고싶냐?" (Do you have a death wish?)

"맞고싶냐?" (Do you want to be punched?)

Of course, depending on context, these above quotes could be interpreted as just being playful between friends. But these contexts are so different from one another that you won't make many mistakes distinguishing them. So, listen for these conjugations amongst your friends, and try sprinkling a dose of masculinity to your everyday Korean dialogues!

P.S. Also, you know, I'm all for gender equality, but there are some things that you just have to acknowledge; there are clear male conjugations and female conjugations in Korea, and I can't explain it any other way! The issue of male/female conjugations have been brought up in Korea a few times (many novelists use gendered conjugations), and maybe one day they will disappear. However, this gender divide still exists, and I decided that I wasn't going to pretend that it didn't exist.

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#80. Someone tweeted about a 맘충

Today, while browsing the internet, I saw a tweet, in which someone complains about a 맘충 that they encountered. It seemed to have just the right amount of slang that I thought I would put it here.

Here is the text:
와 진짜 골때린다 ㅋㅋㅋ
Wow, I really feel like I've just been hit in the head.

요즘 애엄마들 다 그러나?
Are all moms like this nowadays?

남의 가게 메뉴꾸며놓은 칠판에 애가 낙서하고있는데 거기다대고 "어머~ 참잘했어요~"
Her kid was ruining the menu board for someone else's store and she said "wow~ good job~"
(Note that the writer made one typo, saying 낚서 instead of 낙서.)

ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ 왘ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ
"왘" is actually "와" but if you type "와" and "ㅋㅋㅋ" together, you often end up with "왘." It just means "wow."

닥치고 니가 그대로 복구해놔라
Shut up and put it back yourself.

Hopefully studying the Korean slang made this tweet easier to understand!

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#79. 파오후 -- You are f-ing obese (not my words, theirs!)

Another shout-out to Shane for suggesting covering more onomatopoeic words! :)

This had not occurred to me before Shane asked me about the Korean onomatopoeia in one of my other posts -- the Korean language is full of onomatopoeia, compared to English! For example, the following sentences all use onomatopoeia and they are sentences that you would often hear in everyday life.

"먹을때 쩝쩝대지 마." (Don't chew with your mouth open -- "쩝쩝" is onomatopoeia for the sound that you make when you do)

"이 수학문제를 가지고 한시간째 끙끙대고 있어." (I've been struggling with this math problem for an hour -- "끙끙" is the sound that you might make when you're struggling with a heavy weight at the gym. Math problems make you suffer just as much, right?)

"물결이 찰랑대는 호수가 너무 예쁘다." (The lake with small waves is so beautiful -- "찰랑" is the onomatopoeia for the small sloshing of water. For a larger wave, you might use "출렁" instead.)

These onomatopoeia occupy a large portion of the Korean language, and while we, the anglophones, might use these words to a toddler to engage in conversation, these are totally normal words to use in Korean. This brings up the question, how about on the internet? Do the Koreans also make up new onomatopoeia?

The answer is a loud YES. Looking through my previous posts, I have talked about one instance of onomatopoeia here (the word is "철컹철컹" which describes the clanking of handcuffs, and also describes how you might be locked up in a jail cell with a lock). Perhaps this is not totally satisfactory since "철컹철컹" is an onomatopoeia that already existed in standard Korean. But here is one that you might find to be more amusing (or more offensive, as is the case with most internet literature!)

Long before YouTube was a thing, Koreans already had a platform where people could have their own channels, and create video content that was broadcasted live. The website still exists. But it often comes under fire because a lot of people there create questionable content (for example, minors trying to create sexual content for the money, or adults trying dangerous stunts), and the censorship is not well enforced for the most part.

Anyway, one of these broadcasters, who was known for being overweight, was one day streaming a video of himself eating. He made some interesting noises during the broadcast, which, to Koreans, seemed like the sound that people make when they are very enthusiastic about food (and this is an awful stereotype, but a fair number of these people are overweight).

When he inhales the food, it sounds like he's breathing in and saying "파오후," and when he chews, he makes a sound very similar to "쿰척쿰척," listen for yourself and see if you agree that this sounds like a fair representation of the eating sounds that the broadcaster is making.

So the Koreans started making fun of obese people with the phrase "파오후 쿰척쿰척." First when they were eating food, but then it just kind of became a phrase to mock the obese people of the internet. In the current usage, "파오후" just became a noun for "an obese person," and "쿰척쿰척" became an onomatopoeia describing anything that an obese person does. (Another theory says that "파오후" refers to the sounds of breathing of an obese person, and "쿰척쿰척" is the sound of sniffling, so you are free to believe whichever theory suits your imagination!)

At this point, I can imagine your reactions. You are gasping in shock, because this is incredibly insensitive and mean-spirited. And I agree with you; Korean internet users tend to be a lot more vitriolic than their anglophone counterparts.

