#113. 선폭풍, 후폭풍 -- When your relationship comes to an end (Hanja 4)

Note: this is a post about Hanja; if you are confused about the notation, I encourage to check out my first Hanja post, where my notation for Hanja is explained in more detail.

Have you ever thought about what steps you would take if a nuclear bomb were to hit your city? Having lived in the country with possibly the most active nuclear threat in the world, I definitely have.

You should be inside, if at all possible, because it seems that the majority of the nuclear fallout can be blocked easily by any physical barrier. As long as you're far enough from the explosion, being in a secure indoors location is your best bet to survival (and simple acts such as removing the outer layer of clothing or taking a shower can reduce your exposure to nuclear fallout.)

However, if you cannot get inside in time (you are likely to have about ten minutes to prepare), then you should duck and cover (to protect yourself from soon-to-be-flying debris, the heat, and the fallout), and open your mouth so that your eardrums don't burst from pressure. This is exactly as Bert the Turtle from the Cold War Era tells you:

The important thing to keep in mind is that you don't want to get up immediately after having survived the initial blast; when a nuclear bomb explodes, it will create a vacuum at the centre of the explosion (as it pushes out everything when it explodes), which means that after the initial blast, things will get sucked back into the centre of explosion to create equilibrium. So you should expect a second blast to follow soon after the first blast, in the opposite direction of the initial blast, and stay protected until this second blast happens.

This second blast is called the "reverse blast" in English, and "후폭풍" in Korean. The word "후폭풍" is made up of two parts: "후" which is Hanja meaning "back, late, or behind," and "폭풍" meaning "storm." So, "후폭풍" literally means "after-storm" or "second (later) storm." 

Here is the Hanja for "후": you pronounce this hanja as "후", but its meaning is "뒤," or "behind" in English. The numbers show you the order in which to write this hanja.

The Hanja 뒤 후 is used in many everyday words, such as 후진 (driving in reverse, i.e. driving towards the back); 오후 (afternoon); 후년 (next year); 후퇴 (retreat); 후사 (heir); 방과후 (after school); and 후기 (an after-story, which is a detailed account of your experience).

This word is, of course, a proper word that you can find in a Korean dictionary; and given that nuclear bombs do not explode very frequently, this word is used mostly as a metaphor. For example, the government may implement a higher minimum wage (just happened in Korea as of January 2018; now the minimum wage is 7530 Korean won, about $7.50 USD, up from 6470 Korean won, about $6.50 USD), and as a result, many people may lose their jobs, or small businesses may have to close as they cannot afford to hire workers anymore (there are signs of these, although the total effect remains to be seen).

A newspaper might decide to report on the aftermath of the steep minimum wage hike, by saying:

"최저임금 인상의 후폭풍이 우려됩니다." (The reverse-blast of the minimum-wage hike could become a worry.)

However, the Korean internet users found another clever way to use this word in a more everyday scenario. Consider the following breakup scenario, which many of us have must have experienced to some degree.

A declares that they no longer want to be with B; B gets upset and cries, and blows up A's phone with texts and missed calls. After a few whirlwind days of emotionally charged texts and phone calls involving pleading and begging, followed by anger and resentment, B finally accepts the breakup. B goes through many months of erasing and forgetting the memories of A.

Just about when B decides that the memories of A are no longer the cause of acute heartache, B's phone rings. It's A, asking: "How are you doing?" A regrets having left B, and would do anything to be back with B. Now it is A who is blowing up B's phone, begging for a second chance.

Aside from the role that one plays in this scenario (I have certainly been both A and B!) this is a familiar story to many people who have experienced breakups.

The Koreans are no exceptions to this rule. What's interesting is that they have extra vocabulary that doesn't seem to exist in the English language, to describe various parts of breaking up.

The word "후폭풍" describes the whirlwind of texts and phone calls that follow the breakup several months later, usually by the person who did the breakup, who realized that they made a terrible mistake of letting the love of their lives go. After the initial begging and pleading by B (which often have the intensity of the figurative nuclear bomb!), A returns the begging and pleading (also equally intense, just in the opposite direction), which matches exactly the nuclear blast scenario.

