#106. 응/ㅇㅇ/웅 -- How to say "yes" without being offensive

The Korean language has countless number of conjugations that you can apply to any verb. These conjugations do not change according to the subject; rather, the change of these conjugations reflect the change of mood in the sentence. For example, there are many ways to translate "Eat this" using the informal tone:

"이거 먹어" (Eat this; imperative)

"이거 먹어봐." (Try this; strongly suggestive)

"이거 먹어볼래?" (Do you want to try this?; weakly suggestive)

"이거 먹어줘." (Please eat this; strong request)

"이거 먹어줄 수 있어?" (Could you eat this for me?; weak request)

"이거 혹시 먹어줄 수 있어?" (Could you possibly eat this for me?; careful weak request)

"이거 혹시 먹어봐줄 수 있어?" (Could you possibly try eating this for me?; very careful weak request) 

Very small changes to the verb can completely change the meaning of a sentence. This makes the Korean language very ambiguous; even if what someone said sounded rude, you have to wonder whether they actually meant to be rude, or if they misspoke. This also makes the Koreans hyper-aware of nuance of the language.

In Korean, we call this "어감," or the feeling ("감," as in "감정 emotion" or "예감 premonition") of the words ("어," as in "단어 word" or "영어 English language"). It is very important to choose the words that convey the right "어감." One wrong conjugation, and you might inadvertently offend the listener. As such, we have many proverbs that describe the importance of nuance.

"말 한 마디가 천냥빚을 갚는다." (One phrase can repay the loan of a thousand gold coins; around $400k USD, if you must know!)

Another proverb goes:

"아 다르고 어 다르다." ("아" is different from "어"; the smallest things make a difference in nuance.)

This one is, of course, harder to translate. It is simply saying that while the two korean vowels "ㅏ" and "ㅓ" are very similar in looks and sounds, depending on where you apply it, it can make a difference. For example, "이거 먹어" and "이거 먹어봐줄수 있어?" have very different 어감 to the listener. While the first is an order, the second conveys that the speaker respects my wishes, and that the speaker is afraid of offending me with this (probably innocuous) request.

Koreans are exposed to these subtle nuances from birth; so these two requests are likely to bring out very different reactions in Koreans, much more so than the Westerners. And so the Koreans often obsess over what seems like a useless point.

Today, I was browsing the Korean online forum "Pann," whose users are primarily schoolgirls in their teens (but women of all ages frequent this website). There, I saw an amazing comment by one of the users, who was agonizing over how to answer in the affirmative to friends on Kakaotalk (the Korean version of texting.) Here is her text:

She writes,

"Everyone, saying "응" feels like I'm standoffish or not friendly enough, and "엉" sounds like I'm not putting enough thought into it. Is it just me? I'm not so sure. Then "웅" sounds like I'm trying to be cute, "앙" is even worse, and "옹" is Sungwoo. Is "응응" the best...?"

Here, "응," "엉," "웅," "앙," "옹," and "응응" are just some of the different ways the Koreans say "yes" when texting. Over time, each of these words, while meaning exactly the same thing, gained nuances (or 어감) of their own. And now the Koreans must pay attention to what subtle undertone they are conveying besides saying "yes."

While saying "응" is grammatically the most correct, she fears that this feels too formal and standoffish; because it is too correct, it is not giving off enough of the friendly vibe.

"엉" indeed gives off the vibe of not paying enough attention into the conversation. It used to be the case that a lot of men would respond "어" in order to say "yes," and when they didn't have much else to say. In conforming with the international stereotype that men are bad at texting, the male version of "yes" also got the nuance that not enough attention is being given to the conversation at hand. Although one can improve it a little by adding the extra "ㅇ," it feels like an afterthought after you have already responded with the "male yes."

As an aside, an even worse way to say "yes" is "ㅇㅇ." A lot of Korean males will use this to say "yes" to their annoying little sisters, or very close male friends, for example! And what a terrible nuance; they can't even be bothered to move their hands away from the keyboard to press different keys.

"웅" and "앙" are mostly used by women, when they are trying to say "yes" to their boyfriends, in an effort to show aegyo. So it does seem a little bit too much to be using this to your female friends!

And then she makes a tiny joke that "옹" (which you could use to say "yes" but is not super common) is "Sungwoo" -- "옹성우" is a Korean celebrity who is currently a member of the boy band Wanna One. He is known for his shockingly good looks, and his extremely unique last name "Ong." Because of his popularity, the syllable "옹" will evoke in the minds of the listeners the singer Ong Sungwoo -- especially if the listener is a teenage girl!

This man shocked the nation with his good looks in the reality program Produce 101 Season 2; he was selected to be in the boy band by placing in the top 11 out of 101 contestants.

Finally, she settles for "응응." Enough grammar has been broken that she is not putting unnecessary distance between herself and the lucky recipient of her thoughtful "yes"; she is not trying too hard to be cute, and since she wrote TWO letters for a simple "yes," she is clearly engaged in the exchange!

Such is the stress of being a native Korean speaker -- for a Korean, nuance is everything.

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#103. 대나무숲 -- Tell me your secrets

It must be human nature to want to talk about your deepest secrets. Relationship troubles, secret crushes, and inner turmoil. Some of us pour our hearts out to our closest friends, some of us to our dear diaries. Yet some others, wanting impartial feedback and advice, turn to anonymous online forums. Whatever your method of choice may be, there is the feeling of relief and catharsis after having gotten something off your chest.

Koreans are no exception to this rule, and this is well-documented in our history.

There was a king in Unified Silla (remember that the three kingdoms were unified thanks to the efforts of the General 김유신) named 경문왕 (King Gyeongmoon). While he is not a notable king in terms of politics or military tactics, he leaves behind many mysterious legends. One says that whenever he slept, hundreds of snakes appeared out of nowhere and formed a blanket across his body. When his surprised servants tried to chase them away, the king stopped them, telling them that he couldn't sleep as well without the snakes. Another says that he is the father of 궁예, whose terrible reign led to the downfall of Unified Silla and to the establishment of the Koryo Kingdom (고려).

