#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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#75. Korea might still be haunted by tiger-demons (Shamanism 5)

We continue our journey into the Korean folklore, to talk about tigers, which were ubiquitous in Korea until just a few decades ago (unfortunately, they are believed to be extinct now).

Tigers hold an interesting place in Koreans' collective consciousness. They are undoubtedly the strongest of the animals that roamed the Korean mountains, which terrified yet inspired awe to the people of Korea. Despite the fact that many people were killed by tigers (and thus, tigers are almost always described as antagonists in folklore), Koreans also likened themselves to tigers, by asserting that the Korean peninsula looks like a crouching tiger (a 무리수, if you ask me!)

And later, during the Japanese occupation era, the Japanese did not like this comparison, and their historians started asserting that the Korean peninsula looks like a rabbit. We are mature, no?

If beliefs are the food necessary for the survival of mythical beings, the tiger-demons would be the first mythical beings that survive to this day, as many Koreans swear having encountered the tiger-demon. The Korean internet seems to be flooded with true stories (or at least, what the netizens swear to be true stories!) of these strange encounters.

First of all, the standard Korean word for a tiger is "호랑이." This word actually comes from Chinese. But there is also a pure Korean word for a tiger, which is "범." To most Koreans, these two words are completely synonymous.

However, if you ask your grandparents, they might tell you that a 호랑이 and a 범 are two completely different creatures. While a 호랑이 is just a normal tiger, the elders often claim that a 범 is a demonic being that is much more sinister than a 호랑이. This 범 is most often seen in the 장산 area near Busan, so people often call this demon "장산범" or "tiger of 장산."

First of all, a 장산범 does not look like a regular tiger. It is covered with long, flowy white fur, much like the silky hair of a woman, and bright blue eyes that glow in the dark. It is said that once you look into its eyes, you will be so mesmerized that you won't be able to run away. It is extremely fast, and usually uses all four limbs to move (people describe the movement as "awkward crawling"), although it is capable of standing in its two hind legs. It is capable of mimicking sounds of all kinds.

Several people who claim to have met a 장산범 sketched the pictures of the beast; surprisingly, many of them look very similar! Coincidence?

What makes a 장산범 terrifying is that it seems to have some magical powers. Once a person is eaten by a 장산범, his soul is trapped by the tiger-demon. His soul then lives near the jaw of the tiger-demon, and it must aid the tiger-demon in finding other prey before being released from the indenture. This enslaved soul is called a "창귀" in Korean, and it often leads the tiger-demon to the homes of the people that it used to know when it was alive. (the letter "창" means "to go insane," and the letter "귀" means "ghost." That's pretty dark, no?)

When a tiger arrives at the door to the house of its prey, the 창귀 will call out people's name in the most moving voice you can imagine. It pleads with you and it evokes such feelings of longing that people cannot help but answer to this call. However, if you do answer, you will fall under the spell of the tiger-demon, and you will not be able to resist going outside to meet the tiger-demon, and be eaten. However, the 창귀 can only call out your name three times, so it is said that even today, people living in a deserted mountainous area will only answer once their name is called a fourth time.

There are many stories on the internet, but here is a short one by an anonymous Korean internet user. I've translated it, but it is edited somewhat from the Korean version, to get rid of the unnecessary detail. If you'd like to read the full, original Korean version of the story, it is posted on my Twitter account.

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When my mom was young, she took her younger brother (my uncle) to the next town over. She lost track of time because she was having too much fun, and she only started on her way home when the sun has almost set.

My mom lived in a small village in the countryside, so there was a significant distance between villages, so she had to hike over a small hill (now, that village is too deep inside a mountain for people to live, but I've seen the village on my way fishing). At least because of the development plan by the government, there was a clear path between the two villages.

While she was walking on the path holding onto my uncle's hand, she felt something scatter and land around her feet. ("툭" is the Korean onomatopoeia; I'm not sure what the English equivalent would be). When she looked down, it looked like some sort of topsoil had been thrown at her feet.