Many people who were dumped secretly (or not-so-secretly) hope that their ex will soon realize that they made a mistake. So they end up hoping for a 후폭풍. They may ask their friends on tips for making this happen, by saying:

"후폭풍이 오게하려면 어떻게 해야하지?" (What do I have to do to make the reverse-blast come?)

And they may end up laughing at their ex, when the reverse blast comes after they have moved on:

"헤어진지 일년이 다 됐는데 이제 후폭풍이 오면 어쩌라는거야 ㅋㅋ" (It's been a year since the breakup; what am I supposed to do with a reverse-blast now? lol)

When this word became standard usage on the Korean internet, people noticed the fact that there are, in fact, two "blasts" to a typical breakup. The first blast, of course, is when B has not yet come to terms with the fact that they will no longer be together. While there was no particular word that described this in the dictionary, the Koreans noticed that the Hanja "뒤 후" has a clear antonym, also in Hanja: the appropriate Hanja would have been "먼저 선," that is, the pronunciation is "선," and the meaning is "먼저" -- "first" or "before" in English.

There are many everyday words that use "먼저 선" as well: 선생 (teacher; as "생" is Hanja for "life," the Korean word for "teacher" denotes a person who lived first); 선배 (sunbae, or your seniors. "배" means "to learn," so these people are the ones who learned before you); 선대 or 선조 (ancestors); 선약 (prior appointment); 선입견 (prejudice, which are notions that are conceived prior to experience).

Using this Hanja, the Koreans started calling the initial blast of emotions following a declaration of breakup a "선폭풍," or the "initial blast." While it is not used as frequently, you can use this word to say things like:

"한바탕 선폭풍을 겪고나니 오히려 후련해요." (I feel like a huge weight has been lifted, now that I've gone through the initial blast.)

 or

"난 선폭풍때문에 힘든데 그새끼는 벌써 새 여자친구가 생겼더라." (I'm still struggling from the initial blast, but that bastard already has a new girlfriend.)

 Both of these words are widely accepted within the younger Koreans, and the nuance is extremely neutral. You can use these words without worrying about offending, while showing off your mastery of Korean slang!

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#112. 인실좆, 고소미 -- Three unexpected ways you can end up in a Korean court

Back in the 1990s when I lived in Korea, I remember watching a sitcom episode (I wish I remembered the title!) that featured a Korean-American family. While they mostly spoke Korean, they had a bit of an American attitude. They would mix in random English words in conversation (to brag that they know English), and they would behave in a stereotypical American way. One thing they constantly said to each other was:

"너 쑤할거야!" (I'm going to sue you! -- "쑤" is just the Koreaniztion of the English word "sue")

Koreans used to believe that the Americans take each other to court for the most trivial of reasons. Maybe they still believe this, I am not sure.

Whatever the case may have been in the 1990s, I actually think that the Koreans have become much more liberal about suing each other since then. And in the typical Korean fashion, the Koreans find humour out of the situation. For example, when they catch wind of the fact that you are engaged in a questionable behaviour, they may say various things. I have covered some of these sayings in a previous post, but here are some of the things the Koreans might say to you:

"너 고소미 먹어볼래?" (Do you want to taste "고소미 Gosomi"?)

Or

"인실좆 당해봐야 정신을 차리지" (You will only behave yourself when you have experienced "인실좆 Insiljot.")

Both of these things imply that you are about to get sued (or be charged with a crime) and face the Korean court, but Koreans rarely use the word "sue" ("고소" in Korean) in the Korean internet. The proper way to say that "You may get sued soon" would have been:

"너 곧 고소당할것 같아." (I think you'll get sued soon.)

In particular, "to get sued" in Korean is "고소당하다," but in informal speech, they may say instead "고소 먹다." Here, "먹다" is "to eat" in English, so the speaker would be saying that they got a taste of a lawsuit.

But the thing is, there is a brand of crackers in Korea called "고소미," which you can literally eat. So these (admittedly delicious) crackers became synonymous with "getting sued." So if someone talks about eating "고소미," more often than not, they're not actually talking about these crackers!