 But the most popular story of all says that 경문왕 developed very long ears shortly after becoming king, like those of a donkey. Even circa 850, people were insecure of their appearances, it seems, and this was a very well-guarded secret, as the king never took off his crown-hat.

Really?

 Even the servants and his wives didn't know about it, and the only one who knew was his hat-maker, as he had to take off his crown-hat to get his measurements taken when it was time for a new hat.

For what it's worth, I always imagined that his hat was slightly bigger than his actual size, so that he could stick his ears into the hat!

While the poor hat-maker tried his best to keep this a secret, legend has it that he started getting sicker and sicker from not being able to get this secret off his chest.  Eventually unable to bear it any longer, he went to a bamboo forest (which was fairly common in Korea) nearby, and yelled out into the forest his deepest secret:

"임금님 귀는 당나귀 귀!" (The ears of our king (임금님) are donkey (당나귀) ears!)

Bamboo groves are usually fairly dense, and uninhabited.

But ever since days, whenever the winds rustled through the leaves, it seemed to the listeners that the leaves were whispering the secrets of the king, saying that "임금님 귀는 당나귀 귀." So the rumours spread, and eventually even made it into history books of the Unified Silla era! It is said that eventually the king got wind of it, and ordered to have all of the bamboo cut down. The bamboo grove was replaced by small berry bushes, after which they only whispered "임금님 귀는 길다!" (The ears of our king are long).

Anyway, this story is so famous among the Korean public that the phrase "대나무 숲" (bamboo forest/bamboo grove) almost always evokes this story. Furthermore, the need to speak your mind hasn't decreased at all in the past 1200 years since Unified Silla, so the Korean internet users have created a safe space to whisper your secrets to, much akin to the bamboo groves from the days of Unified Silla.

In the Western world, the easiest thing to do would be to create a throwaway account and talk about your troubles online; however, in Korea, most account creation requires some form of an ID; they usually ask for your 주민등록번호 (resident registration number) which is a form of your government ID, or your cell phone number. So it hardly feels like a safe space to spell out all of your secrets.

So, the Korean alternative works like this. Some page (whether it be a Facebook page, a Twitter account, or a separate website) is created, along with an email address to which you can send your secrets to. When the creator/moderator of the webpage receives your email, your email is posted to the webpage, to which people can react or comment.

The most famous bamboo grove (대나무숲) belongs to the prestigious universities; for example, here is a post from the SNU Bamboo Grove (SNU is Seoul National University; possibly the most prestigious university in Korea):

January 1st, oppa (in this context, boyfriend who was older than the poster) wished me a lot of happiness and luck. January 2nd, oppa dumped me.

People seem to be interested in these university-level 대나무숲, because of several reasons. First, most internet-savvy people belong in this generation; they are either still in university, or university is a recent memory. Secondly, many Koreans have fantasies about the students in these elite universities; it is interesting to see that even an SNU student deals with the same everyday problems as the rest of us. Finally, these well-educated students tend to be more eloquent in their writing, and more interesting posts show up in these bamboo groves of the prestigious universities.

Aaaah, Bamboo Grove! I accidentally accessed Instagram with my boyfriend's phone! I opened my Pandora's Box... I knew that he [used Instagram] often... As I tried to access my own account by searching, I saw that his search history had "Sextagram," "hot body,"... etc.  He followed a lot of accounts that post hot body pictures... It's not like he's contacting them privately, so I'm trying to ignore it, but I can't... Is this common? It's not that common... is it?

I enjoy accessing these 대나무숲 every once in a while. Koreans tend to be extremely polite; I have pretty much never met a Korean who would say rude or risqué things to my face. So it is nice to know that even the Koreans think about the same things that I do. Also, I feel that the writings in these bamboo groves are very representative of the everyday Korean language, talking about mundane things. It's a way for me to keep current on the language trend of an average Korean, while getting my gossip fix of the day! For those who are interested, here is the link to the SNU Bamboo Grove. You can access many others via Google, of course!

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#93. 신고식 -- Hazing rituals

I'm sorry for the long silence! I have been traveling once again, this time to a wonderful small town called Trieste in Italy, situated between Slovenia and Venice. So Slavic influences, as well as Byzantine and Asian influences (because Venetians were traders, the most famous one being Marco Polo!) are everywhere in its architecture and furniture. It is also near the sea, so you get pretty amazing and cheap seafood.

One of my closest friends is Italian and he lives in Trieste. Thanks to having a personal local guide, I got to experience some things that you never experience as a tourist. One of such experiences was having dinner with two of his college friends (also Italians) at an amazing seafood restaurant in Trieste.

When we got there, the restaurant was full. A normal person would sigh in disappointment and turn away, but my Italian friend didn't give up. He took me to a side door and spoke to another person in Italian, and we were able to get seated (apparently Italian restaurants will sometimes turn customers away because the cooks don't want to work more).

One of the amazing seafood dishes that I ate while in Trieste (photo was taken from Tripadvisor, because I can't take good photos!)

So, I learned that speaking fluent Italians can do wonders. I vowed to become fluent in Italian by the time I come back to Italy (very unlikely).

Anyway, the dinner topic naturally revolved around comparing our respective cultures. One of the topics that came up was the idea of hazing or initiation.

Being a Korean, I'm not a stranger to hazing. I know that these things often take place in universities, at workplaces, and in the army. In Korean, hazing is called "신고식." The word "신고" means "to report" -- when you see a fire, you call the 911 (119 in Korea!). In Korean, you would say that "소방서에 불이 났다고 신고하다 (Report to the fire department that there is a fire.)" The word "식" means "ceremony." When you get married, you have a "결혼식," or a wedding ceremony. When you win a prize, you attend a "시상식," or a award ceremony.

So the word "신고식" means "reporting ceremony," and you are "reporting" that you are new to the organization, whatever it may be. It is often synonymous with "initiation ceremony." This takes many different forms. For example, the newcomers to a group (such as a student body, army, or a workplace) could be pressured into drinking a large amount of alcohol. They may also be asked uncomfortable questions which are designed to get you off in the wrong foot with some of your seniors in the organization (For example, you may be asked "which of your two bosses is the uglier one?") But these are very tame examples.