But she lived in a rural village, so it wasn't unusual that there was dirt on the road, so she kept on walking with her brother. But after only a few steps, she felt the soil being scattered around her feet again. Only then did she remember what her mother had told her:

"There is a beast named 장산범. It will sometimes appear to the lone travelers on the mountain paths and throw dirt at them, so that they will look up and lock eyes with it. Once you look into its eyes, you will fall under its powers (the Korean verb is "홀리다," like how the vixen can also put you under her spell!) so never look in the direction where the dirt came from."

Remembering this, she told her brother to never look around and look straight ahead, but from the corner of her eyes, she could see a white figure following them behind the trees. It would run for a few steps, pause, and throw dirt. Then it would run a few more steps, pause, and throw more dirt, and it followed my mom and my uncle until the end of the mountain path.

My mom thinks that it hesitated to attack right away because there were two people, so it tried to put them under its magic by trying to get them to look into its eyes. When I first heard the story, I laughed it off, but my mom is usually very serious and doesn't joke around much, so I am forced to believe at least some parts of the story. Plus, it agrees with most of the other accounts on the internet!

Back then, my mom lived in 주촌 of 김해, which is still a very rural village which bases its economy on agriculture and pottery.

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Whether the Koreans believe stories of this kind in earnest, I don't know. But you will certainly find people who will swear that they have seen a 장산범 at some point in their lives, and you will find yet more people who are willing to listen to these stories and pretend to believe. Why the 도깨비 and the 여우 seem to have fallen into the realm of folklore while 장산범 still has some foothold in the Korean culture, I do not know. Perhaps it just survived by the virtue of a lucky draw. But perhaps it is due the Korean reluctance to part with the idea of a tiger, as they want to believe that Korea is ultimately a country much like a tiger.

This story is also fascinating to me for a completely different reason. Although there are many well-known beings in the Western mythology as well, if someone walks into the room and announces that they saw a vampire, or a leprechaun, they will likely meet with snickers and sarcasm. On the other hand, there are a few mythical beings that the Koreans can claim to have seen, and still have a sympathetic audience. To me, this shows that traces of shamanism are still present in the Koreans' lives.

As long as it doesn't interfere with your day-to-day life, and as long as it is not hurting anyone, a touch of mythology, and a touch of the belief in the magical beings doesn't really seem so bad to me. On the contrary, it adds a new dimension to their lives, and it keeps life a little bit more interesting.

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#74. Why do people hate spoilers?

While browsing the internet, I saw a 드립 that made me laugh, so I thought I'd share this for today's post. While I translate the post below, see if you can see the humour in it before seeing the translation:

This post is from DC Inside, which is generally a pretty rough part of the Korean internet. The internet users are pretty ruthless in making fun of you, or putting you down, so you have to learn to take it in stride.

The original poster (whose ID is 패스트 -- the DC Inside users call each user "갤로거" which is the DC Inside equivalent of a "Redditor") discusses the subject of "스포," which comes from the English word "Spoilers" or "스포일러" in Korean. The Koreans often choose to abbreviate by using the first two letters only. The act of giving out spoilers is written in Korean as "스포하다." When you want to say "spoiler alert" the Koreans will say "스포주의" and so on.

Anyway, here is the translation of the above post:

Title: 스포하는게 뭐가 나쁘냐?
(What's so bad about giving out spoilers?)

Body:
친구: 야 나 오늘 XX 보러가.
Friend: Hey, I'm going to go see XX today.

나: 어 그러냐? 잘보고와라.
Me: Oh yeah? Have fun. [By the way, this way of speaking is very masculine. Women almost never conjugate their sentences with -냐 or -라; they would have instead said: "아 그래? 잘보고와."]

바로 집에가서 네이버에 검색해서 결말 알아낸다음에 친구한테 문자해주면
Then I go home and search on Naver (Korean equivalent of Google) to find out the ending and text my friend

애들이 되게 좋아하던데
Then my friends really like it

니들은 스포당하면 싫음?
 But you don't like spoilers?

흠 이상하네
Hmm strange.

So for whatever reason, the poster is convinced (or maybe he is trolling; I am also calling the above poster a "he" and not "she" because the way the verbs are conjugated strongly suggests that the speaker is male) that everyone he knows likes spoilers.