One of the reasons this is tolerated is because the Korean society is a lot less forgiving towards the people who stand out. This is really how the unfortunate tradition of 왕따 started, where people attempt to punish those who stand out by not acknowledging their existence, or with open hostility.

Another reason is that these kinds of words get made up in what you might call the garbage dumps of the Korean internet -- namely DC Inside and ilbe.com, where they are notorious for their blatant disregard for the social norms. A lot of people hide the fact that they have accounts on these websites (for the fear of being ostracized), but I guess a lot of people still use these communities, as they are still one of the most popular internet communities of Korea. These slang words end up becoming mainstream either through these secret users slipping up and using them in real life, or by the non-users, who try to use these new neologisms to insult the users of DC Inside and ilbe.com (as the internet communities always seem to be at war with one another.)

Finally, the default assumption of the Korean internet users is that whoever you are interacting with on the internet is the biggest loser imaginable (as this makes it easier to insult them). They are probably losers with no jobs, ugly or deformed, never dated, and probably went to a 지잡대. Also, they are probably morbidly obese. So it is not unusual to see insults of the kind

"이 파오후새끼야, 쿰척쿰척하지말고 가서 알바라도 해." (You f-ing pig, stop being a fat loser and get a part-time job)

Regardless of they are actually obese or not. (Of course, they also get used correctly to mock obese people.)

So there you have it, probably the first truly mean Korean internet slang that I've covered in this blog. This only touches the surface of what some of the Korean internet users are capable of, though (and if this scares you, you should stay far away from DC Inside and ilbe.com, and a few other communities!) And please, do not use these words in real life!

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#78. 아닥 -- Shut your pie hole

If you've spent time around any Korean media at all, chances are good that you know the most used Korean expression for "shut up!" That expression is:

"닥쳐!" (Shut up)

and it is literally identical to "shut up." According to 국립국어원 (National Institute for the Korean Language), the word "닥쳐" originally comes from "닫쳐," which means "to shut (things like doors, etc.)" This word has been widely used for generations, but there is actually a trendier slang going around the younger generation of Korea.

Suppose that you were in a group project with a couple of your friends together. They all slack off, and you end up having to pull an all-nighter to pick up the slack and complete the project on time. When the time comes for you to submit it, your groupmates show up and take a quick look at what you've done, and they start criticizing your work. Your font isn't professional. Your content could have been better researched. Suppressing the urge to punch them in the face, you say:

"나한테 죽빵맞기싫으면 당장 아닥해라." (Unless you want to be punched in the face, shut your pie hole right now.)

 So, "아닥" is short for "아가리 닥치다," and since the verb ending has been suppressed, you use "아닥하다" as its verb form (in particular, Koreans don't use "아닥치다" which seems more logical!)

The word "아가리" is an old Korean word that is probably a little bit too old even for our grandparents -- their parents and their grandparents might have used this word to denote the mouth of a jar, or the entrance to a village. And just like in the English usage, this word has long been used as a slang to denote our mouths. For example, if someone has a foul mouth, Koreans might say:

"아가리에 걸레물었냐?" (Do you have a rag in your pie hole?)

So both "아가리" and "닥치다" are fairly vulgar slang words, but Koreans managed to combine them to into yet another word that should be at least as vulgar. However, this word came into usage in the last few years, so among the younger generation, it is used fairly commonly, not only for the literal usage of "shut up" but also for the situations where you have nothing to say. For example, if you were debating with someone and your opponent was so logical that you can't think of anything else to say, you might concede defeat in a slangy and vulgar way by saying:

"니 논리가 나를 아닥하게 만드네." (Your logic made me shut up.)

In general, it seems that the most vulgar of the Korean slang are exclusively reserved for the internet. Then the next tier of vulgar words are used mostly by Korean men, then there are the mildly vulgar words used by everyone. I can easily visualize even the Korean women using this word as well, among close friends or on the internet.

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#77. 현피 -- Korean gamer drama gone wrong

The gaming community (of which nearly every Korean is a member) always carries a lot of potential for drama. People put in years, if not decades, of effort into their characters, and it is so easy to lose all of that in a heartbeat if someone sets their mind on it. So "keyboard battles" (키보드 배틀, or 키배 for short) where people insult each other via chat are a daily occurrence in the Korean internet.

Well, everyone fights, you say. And you would be right. However,  there is one thing that is unique about the Korean gamer drama.

Remember that Korea is a tiny country. For context, South Korea is about 1/3 the size of Germany, and about 1/5 the size of California. And the majority of the Korean population lives in Seoul. This means that if you get so upset at your opponent in a 키배 that you want to punch him, that can be easily arranged.

The Koreans would say,

"너 나와! 나랑 현피뜨자!" (Come out, let's have a 현피).

The word "현피" and its verb form "현피뜨다" comes from combining "현실" (real life) and "PK" which is a gaming word for "Player Kill." So you get "현P" which gets written as "현피" in Korean. It literally means that two gamers want to meet in real life to kill each other (instead of killing each other's characters online.) You can substitute "real-life player kill" for "현피" and it would be a pretty accurate translation.