A Korean university made national headlines when this picture of the incoming freshmen surfaced on the internet. They were asked to stand in their underwear and sing. When the outraged people wanted to know why they would do such a thing, the seniors replied, "this is the weakest of our hazing rituals." If you refuse, you might be ostracized for your entire time there, or you may get beaten up by your superiors.

In the army, things can be a little bit worse. A fellow soldier of a slightly higher rank may ask you to do really dumb things (for example, play rock-paper-scissors with yourself in the mirror, and continue until you win -- what?!) and because of the structure of the army, where you must obey your superiors, you have to comply. There have also been cases where a new soldier ("신병," or "new (신) soldier (병)") talks wistfully of a certain food, and his superiors would bring this food into the barracks. The new soldier would then be required to eat all of it. The problem is that there would usually be enough food to feed three or four people at least. From time to time, these new soldiers end up getting hospitalized.

When someone new enters a group, they probably dread hearing the phrase:

"신고식 하자!" (Let's have an initiation ceremony!)

  This is obviously illegal. You can be punished by criminal law, and in the army this is a reason for being court-martialed.

Yet this tradition persists in Korea. Psychologists claim that by being initiated into a group, you become more attached to the group (since you went through such trouble to join this group, you won't be leaving anytime soon!) Furthermore, this tradition of initiation reinforces the fact that there is a hierarchy in a group. The ones who have been around longer want to be treated as being senior, and the hazing rituals can assert their superiority.

This unfortunate tradition doesn't seem to be showing any signs of slowing down, despite making frequent headlines. I suppose this is the unfortunate combination of the hierarchy structure in the Korean society, and the Korean dislike for wanting to stand out by saying no. But I still hold out hope that one day all of this will disappear!

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#82. 금수저 -- Thanks to your parents

As I get older, I'm noticing that life is less fair than I expected it to be. Do your best, follow your heart, and everything will work out. I try my best, and while I'm satisfied with my life, there are people who seemingly don't have to try very hard to get everything that they want.

The most infuriating of those people are perhaps the people who were born to rich parents. They literally lucked out once by being born to rich parents, and everything else seems to have fallen into place for them.

In Korea, this phenomenon is even more visible, as they have the culture of chaebol (재벌), where the ownership of large corporations are passed on within family (Samsung is the largest chaebol family in Korea). Many of the children born in these chaebol family are, as you might imagine, spoiled and entitled. But for the most part, they seem to live their lives in comfort and wealth with seemingly no consequences of their entitled behaviour. It can be truly frustrating to see that someone is getting ahead of you when you are doing your very best.

Koreans might say:

"부모 잘만나서 호강하네" (He met good parents, and he's living the good life)

"부모" is "부 (father)" + "모 (mother)" in Chinese, and "호강" means to "live a luxurious (호화스럽다) and comfortable (강, as in 강녕하다 or 만수무강하다) life."

I find this to be a surprisingly a flat expression by the Korean standards! Surely the Koreans can do better? The netizens of Korea soon found a better expression from the English language: "to born with a silver spoon in one's mouth" was more descriptive, and it resonated with the Koreans. Silver is "은" in Korean (such as "은메달" or "silver medal") and spoon is "수저" (you can say "숟가락," but "수저" is a bit more old-fashioned and more fitting since we're trying to translate an old expression.)

So Koreans started saying:

"입에 은수저를 물고 태어났네." (Literally, born with a silver spoon in one's mouth.)

Now, if you were a Korean internet user who was aspiring to be complimented for your 드립, how would you take this expression further?

The Koreans just took the natural steps forward -- while your rich friend in school might have been born with an 은수저 in his mouth, the children of chaebol were even more jealousy-inducing, and they must have been born with something better than an 은수저. The obvious candidate is a 금수저 (golden spoon). Then even among the chaebols, children born in a particularly successful family, such as Samsung, were born with a 다이아수저 (dia-spoon, short for diamond spoon).

As this is not offensive (to most people, anyway), the media even picked up on it, and now it is one of the most commonly used slang expressions (even in formal writing!) Look below (click to enlarge) to see approximately what kind of spoon you were born with!

"자산" means the total worth of your household; "가구" means your household, and "연 수입" is the annual income. If you want to call yourself a "금수저," your household must have at least $2M USD as assets, and annual income of $200K USD.

 For the brevity of expression, Koreans at some point opted for calling someone a "금수저," "은수저" etc, instead of going with the full expression of having been born with a spoon in one's mouth. So, you could enviously call your rich friend a "금수저" in Korean slang.

Then the regular people on the internet also wanted a word to contrast themselves against the rich people, or the "금수저s." They opted for "흙수저," or a spoon made out of dirt, or even "똥수저," a spoon made out of, well, feces.

As for the nuance of these words, I always find that all of these words are often spoken with a fair amount of bitterness and frustration. There are a number of problems with the Korean society at present, where the younger people are having trouble finding jobs, housing prices (in Seoul, where most people want to live) have skyrocketed and it is often impossible to buy a house even with 10 years' worth of your salary, and so on.

There is exactly one kind of spoon that is spoken purely with humour.

This guy was born with a "핵수저," a nuclear spoon. I don't think that anyone will try to argue with this one!

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#72. 찐따 -- Ugh, you loser

A shout-out to Shane for asking about this word! Thank you for suggesting this post, and please keep the suggestions coming :)

Early 20th century Korea has seen a lot of hardship.

In 1910, the Japanese occupation began, and continued until the end of the second world war in 1945. The VJ (victory over Japan) day is still celebrated as the national independence day (광복절) in Korea. (As an aside, although the official VJ day seems to be in September, Koreans celebrate it on August 15 -- I guess the news must have traveled to Korea first!) Then in 1954, the Korean war broke out, and many people either fled to the southern parts of Korea, or lived under the communist regime.

In particular, the Japanese occupation was awful.

People lost all they had, in order to support Japan in their efforts in WWII. Men were forced to fight for Japan in wars against their wishes; women were forced to "comfort" the Japanese soldiers sexually; in their own version of the Holocaust, biological and chemical experiments were done on living people; and in an effort to make the annexation of Korea permanent, schools were not allowed to teach in Korean anymore -- all lessons were to be done in Japanese.