You can probably find these in your local Korean grocery store -- these are delicious and highly recommended!

Another expression that I mentioned above, "인실좆," is short for

"인생은 실전이다 좆만아." (Life is not a practice game, you baby.)

Here, "인생" means "life," and "실전" means "real battle." All four letters come from Hanja, and these are standard dictionary words. The slanginess of this phrase comes from the fact that the speaker is calling the listener "좆만이" (for example, if your friend's name is "김다솜," you often refer to her as "다솜이," and when you call her directly, you call her "다솜아!")

I have covered the word "좆 (vulgar slang for penis)" and phrases involving it in a couple of posts, and you can read about them here and here. In this particular instance, the name "좆만이" comes from the derogatory assertion that your listener is about as big as a penis ("좆만하다.") Turning that into a name-form, you drop the suffix "-하다" and turn it into "좆만이," like how "다솜" becomes "다솜이."

So in the above phrase, the speaker is:

1. Insulting the listener by asserting that the listener is nothing but a baby, since the listener is about as big as a penis, and

2. Telling the listener that they are about to experience the bitter taste of life, since there is no second try in a real battle.

While this phrase could be used anywhere, its shortened form "인실좆" is exclusively used for the Korean internet users to imply that because of the listener's mistake, they are about to get sued (and experience just how difficult life can get for them.) Nowadays, you can use "인실좆" as a noun that substitute the Korean word "고소," so that instead of "고소당하다 (getting sued)," you might "인실좆 당하다 (get to experience just how real life can get.)"

Of course, in calling someone a "좆만이," there is the air of forced toughness, or "허세" in Korean, on the speaker's part, and the nuance of the phrase ends up sounding a bit ridiculous, injecting some humour into the situation.

In a true display of 허세, you might decide to sue someone, watch them get dragged off by police officers, and when they pass by you in handcuffs, you might whisper in their ear: "인생은 실전이야, 좆만아" with a small smirk. A classic comic book moment!

And it turns out that it is easier to get sued in Korea than in America -- there are some actions that are considered to be a crime in Korean that are not crimes in the Western world. Here are three very common reasons for suing someone in Korea, that the Westerners would not have thought about:

1. 모욕죄 (the crime of insulting someone)

In the Western world, we mostly operate by the principle of "freedom of speech," and so uttering a simple insult is generally protected by the constitution. However, in Korea, a simple insult in public can be grounds for suing someone. According to the Korean criminal law:

311. Any one who intentionally insults another can be subject to incarceration of less than one year, or a fine of less than $2000 USD.

This law covers the case where one person publicly humiliates another via insults, in a way that the bystanders can tell who the insulted person is. So, in particular, if a Korean internet user goes on someone's Facebook profile, and posts vulgarity clearly directed at the owner of the page, the owner can take screenshots of these insults and head to the police station.

Note that this is different from slander; as long as the listener feels humiliated, you have committed a crime in the eyes of the Korean law, even if you may have spoken the truth.

And these laws get used frequently. There were 8488 lawsuits filed by the end of July in 2015, pertaining to online insults. And these lawsuits have been on the rise ever since.

For a culture that puts a lot of emphasis on saving face, this is not a completely unreasonable law, although it goes directly against the Western values! My feeling is that a lot of Koreans don't take this very seriously; some people view this as an opportunity for a small side income, and habitually sues anyone who insults them online. Others view this as a source of amusement, as there are many dramas related to one internet user trying to sue another (often, the drama concludes by a public apology by the offending party.)

2. 초상권 (the right to your portraits)

In the Western world, if you are in a public place, it is assumed that anyone can be recording you. Your right to privacy applies only in areas where you can reasonably expect privacy. 

That being said, if you read the Korean newspapers, you may have seen the blurred-out faces of the people in the background of a newspaper photo. In Korea, it is recognized that if you are photographed against your will and the photo distributed, the person can feel humiliation or embarrassment, and this act infringes on the right to privacy. So, unless you are explicitly doing acts that are presumably inviting photographers (such as leading a demonstration, or performing in the streets), you are not allowed to take photos of strangers and share it publicly.