Of course, the people reading this post are outraged, and now they must think of a clever comeback. A user whose ID is "산고양이" (mountain cat) manages to do just that. He says:

너네 엄마가 애가졌을때 니가 태어날꺼라고 알려줬었어봐라
Suppose (-어봐라) that your mom was told (알려줬-) that you would be (-거라고) born when (-을때) she was pregnant (애가졌다).

엄마가 어떤 기분일까
How do you suppose (-일까) that she would have felt?

And this kind of witty comeback is definitely something that the Koreans love to hear. It's vicious, it's personally insulting, and it's very fitting to the situation (You like spoilers? Let's see how your mom likes the spoilers about you!) There's also a certain amount of rudeness, because calling a mother who is not your own an "엄마" is not really acceptable unless you're a child.

So the other spectators compliment "산고양이" by calling his remark a "파워드립" or "powerful ad-lib." Note that the original poster, 패스트, has also responded, saying "산고양이 너 센데?" or, "you're a pretty strong opponent." Clearly he is not offended, although if he heard that in real life he probably would be. Korean internet is definitely a strange place!

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#73. 외계어 -- The Korean Pig Latin

Derived languages such as Pig Latin are great for communicating secretly. You're either in on the secret, or you're not. And it's a great way to feel that you belong in a group. For example, many young people speak it to each other, hoping that the adults don't understand.

Korean also has an equivalent of Pig Latin. It's often called "외계어" or "도깨비어".

The suffix "-어" means "language." For example, "영어" is English (language of "영국"), "프랑스어" is French (language of "프랑스"), and so on.

"외계" means "out of this world." Both letters forming this word come from Chinese. "외" means "outside" as in "외국" (abroad -- outside of the country) or "외출" (to go out). "계" means "boundary," as in "세계" (world -- all the boundaries) or "한계" (limit). So, "외계" means "outside the boundary," and it often gets interpreted as being outside of our world. For example, "외계인" means "aliens (the noun meaning beings from outer space)."

So, "외계어" is the language that is not from this world. Similarly, "도깨비어" means the "language of the hobgoblins," which should be equally incomprehensible to the humans.

Here's a clip of some girls speaking this Korean Pig Latin. In the clip, they call it "도깨비어."

And here's how you speak the Korean Pig Latin like these girls on the clip.

1. Pick a consonant. "ㅇ" is not a great choice, but anything else is. Let's pick "ㅂ".
2. Pick a phrase that you'd like to convert into 도깨비어. Let's say that I want to convert "안녕하세요."
3. First, take each letter, and lengthen it into two syllables by prolonging the pronunciation on each word. For example, "안" becomes "아안", "녕" becomes "녀엉", "하" becomes "하아", "세" becomes "세에", and "요" becomes "요오." Literally just drag out each letter, and write down how it sounds!
4. Now, replace the first "ㅇ" in the second syllable by the consonant of your choice. So "아안" becomes "아반," "녀엉" becomes "녀벙," "하아" becomes "하바", "세에" becomes "세베", and "요오" becomes "요보."
5. And that's it! You just put all of these words together. So, "안녕하세요" becomes "아반녀벙하바세베요보."

With practice, just like Pig Latin, it becomes pretty easy to understand the 외계어. For example, here's a conversation you might have with your friend:

A: 너 외계어 할 줄 알아? (Do you know how to speak the Korean Pig Latin?)
B: 으븡, 하발주불아발아바. (from 응, 할줄알아 -- Yes, I know how to speak it.)

Of course, you could have picked another consonant, say "ㅅ," and the phrase "응, 할줄알아" would become "으승, 하살주술아살아사."

As for the clip above, I shall leave you, the readers, to pore over it! Leave a comment if you think you can understand even a fragment of it -- otherwise, you have a teaser for this week's listening exercise, to be published at 10pm EDT on Saturday, as always! :)

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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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Listening exercise with transcript #12: An advice to those who are in love

Here, a Korean celebrity 홍석천 talks about being in love.

To digress a little bit about 홍석천, he is the only celebrity who came out as gay in Korea. He came out publicly in 2000. Despite his popularity, his career took a severe hit (I have talked a little bit about the status of LGBT rights in Korea in this post) and he took a break from his entertainment career for many years (it is rumoured that he was unofficially blacklisted by the broadcasting companies).