For example, my grandmother, who spent her childhood under the Japanese annexation, had all her lessons done in Japanese. She did not learn to properly read and write in Korean long after the Korean war was over. Even now, many elderly people of Korea sometimes substitute a Japanese word for a Korean word, because they were more familiar to the Japanese words as a kid and it stuck.

This Rising Sun flag, often used in the Japanese military campaign, elicits the same kind of response from Koreans as a Nazi swastika might from the Jews.

This is why there is a national outcry, if a public figure slips into a word with a Japanese origin in public. If you watch the Korean shows, you might notice that the Korean celebrities never say "wasabi" or "와사비" in Korean, even though it is common enough with ordinary citizens. Instead, they must say "고추냉이," which is how you properly say "horseradish" in Korean. If any public figure wears clothing items that remind the Koreans of the Rising Sun flag (the Japanese military flag), an immediate public outcry follows, and more often than not, the celebrity must issue a public apology.

This celebrity, 정찬우, had to apologize for wearing a shirt that reminds the Koreans of the Rising Sun flag. More recently, Tiffany of Girls' Generation came under fire for a similar problem, and she has not yet completely recovered from it!

Although daily efforts are being made in order to abolish traces of the Japanese language from this occupation period, some words managed to survive. The word "찐따" is one of them.

People suspect that it comes from the Japanese word "찐빠," which means "uneven." It is said to have been used by the Japanese to mock the people who limp. Some older Koreans recount that they used to mock the child with polio a "찐빠," and some older Koreans will say "이 물건 찐빠났네" to say that "This product is defective (A defect has been caused in this product)." Over time, the word "찐빠" morphed into its current form, "찐따."

Nowadays, the word "찐따" means "A pathetic person who does pathetic things." Of course, the meaning of Korean slang tends to broaden as time goes on, and nowadays, people use this word to denote anyone from just being frustratingly introverted to someone who gets everything wrong, to someone who doesn't fit in. You could reasonably replace the English word "loser" by "찐따" in almost every imaginable context. For example:

"나 오늘 찐따같이 밥 혼자먹었어." (I ate alone today like a loser)

in which case the word "찐따" is used almost playfully. On the other hand:

"걔는 정말 찐따같이 눈치가 하나도 없어." (He is a real loser, he can't read social cues at all)

In this case, the word "찐따" is a real insult.

So, why is this word so popular, given the usual Korean aversion to Japanese words? I think it's because this word is so close to the Korean words 왕따, 전따, 카따, etc. So most Koreans (and Shane, who suggested this post) assume that "찐따" also derives from pure Korean, having a very similar root to these words.

In general, unless used playfully (and even then!) it is an offensive word, and I would avoid using this word in conversations, however.

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#60. 교과서 튜닝 -- Improving your school experience

One of the most striking thing when I moved from Korea to North America was the fact that you don't own your textbooks (called 교과서 in Korean). In North America (at least, in my experience!) the textbooks in schools are bought in bulk in hardcover, and rented to the student for the semester. If you damage it, you have to pay a penalty or replace it, so you take very good care of your textbook.

On the other hand, in Korea, you are provided all of your textbooks (free of charge, if I remember correctly), which are paperbacks and quite small -- the textbooks are smaller not because Koreans learn less in school, but because they have many more subjects, often around 15 or so. I've also found that the North American schools pick and choose the units being covered from the textbooks, while the Koreans tend to cover everything that is in the textbook. The Korean textbooks are often very dense and to-the-point as well.

A set of grade seven textbooks. From the top, Math, Social Studies, Korean 1&2, Music, English, Career Studies, Physical Education, Health, Informatics, Science, Home Economics and Technology, and Appendix to Social Studies.

Anyway, you own these books, and you are free to take notes, or write on your textbooks as you please. What do the Korean 급식s do when you suddenly get a bunch of free books that you don't really care about?

Well, you set out to create an internet legend. The practice of "교과서 튜닝" or "textbook tuning" has been popular for several decades, and it is still going strong. In Korean, "튜닝" or "tuning" almost exclusively means "doing some modifications to improve the object." It is often used in the context of cars, but in this case, it is applied to textbooks.

Usually, your goal is to modify a page (or the cover) of the textbook to make it funnier. If you do a good job, your post achieves the fifteen minutes of internet fame. Here are some examples of what the Korean students do in their free time.

Left is original, right is modified. She looks more stylish, for sure!

Left is original (wearing the Korean traditional clothing called 한복), and right is modified.

The title reads "torture and massacre (already twenty people)." You have to think a little, but the original title of the textbook was "과학" meaning "Science." Some words were added in to make "고문과 학살."

The original textbook was called "문학 (하)," or "literature (volume 2)." The title has been changed to "항문 학대, 고문(하)자." This means "abusing your anus, let's torture." Can you imagine carrying this around for the entire year?

You can be as creative as you want with these textbooks, and almost everyone does it at some point. Ask your Korean friends about their experiences with 교과서 튜닝, and you'll hear some amusing answers!

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#55. 등골브레이커 -- Making your parents pay?

As a student in Korea, I wanted to fit in. This is a lot more important than being a student in North America, because belonging to a group is valued so much in Korea. For example, Koreans often quote the proverb "모난 돌이 정 맞는다," or "stones that stick out get the chisel."

Thinking back to my time as a student in Korea, I felt as if I existed to fit into a group. I really did everything that I could to not stick out. In my juvenile mind, the easiest thing to do was to do what the others were doing. If everyone in my group got a particular pen and raved about it, then I would get it too, even though it was way over my allowance budget. If everyone wanted to go eat 떡볶이 (spicy rice cakes), then I would go too, even though I hated spicy food (and still do!)

Nowadays, I hear that things are a bit tougher in the Korean schools.

The "it" items are supposedly no longer a fancy pen, or heading off to a street food stall to eat 떡볶이. The popular kids at school now wear expensive coats (North Face was the popular brand a few years ago; Canada Goose had its fifteen minutes of spotlight, and so on.) They wear designer shoes, and carry fancy backpacks. And everyone else wants to do the same to fit in.

This photo was taken at a graduation ceremony of a middle school, back when North Face was the brand to be wearing. Could you stand to not wear one of these, and risk sticking out?