If you're taking a photo of some celebrities in a crowd, make sure you blur out everyone's faces, except the celebrities' faces, since they are probably expecting to get photographed!

In fact, if someone posts photos on online communities or newspapers without blurring out the faces of the people in the background, someone will invariably point out that the photo needs to be edited. 

3. 상간 손해배상 (compensation for adultery)

Up until 2015, it was illegal to commit adultery! Adultery was a crime, and if the faithful spouse was able to provide clear evidence of adultery, the cheating spouse could go to jail for at least 6 months, but less than 2 years. (Fun fact: each sexual act could be counted as a separate instance of the crime!)

There was a surprising amount of hesitation getting rid of this law with the Korean public. They were afraid that their spouses would cheat with abandon, and with no regards to the consequences. The media reports that it is true that people started feeling less guilt about cheating since abolishing the adultery laws.

However, the non-cheating spouse can still ask for damages from not only their cheating spouse, but also the partner of the cheating spouse. As this is a civil matter and no longer criminal, depending on the extent of the damage, they can expect a fair bit of money to be awarded. Unlike the Western world, where anything that goes inside of your bedroom is your business, Koreans feel very differently. In fact, the divorce process is very different as well -- the cheating spouse cannot initiate divorce procedures in Korea, although people think this will change in the future.

So, take care not to trip yourself up while in Korea! I am sure there are other laws that are different, but these three are the ones that I hear about the most online, while being very different from the Western legal perspectives. While the cracker 고소미 may be tasty, I am sure the taste of the Korean court will not be the same.

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#111. 즙을 짜다 -- Crocodile tears

In the past 48 hours, Korean internet has seen unrestrained fiery anger, which had not been witnessed since the impeachment of the president Park Geun-Hye (who had been seeking advice from the shaman Choi Soon-Sil on important national matters).

The story unfolded quite unexpectedly, on the ice during Women's Team Pursuit in the 2018 PyeongChang Olympics. In this event, all three members of a team start together, and run six laps (2400m) around the arena. The catch is that the team's time is recorded as the time it took the slowest member of the team to complete six laps. This means that there are some unexpected strategizing involved. If one member seems to be struggling, the other two members should push them along, and all three members should stay together in case of any unexpected events. It seems to be a heartwarming sport that emphasizes teamwork instead of individual records.

In this quarterfinal match, the Korean team was not expected to medal, but they were aiming for 4th place. Instead, they came in 7th out of 8 teams that competed, because the last member of the Korean team, Noh Sun-Young, was about half a lap behind her teammates.

Many Koreans felt that something was off, since team members are supposed to stay together to help each other.

So, even though the two Koreans (Kim Bo-Reum, and Park Ji-Woo) did well, the Korean team's time was recorded as the last teammate's record, which was four seconds behind the qualifying time.

Something was clearly off, and the Korean netizens started digging around to try to understand what had happened. Of course, the Koreans had a good idea of what was going on -- when one person is separated from the mass, the Korean instinct is to suspect bullying, or 왕따 in Korean (which could loosely be translated as "mass ostracization.")

This is the Korean style of bullying; one person is ignored by everyone else. Every action they take is criticized and laughed at, and as far as everyone is concerned, you don't exist unless they want to tell you something mean-spirited. Almost every Korean experiences it at some point of their life, as ostracization is fairly rampant in the Korean society. So, Koreans react sensitively whenever there is a public 왕따 scandal. First of all, no one should be humiliated like that, and the Koreans see in the victim a shadow of themselves; so they really want to see the bullies punished.

The Koreans dug up evidence in no time.

Exhibit 1: The two Korean skaters (Kim and Park, bottom right) don't seem very friendly with the final team member (Noh, top left).

Exhibit 2: Noh Sun-Young, despondent about having come in so behind her teammates, was crying immediately after the race. The only person caught on camera comforting her was the coach, Bob de Jong.

Exhibit 3: Noh Sun-Young is crying on the left; the other two, Kim Bo-Reum and Park Ji-Woo, on the right, completely ignore their crying teammate.