Despite all this, he made a comeback in 2007, and often makes jokes about being gay, and even playfully makes advances on other male celebrities, and all of it is laughed off (but honestly, if another celebrity came out, I think he would also still face backlash). You can tell that there is a lot of hurt in him in the rare occasion when he opens up in an interview, but he generally plays the happy-go-lucky character.

Thanks to his unique position that he is quite literally the only visible gay person in Korea with any public influence, he does a lot of charity work for the sexual minorities of Korea.

Anyway, in this clip, he gives a general advice to people who are in love. Instead of his usual happy disposition, he is in a pensive mood. As such, he repeats himself a bit and rambles on. He also uses a lot of filler words, which I find to be interesting! I have highlighted the filler words in blue, so that you can see how the Koreans might use it. It's not the most articulate of interviews that he's done, but it shows how Koreans might talk when they haven't prepared their speech in advance, and they're thinking as they go.

사랑은 이렇게 내눈을 한번 이렇게 뿌옇게 만드는 묘한 효과가 있어가지고... 뽀샵효과가 있어서
Love has this effect of clouding my eyes... the Photoshop effect

뭔짓을 하고, 뭔말을 듣고, 뭐 무슨행동을 하고,
Whatever they do, whatever they say, or whatever they do

그래도 뽀샵이 걸린 상태에서는 제대로  판단을  못하게끔 만들거든, 사랑이라는게.
But under the effects of Photoshop, it's hard to properly make a decision. That's love.

주변사람의 충고, 조언도 안듣고, 막 이런 혼자 자기 고집이생기고.
You don't listen to warning or advice of the people around you, and you become stubborn.

그런것들이 생겨서 사실은 자신을 객관화시키는걸 잘 못해.
Because of these things, it's hard to be objective to yourself.

사랑이 그런거야. 그래서 정신차려야되는거야 사람이
That's love. That's why you need to hold onto your sanity.

자칫 잘못하면 사랑으로 포장된 어떤 관계에 내 인생이 망가지는 경우가 너무 많아.
With one mistake, you could ruin your life through a relationship packaged as love.

그래서 내가 봤을때는 사랑도 마찬가지고, 선택이고,
In my opinion, love is the same thing, it's a choice.

인생도 항상 매 순간순간마다 선택의 연속인데
Just like life, it's about making choices at ever moment.

그 선택을 내가 잘 하느냐에 따라서 내 인생이 잘 풀리느냐 아니면 어딘가에 구렁텅이에 떨어지느냐 이건데
Depending on how well I make the choice, my life could go well, or it could fall into an abyss
 
사랑도 마찬가지야, 상대가 있기때문에.  혼자만 하는게 아니잖아.
It's the same thing with love, because you have the other person, you can't do it alone.

내맘대로 되는게 아니잖아 사랑이라는게
Things don't always go your way in love.

항상 상대가 있기 때문에. 그 상대를 선택하는것도 내 책임이고
There's always the other person. But it's my responsibility to choose the other person.

상대를 선택하는 기준도 내 안에 있는거지
The criterion for the choice is within my control.

근데 그런것들이 뭐, 커가는환경이라던가, 내가 경험했던 모든거라던가,
 But these things, like your upbringing, your experiences,

내가 그전에 사겼던어떤헤어진사람에 의해서, 내가 배운 어떤 교육에 의해서든
or what you learned from your previous relationships, or your education,

뭐가됬든 선택을 하는거기때문에
whatever [your criteria] are, it's making a choice.

마지막 인생에서 내 인생의 반려자라고
So when you decide that someone is your life's partner, your life's last partner,

진실된 사랑이라고 내가 판단을 해서 뭐 웨딩마치를 올리던 뭐 반지를 서로 나누던
that it's true love. So when you decide to get married, or share a ring.

그런거 할때는 이게 진짜 내 사랑인가
 When you do these things, you have to ask whether it's really your love

진실된 사랑이고 진실된 인연인가에 대해서
whether it's true love, and a true relationship

고민을 그때가서 정말 심각하게 해야지.
You really have to think very seriously at that point. 

선택을 정확하게 내 인생을 걸고 해야되는거지.
You have to make a precise choice, and you have to bet your life on it.

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