But of course, buying an expensive coat that costs $500-1000 USD is not within their allowance budget at all. The only way for the students to get it is to beg their parents until they give in. And even then, it's not a trivial sum of money that the parents can just cough out. It probably stressed them out, and some parents probably spent the money that they couldn't afford.

From this, the internet users started calling these students "등골 브레이커."

The word "등골" comes from "등의 골짜기," or "the valley in your back." It refers to the fact that your back where the spine lies underneath looks like a valley.

And the word "브레이커" comes from the English word "breaker."

Putting them together, the internet users are mocking these students for breaking the spines (of their parents), because their parents probably had to do some rough work to be able to afford these coats. In the Koreans' collective mind, the rough work is often working for a construction site, carrying heavy load in their backs (somehow, that seems like the hardest work that you can do!) and severely damaging their backs.

There are many other instances of "등골브레이커" other than these young 급식충, though!

Many parents pay the college tuition of their children; some young adults have to take their college entrance test multiple times in order to get into good universities, and their parents usually pay for the cost associated to taking the test again (these students often enroll themselves in a private academy or 학원 in Korean to study); some children want their video games which are expensive; and some people expect their parents to help them out when they get married, often into the six figures in USD. You get the idea.

Remember that Korean values are based on Confucianism, which stresses filial piety (효도 -- this is such a common word in Korean that I am always shocked that there does not exist an equivalent common word in English!) So the act of being a 등골브레이커 is particularly terrible in Korea.

So although this word is probably less than a decade old, it has struck a chord with all Koreans. This word is used widely in the media, as well as by the Koreans of all ages. Also notice that the word is made up of an English word and a Korean word, so this combination, as usual (see an example), gives some humour into the word as well, which sits well with the Koreans. As long as you don't use this word in a formal report, most Koreans would understand (and probably agree) with you, if you use it in appropriate places!

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#52. 지잡대 -- Does happiness correlate with your grades?

First, a very important disclaimer. The contents in this post are pretty much only useful for starting up a fight online (and understanding fights between other users, I guess.) You should probably expect a fair bit of hate if you dare to use these words in real life. I mean, I've done posts on a lot of rude words, but this post contains the issue that most Koreans feel particularly sensitive about, because it touches a nerve with all the Koreans. So use extreme caution!

Koreans don't deny that there is a problem with their education system. I think that the root of the issue is so deep that the Koreans don't know where to start to fix this. The Korean logic goes as follows.

In order to be happy, you must have a good, stable job.

Good, stable jobs are one of the following. A doctor (의사); a high-level governmental post (고위 공무원, where "고위" means "high level." "고" means "high" as in "고급 (high level/high quality)" or "고층 (high rise)," and the letter "위" means place as in "위치 (place)". I've explained "공무원" in a previous post.); or an employee of a large corporate such as Samsung or LG (Samsung, in particular, is so desired that there is a nickname for the people who work for Samsung: they are called 삼성맨, or Samsung-man.)

So, three possibilities here.

If you want to be a doctor, you must get into a medical school (in Korea, you get in straight out of high school.) Well, medical schools are THE hardest schools to get into (doesn't matter what university they're attached to.) You must more or less have a perfect score on the 대학수학능력시험 (수능 for short, College Scholastic Ability Test), which is the insanely difficult college entrance exam of Korea.

If you want to be a high-level government worker, the best way to achieve that is to get into the best law school (connections and good education help, you know), and pass the bar with a high score to become a prosecutor or a judge. Well, law schools at the best universities are also extremely competitive. Again, you must score very very well on the 수능.

If you want to get into a large corporate, the best thing you can have on your resume is the name of the most elite school of Korea with a reasonable major. These schools are usually 서울대학교 (Seoul National University), 연세대학교 (Yonsei University), 고려대학교 (Koryo University), 카이스트 (KAIST), and 포항공대 (Postech). Not surprisingly, the required scores in 수능 are fairly unrealistically high.

 So summing up the above points, if you want to be happy, you must score well on 수능, which you take when you are in your final year of high school (고등학교 3학년 in Korea, as high schools last for three years.) The third years of high school are called 고삼 or 고3 for short, and as you may imagine, the word "고3" carries a very specific connotation.

As an example, I took piano lessons when I lived in Korea. I would practice piano from 4-5pm when I came back home from school. But for one year, my mother, who was usually draconian about keeping my practice time, forbade me from playing the piano. That was the year when our next-door neighbour had a daughter who was a 고3. As she was studying all the time for the biggest test of her life, it just made sense that we were going to do everything that we can to help her out (in our case, being quiet.)

The younger students often show up on the day of the 수능 to cheer on the 고3. The 고3 are truly treated like kings and queens for the one year!

If they mess up the 수능, which happens exactly once a year, they must spend yet another year trying to take it again. They are then called a 재수생 ("재" means to repeat, as in "재방송 (re-run)"). The 재수생 are pretty common in Korea. If they fail again, though, then they are called 삼수생 ("삼" as in three, since they're taking the test for the third time). And the count goes on. At some point, they're just called n수생 (re-taking the 수능 for the n-th time), and that becomes a mild insult.

So anyway, this one test, and consequently the university that you are admitted to, largely determines your life trajectory. No wonder the Koreans would be sensitive about which university they go to, especially if they feel that they are attending a sub-par university. This university that you attend might predict the kind of life that you will live, to some degree (Of course, there are some exceptions, but for the large part, the system is set up in a way that the name of the university matters too much!)

Because the name of the university that you go to is such a sensitive topic, this provides a very good ammunition to the Korean internet users online. When you get into a battle with another user (often called a "keyboard battle" or 키보드 배틀 in Korean), basically assuming that the user goes to a "terrible" university and attacking the user from that angle is a good idea if you want to win the battle. I mean, statistically speaking, chances are, there are more people that attend "mediocre" universities than those that attend "elite" universities.

Or it's just a good way to 어그로 끌기 (i.e. anger a lot of people at once.) Post a picture that looks like the following, and you will suddenly find yourself surrounded by hundreds of angry Korean internet users. If you're the kind of person who likes that kind of attention, it could be fun.