All of this painted a very clear picture for the Koreans, who have all been there. It was clear that Noh Sun-Young was being bullied and ostracized by her teammates.

The Koreans were thrown into a further fury when Kim Bo-Reum, the captain of the Korean team, gave an interview, in which she insinuated that the Korean team was brought down by their weak link. To the Koreans, this showed that she did not understand the spirit of the sport; Team Pursuit was about teamwork and helping each other, and she was going out of her way to do the opposite.

And her smirk was enough to paint the picture of the perfect villain.

The Koreans started a petition to the Blue House (청와대, Korean equivalent of the White house, translated as the house of blue roof-bricks) and the president; Kim Bo-Reum and Park Ji-Woo lacked the compassion of a human being. Furthermore, they did not have the professionalism to set aside their differences with Noh Sun-Young, and to really play the sport. It also did not help that Noh Sun-Young is older than Kim Bo-Reum and Park Ji-Woo, so Kim and Park expected to be courteous to Noh, according to the teachings of Confucianism.

In just two days, over 500,000 Koreans signed the petition (almost one in every 100 Koreans!) It is said to be the petition that gathered the most number of signatures in the shortest amount of time in the history of the Blue House. You can check the status of the petition here.

They are petitioning for the disqualification of Kim and Park, and they are asking for an investigation into the Korean Skating Association, for having allowed this to happen. The petition will be gathering signatures until March 21, 2018.

Furthermore, the Korean clothing brand NEPA, which had been sponsoring Kim's trainings, announced that their contract with Kim is up on February 28, 2018, and that they will not be renewing their sponsorship.

Kim Bo-Reum called a press conference to apologize for her behaviour in tears, but it seems that no one was moved by her tears. In fact, many Koreans sneered at the fact that she was crying mere days after the smirk which had become famous in the Korean internet. They laughed at her, saying:

"즙짜고 있네" (Way to squeeze out some juice.)

 The word "즙" is often used to describe the juice or sap that you get from squeezing. For example, "오렌지즙" would be the juice of orange that you get when you squeeze. "나무즙" would be the sap of a tree, and so on. The common feature of the 즙 is that you do have to work a little (or a lot, in some cases) to actually get the liquid; so by saying that Kim Bo-Reum is "즙을 짠다," the Korean internauts are making fun of the fact that she is probably making an effort at showing some tears -- that is, they doubt the sincerity of her tears.

Mmmmm!

In general, you can use the verb "즙을 짜다" to describe anyone in Kim Bo-Reum's situation in a derogatory way. If your friend is crying, and you use this word on her, it had better be the case that everyone agrees that she is crying to win over some sympathy; otherwise, you will seem heartless.

I am not sure how this story will wrap up. Kim Bo-Reum and Park Ji-Woo both have more events coming up, and the three women will have to skate once more as a team at the Team Pursuit event today, which determines the 7th place and the 8th place.

People often say that in Korea, there are only two kinds of scandals that will damage your career forever -- one is to evade your military duties (since most Korean men spend about two years of their lives in service), and the other is to cause a bullying scandal.

No scandal of this magnitude has ever happened in the Korean athletic community. While I hope that these talented skaters are given a second chance, they seemed to have touched one of the very few taboo things in the Koreans' collective psyche, and we will have to wait and see what happens. Many Koreans seem to believe that PyeongChang will be Kim's last Olympic games.

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#110. 수호랑 -- the story behind the Olympic mascot

Winter Olympics are truly my favourite world event! I spend all of my evenings watching the games, so this is going to be a short post (so that I can go off and watch more Olympics events -- I have to admit, I cheer for Team Canada!)

I wanted to tell you a little bit about the adorable Olympics mascot, which is a white tiger named 수호랑 (Soohorang).

Being a mascot is a big job, as a mascot symbolizes many things; the spirit of the Olympics, as well as the host. And I think 수호랑 is doing this job admirably.