By the way, this is one of the reasons that makes the Korean internet so unique in my opinion. It feels so much more "real" than say, American internet.

In reality, no blows were exchanged in this 현피.

 Anyway, you are probably wondering, why on earth would you agree to a real-life fight?

Well, I can think of two major reasons.

The first is that most Korean internet users tend to assume that everyone on the internet is a huge loser. They are probably weak, they were probably bullied in school, they probably don't have a job or a girlfriend, they probably mooch off of their parents. Of course they are going to win if they fight in real life.

The second is, of course, peer pressure. Koreans tend to value community over the individual, so compared to an average North American, Koreans tend to be a lot more aware of what is going on around them. In general, they seem more susceptible to peer pressure as well. Once a major 키배 breaks out, a lot of people are watching them fight and exchange brave words, and they are egging them on. Once the word "현피" is uttered, it would be majorly embarrassing to back down!

It's not incredibly frequent that a 현피 takes place, so when it does, it provides a major 떡밥 to the internet community. Word travels quickly that something is happening in real life, and since all communications leading up to the 현피 are done publicly, hundreds of thousands of people end up knowing the time and the location of a 현피. You are very likely to have a spectator if you ever engage in it.

Often it ends up with a hilarious result. In one instance, one riled-up internet user accepted the challenge of 현피 just to see that his opponent was a kid in elementary school; in another case, two internet users met up to fight, only to realize that they were far too overweight to actually fight in earnest (and to their mortification, a sizeable audience had gathered); and sometimes they get stood up by their opponent.

I would discourage you from engaging in a 현피, however, since some of the spectators will probably record the interaction and you will be forever remembered in a gif ("움짤" in Korean, which comes from "움직이는 짤방" or "moving pictures"). Most likely you will be doing a lot of 이불킥 when you think about it in a couple of years! Then there are the couple of rare cases where someone actually ends up being killed, although those are incredibly rare, maybe one or two cases in the history of Korean internet have been known to the public.

However, if you ever see people actually organizing a 현피, grab some popcorn and stick around -- they are pretty rare, and chances are, you are witnessing the birth of yet another page of Korean internet literature!

As for when to use this word in real life... I guess you wouldn't really. The only cases where I can think of using this word is maybe when you're texting your friend and you playfully challenge them to a fight. This is definitely a word among the younger generation, though!

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#76. 통수 맞다 -- Backstabbed

Even at the worst of times, there is always an unspoken code of honour that one must abide by. You may be so angry that you are seeing red in front of your eyes, but you just don't hit your opponent below the belt. If you do, your actions are ridiculed by the onlookers of being a "low blow."

You also don't attack someone without a fair warning if there is no provocation. In particular, you don't strike when they are not paying attention to you without a good reason. If you do, you are "backstabbing" someone.

Koreans also have this code of honour, but their expression is a bit peculiar.

The back of our heads is called "뒤통수" in Korean.  The etymology is not totally clear, although "뒤" is a Korean word for "back," and "수" is Chinese for "head." The letter "통" is a bit confusing, and no good explanation seems to exist. But "통" in Korean means "a container," and I guess that's what our heads are!

This is your 뒤통수.

The back of our heads is a pretty awkward thing to try to protect. There really aren't any good ways to do that. We also know that it's a pretty important part of our body, because if you fall backwards and hit your head, you're definitely looking at a lengthy recovery, assuming that it didn't kill you first!

If someone hit you in the back of your head, then

1. you were not expecting an attack like that at all, and
2. it really hurt.

So, when someone cruelly backstabs you in a way that you didn't expect at all, say your little brother decided to tattle on your mom about your secret stash of games that you were forbidden to play, then you might say:

어제 동생한테 뒤통수 맞았어 (My little brother hit me in the back of the head yesterday.)

And your little brother is probably telling his friends all about how he got you in trouble by saying:

어제 우리 형 뒤통수쳤어 ㅋㅋ (Yesterday I hit my older brother in the back of his head.)

This is a fairly common and accepted expression across all generations in Korea. Now, you can try to add a touch of vulgarity by changing the word "뒤통수." It's a three-letter word, which reminds us of a Korean name (for example, 권지용, Ji-Yong Kwon, is a typical Korean name, and it has three characters.) If you wanted to call this name in an informal, familiar name, then you omit the last name "권" (Kwon) and just call the person by their first name "지용."

You can do the same thing with the three-letter word "뒤통수." Just pretend that "뒤" is a last name, and "통수" is the first name. Instead of saying "뒤통수 맞다 (be hit in the back of the head)," you could try to say "통수 맞다," or "통수 치다." While the meaning is clear to everyone, now this becomes an expression that you want to use with your friends, and probably not with your boss.

This kind of construction has almost identical nuance as saying bro instead of brother, or 'rents instead of parents, although I'd say that the degree of vulgarity added by omitting a syllable is a bit harsher in Korean.

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