The red lines often are called "넘사벽." And it's used in the most derisive nuance possible, of course, because the whole point of posting one of these is to insult a lot of other users.

There are names that denote each classes of these universities. As you move down the list, the more derogatory it becomes.

The top tier universities consisting of Seoul National University, Yonsei University, Koryo University, KAIST, and Postech often go by the names 스카이 (SKY: Seoul, Koryo, and Yonsei, this is particularly brilliant because getting into one of these schools is as hard as reaching for the sky), 서연고 (서울, 연세, 고려), or 서카포 (서울, 카이스트, 포항공대). If you're more of a humanities person, you want to go to SKY, if you're more of a STEM person, you want to go to 서카포, so you never refer to all five at the same time, I guess. (This explains "누가봐도 명문대" comment in the picture; it means "you can't argue that these are elite universities.")

The next tier universities are often called 서성한 중경외시 (서강대, 성균관대, 한양대, 중앙대, 경희대, 외국어대, 시립대), by just taking the first letters of the universites on the list. This is a phrase that all Koreans know, weirdly enough. Up to here, the names of the universities are definitely compliments. (In the picture, they are referred to as "가끔씩은명문대." It means "sometimes considered as elite universities.")

The next tier of universities are called 지거국 (short for 지방 거점 국립대학교, provincially-located national universities). These universities, although not in Seoul, are nationally endorsed, and are still very good. The nuance is fairly neutral. (In the above picture, they are described as "그래도 공부 좀 했네," or "You were probably pretty smart in high school.")

Then the next tier is more or less nameless. Those that are located in Seoul, which are preferred since Seoul is more fun, are often called 인서울 which comes from the English compound word in-Seoul. This is because most universities in the next tier are located in Seoul. You could imagine that university students probably want to live in Seoul, so that they can have some fun! Up to here, the nuance of these words are fairly neutral. (The diagram describes these schools as "아주 놀진 않았네," or "You didn't let yourself go in high school.")

As for the universities that didn't make it to this list, the internet users often call these universities "지잡대." This is for "지방에 있는 잡스러운 대학." This is a really terrible insult. Most of the derogatory nuance comes from the word "잡스럽다." This has the same root as the word "잡종," which denotes the animals without any particular breed. For example, mutts are 잡종. The nuance here is that the universities not on the list are so without roots that it is not worth calling them by name. Here are some of the common insults:

말하는걸 보니 넌 지잡대 다니는 듯 ㅋㅋ (Judging by how you speak, you must go to a mutt university.)

지잡대생이 뭘 안다고 잘난척이냐? (Why are you pretending to know things when you're nothing but a mutt university student?)

Here, -생 suffix means the student of a particular school, in this case, a 지잡대. You can use this to say 서울대생 (student of Seoul National University), or 인서울생 (student of an in-Seoul university), etc.

Remember that the name of the universities largely determine the Koreans' futures (much like how your heritage and breed determined your future back in the olden days!) So hearing that you're nothing more than a mutt is not only just an insult, it's an insult based on truth. It really hurts. If you use this word against an internet user, chances are, he will be coming at your throat with all the insult he has in his verbal arsenal.

Not only that, if you release a diagram such as the above, the rest of the users will be chiming in, saying things like "University X doesn't belong in that tier, it should be in the tier above," or "What are you thinking putting University Y in that tier? Its quality has gone down since the 90s" etc.

Pretty much, if you ever bring up the topic of universities in a Korean internet forum, hell is sure to break loose (Amusingly, there's a version for foreign universities too. As a lot of Koreans study abroad, that also brings out the same reaction.)

It's a terrible situation that Korea has gotten itself into, but it will need a lot of time to figure out how to resolve this issue of extreme ranking of universities. Here's hoping that things improve one day!

Addendum: Per request, here is a chart comparing Korean universities to Foreign universities. It seems to have been made by someone not attending Korean universities, given that the Korean universities are ranked very low. Remember that these charts are made to anger, not to disseminate information, and enjoy! (you might have to download or open the chart in a separate window to be able to read it.)

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#47. 훈장질, 선비질 -- Stepping into Korea's past

If you stop to think about it, it might astound you just how much of the life from the Joseon Dynasty (조선 시대) carried over to our modern life.

In today's Korea, one of the jobs that are considered the best by the Korean people is to be a public servant (공무원: "공" means "public" as in "공공기관 (public institution)" or "공익 (public good)"; "무" means "work" as in "업무 (work)"; "원" refers to a person who holds down a particular job.) The reason for this is simple. While any other job, be it by a corporate or self-employment, has the potential to disappear, being a public servant is as stable as it gets. Getting fired takes a lot of paperwork (just like any other governmental work!) and promotion is more or less automatic. When you retire, you are given a good pension to comfortably live out the rest of your life. Even though the public servants tend to get paid less than corporate jobs, the Koreans still flock to this job due to its stability.

How to obtain one of these jobs? Simple. Take a test. This test, called 공무원 시험 (literally, public servant test), often tests your knowledge in Korean, English, Korean history, and other subjects relevant to the position that you are applying for. For most of the Korean public servant positions, you must pass one of these tests. There are classes of public servants. The lowest being 9급 공무원 (level 9 public servant), who work in local offices. The highest is 1급 공무원 (level 1 public servant), who work as the head of national-level governmental offices.

These tests are, as you may guess, very competitive. For example, in 2016, for the 9급 공무원 시험 (test to select level 9 public servants), about 165,000 people signed up to take the test. The target number of public servants? Around 4,000. Many people waste years of their lives trying to score well on these tests, but things don't always go as planned.

This may seem like a strange way to select public servants. This is because the tradition of taking a test to hold a governmental post goes back to the Joseon Dynasty.

Back then, the level of the public servants went from the lowest of level 9 (9품) to the highest of level 1 (1품). They were selected by a nationally administered test called "과거 시험," and if you passed the test, then you were given a governmental post. If you pass, it was an honour of the family, and of your village, as it was very competitive -- often around two hundred people were selected out of hundreds of thousands of people who took the test. Not much has changed, huh?

Koreans sometimes reenact the 과거시험, which was held in one of the palaces around Seoul.