First of all, tigers have always stood for the Koreans. Koreans believe that the Korean peninsula looks like a crouching tiger, and being the strongest creatures within the Korean mountains (and there are many of them), many villages adopted tigers as their guardian deity within the traditional Korean shamanism, or 수호신 in Korean ("수호" means to guard, and "신" means deity). It should also be noted that in the Korean shamanism, albino animals typically symbolizes good omen -- a white tiger is, therefore, very special indeed!

Tigers also universally symbolize strength and power, as do the Olympics athletes.

Then there is the name of this mascot, "수호랑." You can already see where the word "수호" comes from; it symbolizes the Koreans' hopes that this mythical white tiger will stand guard against all evil things, and lead the Olympics to a success, while protecting the athletes and the audience from bad fortunes.

The word "랑" is also interesting to me. Officially, it comes from the Korean word "호랑이" meaning tiger, so that the name of the mascot "수호랑" means "protecting tiger." However, the nuance of the word is even more beautiful to me, because the suffix "-랑" was traditionally used (primarily in the Three Kingdoms era, and even into the Joseon Dynasty) as an honorific. For example, if your name was "준호," people would have called you "준호랑" to show some degree of respect -- the nuance is not unlike the "Mr.-" prefix, or "-chan" or "-sama" suffix in Japanese. So "수호랑" also taps some thousand years into the Korean history, and pays respect to this tiger deity who protects us.

There is also the fact that Korea hosted the 1988 Summer Olympics, so the Olympics have returned to Korea in exactly 30 years! The mascot of the 1988 Summer Olympics was also a tiger named "호돌이" (which could be roughly translated to "tiger boy" -- see this post for an explanation of the suffix "-돌이.") So, Koreans wanted to continue with another tiger mascot for the sake of continuity, and the back story is that 수호랑 is the son of 호돌이!

Finally, you may have noticed that some events do not award the medals at the venue, and they hold a separate ceremony for the medals. This started in the 2006 Torino Olympics to make sure that the athletes and the audience were not spending an unreasonable amount of time in the cold; so the athletes get a small souvenir at the venue, and the official ceremony with the anthems and the medals are held elsewhere.

The souvenirs for the medalling athletes were, not surprisingly, a stuffed 수호랑! However, these limited-edition 수호랑 dolls are special because they are wearing these adorable hats:

I have been searching everywhere to buy one of these dolls with this hat on, but it seems that only the Olympic athletes can get them. If you know otherwise, PLEASE let me know!

The reason I am going crazy over these hats is because these hats also hold a very special place in the Korean history.

In a past post, I had talked about how being a public servant has always been high on the Koreans' list of good jobs, thanks to its security and prestige. Thanks to a tradition that spans hundreds of years, the public servants of Korea are selected in a nationwide exam.

It was (and still is!) a big deal to pass these exams (passing this exam is called "급제"); if you passed with the top grades, called 장원급제, it was even a bigger deal (not anymore). These winners of the national exam would be employed in a more important position, and the king himself would congratulate the winner on his academic achievements. Having a winner come out of your village was an occasion to celebrate; and the winner would be given some time to come back home, and share this happy moment with his (no women were allowed to write these exams) family and friends.

An old drawing of a winner (장원급제자, or the person who achieved 장원급제) of the national exam.

When the winner returned home, he would be draped in a silk gown, and he would be wearing a special hat called 어사화 (literally, flowers "화" given "사" by the king "어"). These were paper flowers hanging in willow branches, that you stuck behind your hat. Being able to wear these paper flowers were a privilege, and something that all men dreamed of!

And now, the Olympic athletes symbolically get to wear these 어사화, through the Olympic mascot 수호랑. Watching these venue ceremonies where these athletes are presented with the flowers from the king fills this history nerd with such pride and happiness -- I love that the Koreans are sharing a small piece of their history with the world.

Finally, I leave you with a completely adorable video (in English, Korean subtitles) of foreigners trying to figure out the purpose of 어사화. I am off to watch more Olympics games, though!

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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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#108. 번역체 -- Five ways Koreans can tell that you are not a native speaker

Pyeongchang Olympics are all set to begin, and the excitement is mounting (well, a lot of Koreans are still unhappy about the flag fiasco...)