Anyway, in order to prepare for the test, you often had to start preparing at a very young age, pretty much as soon as you could walk and talk. In most villages, some people (sometimes retired public servants, sometimes just literate people) opened private schools, and taught the children of the village how to read and write. (As an interesting aside, there were a few nationally operated schools for talented or rich students -- the most famous one is 성균관, which is now a well-recognized university in Korea, and it has a language school that many foreigners go to in order to learn Korean!)

This iconic picture depicts a child being admonished by his teacher while his classmates look on with glee.

These precursors of teachers were called "훈장" or "훈장님." They taught Chinese characters, Confucianism, and ethics (most of which were tested in the 과거 시험). They were probably very strict, making sure that the students were up to the standards not only in reading and writing, but also in their ethics and everyday behaviour. After all, Confucianism is less a subject and more a way of life (which emphasizes humanity, loyalty, filial piety, and so on), so the 훈장님 had every right to interfere with how you were living with your life!

And then there were the other learned people, who did not necessarily teach the village children, but were just as well-versed in Confucianism as the 훈장님. These people were called 선비. They were smart, well-mannered, and seemingly incorruptible. If you were doing something that was morally wrong (say eating from your neighbour's apple tree) and a 선비 passed by you, you would have been ashamed to be caught by him, although they may or may not have said something to you.

This is how a typical 선비 used to dress. From the long overcoat called 도포 and the characteristic hat called 갓, you could recognize a 선비 from a mile away.

While these people were very much well-respected in Korea's past, now the Koreans seem to think that these people were probably a bit too intrusive. So, even these very respected people did not escape Korea's internet users.

For example, you might encounter a user who thinks that swearing is immoral, and they either try to put you down, or suggest a phrase that you could say instead. Or, when you're ranting about your ex, a user chimes in and says that you are being too emotional and unfair, and that in any case, you should never say anything bad about people that you know in a public place. In your anger, you can say:

훈장질 하지 마 (Don't play teacher)

 or

선비 납셨네 (Here comes a 선비.)

"-질" is a derogatory suffix that attaches to job titles, so "훈장질" means you're playing the part of a teacher when you really shouldn't. "납시다" is an extremely respectful form of "오시다" which is already a respectful form of "오다 (to come)." You never use this word in modern Korea, as it could only be taken as sarcasm. In ancient Korea, this word would have been used only for the king. So by saying "선비 납셨네," you are saying, "A 선비 deigned to come to my humble abode" or something along these lines.

In both cases, you're basically making fun of their holier-than-thou attitudes, and these usages are fairly common non-profanity in Korea's online communities. While it is not vulgar enough to get you banned (some communities ban you for extreme swearing) it is bad enough to insult the listener. It also gets used among friends, but saying this to a stranger (especially older strangers) is a sure formula for some sort of a fight (probably verbal, as you wouldn't provoke them enough for a fistfight.)

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#33. 왕따 -- Bullied and ostricized

Here's a heavy topic. Korean schools are a pretty dangerous place.

Let me start by saying that there is no such word that describes a place like Korean schools in English. The word bullying just doesn't cut it. The only other language that I know of that has a word with a similar nuance is Japanese. They call it ijime (苛め/虐め). A quick look around Wikipedia seems to suggest that some European cultures such as the French, Italians, and the Germans are aware of it, but they also do not have words to describe what I am about to tell you.

Not this Carrie, but I find most screenshots of the movie Carrie to be too disturbing.

If I absolutely had to find something in the English-speaking world that is similar to the the bullying culture of Korea, I would maybe recommend that you read Stephen King's horror novel, Carrie (yes, it's that horrifying that it would get categorized as a horror novel if it were written). This is a huge social problem in Korea, because it's so widespread. A huge number of people experience what we call "왕따" at some point in their lives, sometimes leading to drastic consequences like suicide. As you can imagine, the Koreans take a very strong stance against it (but somehow, they have not been able to get rid of it). Because so many people experience this personally, if a celebrity is involved in a 왕따 scandal where he/she was the bully, it can effectively end your career in Korea.

The word "왕따" came into being in the 90s-00s when I was a student in South Korea Although the word is relatively new, the concept must be fairly old, as it is featured in some of the older literature, as well as throughout the history going as far back as the Goryeo dynasty (918-1392 A.D.). It is composed of two Korean words:

1.  "왕," which means "king"; and
2.  "따," short for "따돌림," which means "exclusion."

So the word literally means the "king of exclusion," or "the worst kind of exclusion," which I suppose is a form of bullying. The concept of 왕따 includes several specific forms of bullying under it. Some examples are:

1. 전따, the first word comes from 전교생, which means all the students in the school (the letter "전" means "every," as in "전부," "전체," etc.) It means that you are excluded by everyone in the school.
2. 은따, the first word of which comes from "은근히", which means "subtle." It means that you are being excluded in subtle ways.
3. 카따, the first word of which comes from "Kakaotalk," or "카카오톡" which is a Korean messaging system that almost everyone uses. It means that you are bullied and excluded on Kakaotalk.

You could use these words in a pretty straightforward way:

쟤는 잘난척하더니 결국 왕따가 됐네 (He became a 왕따 because he was so arrogant.)

Or:

소영이는 전교에 친구가 하나도 없는 전따야. (Soyoung is a 전따 who doesn't have any friends in the entire school.)

As you may imagine, there are countless other sub-types of 왕따 that exist. These types are evolving too. Children with boundless imaginations are unfortunately always coming up with new ways to bully someone. As a student before the Kakaotalk era, I saw the first two types of 왕따 first-hand, but the third type came into being long after I left Korea.

I went to school in Korea, Canada, and the US. In my experience, there was bullying in all countries, but the bullying in Korea just seemed to be the worst.

The thing about Korea is that groups are very, very valued. You are expected to fit into a group. People often stare at you if you eat alone in a restaurant. Going to see a movie or a performance alone is pretty weird in the Korean culture (actually, it's getting better now, and some brave people will go out and do these things alone, take pictures, and share it with their friends for the bragging rights. But it's that rare.) As a schoolgirl, you don't even go to the bathroom alone. A good friend will wait for you outside the stalls while you pee. Whatever it is that you are doing, you do it with a few other of your friends.  So, as a student, if you don't have any friends, you have to endure the stares and whispers of everyone in the school while you eat, while you go to the bathroom, while you walk alone in the halls, during the breaks, and during classes when team participation is expected. That's a pretty huge part of your school life.

Technically, all of these things could happen in the western world too (okay, minus the bathroom thing. I don't think anyone looks at you funny if you go to the bathroom by yourself). But the thing that makes the act of 왕따 truly devastating is that it often ends up involving everyone in the school (and often, even if you change schools, the rumour will eventually follow you.) Once you are labeled as a 왕따, the rumor spreads very quickly. Everyone knows that you are friendless, and no one wants to be near you, because to befriend 왕따 is to risk becoming a 왕따 yourself. As being in a group is more valued in Korea, no one wants to go against the majority and rescue you from your misery.

What's more is that most Koreans are fearful that they would one day become the 왕따. Korean school system assigns everyone to a classroom at the beginning of the school year, and you take all of your classes together with your classmates. When I was a student in Korea, it seemed that every class had a 왕따 or two (usually at least one of each gender). Since each class had about 30 students each, you had about one in fifteen chance of becoming a 왕따. And the reasons are so varied. You could become a 왕따 or any of the following reasons:

1. your friend group outed you, and once you were labelled, no one wanted to be your friend.
2. you were the smallest and the weakest of the class.
3. you were different in some way (Koreans don't like it when you stick out).
4. you had a different religion from everyone else in the class.
5. you liked a different boy band from everyone else in the class (I guess that's basically religion at that age)
6. your grades were too low and people started looking down on you.
7. your grades were too high and people got jealous.
8. you were too ugly.
9. you were too pretty.
10. they were afraid of becoming a 왕따 so they decided to strike first.
11. your friends' parents didn't like your parents and told their kids to not play with you.
12. just because.

You can pretty much become a 왕따 for hundreds of reasons. And it is so widespread. According to a Korean survey, 53.9% of college students in Korea responded that they have been the victim or an active instigator of 왕따, and it starts in elementary school. Things don't get much better when you are older, as 45% of the people in the workforce responded that they still have 왕따 at their work. The majority, 61%, of these people responded that the bullying and the exclusion is very serious. 75% of the total responds said that when they see a 왕따, they just remain as bystanders, because they don't believe that it would change anything (52.8%), and because they are afraid of becoming 왕따 themselves (12.3%).

Most Koreans have some latent fear that they will one day say some wrong thing, and become a 왕따. People who have experienced 왕따 (not surprisingly) report psychological effects, such as suicidal thoughts, depression, continuing difficulty in forming interpersonal relationships based on trust, and so on. There are even some cases where some students drove their peers to suicide. Whenever there is a public 왕따 scandal, the Koreans come down with full force and condemn the bullies. This is totally understandable since it's an issue that is relevant to their daily lives. But at the same time, most Koreans probably have experience not stepping up to help a 왕따. How do you reconcile the two? How do you fix something this toxic, yet this widespread?

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#9. 급식충 -- How to insult the low-teens of the internet

I have to admit, I was probably pretty annoying when I first discovered that I could be anonymous on the internet. I made a lot of comments on the internet that I thought were funny (in hindsight, they weren't at all) and annoyed a lot of people. They must have seen right through my supposed anonymity and known that I was a thirteen-year-old child who has just discovered the internet.

The Koreans would swear that the phenomenon is real. Apparently, the quality of the posts in Reddit-like websites take a hit at around 3-4pm (the time when the middle schoolers of age 13-15 are dismissed from school), and then again at around 5-6pm, when the high schoolers of age 16-18 are dismissed from school.

In Korea, where the internet occupies a larger part of life than it does in North America, there are some particular ways to insult the children of the internet. If the quality of a post is particularly terrible or immature, you will undoubtedly see comments appear such as:

급식이냐?

"급식" is the school-provided lunch. This word has Chinese as its origin. "급" means to distribute; for example, "배급" means to provide as well. "식" means a meal; the fancy vocabulary for breakfast, lunch, and dinner are "조식," "중식," and "석식."

A typical Korean 급식.

Most Korean students from elementary school to high school are given a "급식," a distributed meal, for lunch. They are given out on a metal tray, and they are usually Korean meals of rice, some soup, and 3-4 different kinds of 반찬, which are side menus. Sometimes Western-style meals such as pasta or hamburgers make appearances as well. (An interesting aside, a lot of westerners always eat out of these trays with the 반찬 closer to you and the rice away from you; 100% of the Koreans would do the opposite, where the rice is closer and 반찬 further, because that's how the Korean tables are set at home!)

This is how you would get your lunch served in a Korean school.

This is a unique feature of the Korean school life, as once you graduate from high school, you will never get 급식 again! Although some universities and some companies have a similar model for providing lunch, they are never called 급식, because the word 급식 has such a strong association to the Korean school system (and is seen as a thing for the schoolchildren.)

Therefore, by calling someone a "급식," you're calling them out for their immaturity. There are several ways to do it:

• 급식이냐? (are you a teen?)
• 급식충 보소 (look at that insect of a teen): "충" is a Chinese-rooted word for an "insect." There are many words that use this letter to insult people. "식충이" is someone who only eats and does nothing else, like an insect. "일베충" is someone who goes on ilbe a lot (ilbe is the Korean equivalent of 4chan), and just the fact that you go on it is enough to brand you as an insect to some Korean people.
• 급식 출몰 (another teen appears!)

Another commonly-used word is "중2병," or the "sickness of the second-year middle school (중학교 2학년) student." You are 14 when you're in second year of middle school; and Koreans believe that this is the age where people become the most obnoxious, generally in the form of 허세.

If you spot a 급식 being full of 허세, then you can call them out by saying things like:

• 중2병 보소 (look at that 2nd year middle school sickness)
• 중2병 말기 환자네 (he's in the terminal stages of his 2nd year middle school sickness)
• or simply just writing "중2병."

Although these words are very widespread on the net, I would not use these words unless you were speaking to very close friends, or you are entering a full-blown keyboard battle with someone on the internet! If you were actually speaking to a teenager in this way, they would probably find it quite insulting and degrading.

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