The American alpine skier Lindsey Vonn shares the sentiment, and she posted on her Instagram account about how her journey was delayed, yet how she is still very excited. The Korean media reported her Instagram post as front-page news of the sports section.

This is partly due to her success as an alpine skier, but mostly because she used a Korean phrase in her Instagram post. She wrote:

"나는 너무 흥분 돼." (I am so excited.)

The Korean media must have loved the fact that she went through the trouble of using Google Translate to post this short phrase, and the headlines reflect this.

The headline says: "Lindsey Vonn arrives in Korea, writes in Korean "I am so excited""

Wait, you might say. How do you know that she used Google Translate? Are you saying this because she's white?

Interestingly enough, I am not being a racist. I know that she is nowhere near being a native speaker, because she used the kind of Korean that the Koreans call "번역체." This word is a composition of two words: "번역" and "체." The word "번역" just means "translation."

The word "체," meaning "body" in Hanja, is a bit more complicated. It can be used to describe the form of anything related to a language. For example, it can describe physical attributes of letters. The font of your letters are called "글씨체" and cursive fonts are called "필기체." At the very beginning of this blog, I also talked about a specific Korean font called "궁서체," which refers to the font traditionally used within the palace. The font with which you write gives some character to the sentence itself -- in English, the big loopy and girly writings with hearts to dot your i's have a completely different character from Times New Roman, with which you write your college reports.

Here are some basic Korean fonts. From top to bottom, rounded font, palatial calligraphy font, standout font, clear gothic font, and basic font.

However, in modern Korean slang, it can also refer to the mood of the sentences. The most widely used example of this is the word "번역체," where people decide that certain sentences feel so "off" that they must have come badly translating another language. While the actual written letters have no physical characteristics, the overall mood of the sentence gives the sentence a character.

What Lindsey Vonn wrote is a clear example of "영어 번역체" (English-translated mood). While the correct translation of the word "excitement" is indeed "흥분," for lack of a better word in the Korean language, Koreans generally use the word "흥분" to mean "aroused." (As of recent, some Koreans use it to mean "excited" but this is an influence of Koreans who have become more fluent in English!) So when I Googled the phrase "흥분돼" I got a mix of Korean language lessons (where English speakers want to translate the phrase "I am excited"), and porn. Fun stuff.

Then there are other elements in Vonn's writing that seem slightly off to a native Korean. The use of "는" in "나는" seems wrong (I'd have suppressed it), and her spacing in "흥분 돼" seems off. While I could not tell you exactly why it is grammatically wrong, I just know that it doesn't sound right. And from experience (of having read many English sentences translated through Google translate), I know that her sentence has been auto-translated.

If it were a native Korean writing this sentence, she probably would have said something along the lines of:

"나 올림픽이 정말 기대돼." (I am really looking forward to the Olympics.)

or

"진짜 신난다." (I'm feeling the fun.)

 While these are not the exact translates of the sentence "I'm excited," the whole point is that there is no exact translation of this sentence in Korean, so any attempt at an exact translation will make it sound awkward. Young Koreans are beginning to adopt this phrase, by saying things like

 "나 지금 흥분함" (I'm excited right now)

but in order to use it in a non-awkward manner, you would need a complete mastery of the language, where you don't want to follow all rules of grammar, but you still want to follow enough. This is a subtle nuance issue that most learners will struggle with, as the 번역체 sentences are still mostly grammatically correct!

So, here are a few examples of 번역체 sentences that you could keep in mind. I am covering the ones coming from English, but many language-specific examples exist, and Koreans can generally tell apart the ones coming from English, Japanese, or Chinese.

1. Pay attention to the order of your phrases.

English and Korean have very different order of words. A silly 번역체 would be:

"나는 간다, 학교에." (I am going to school.)

While each word matches up the English counterpart, the natural Korean grammar would say "나는 학교에 간다." So if the ordering of your words are awkward, the Koreans can usually tell that you are not a native speaker. A more complicated example might be:

"와서 나를 봐 바쁘지 않으면" (Come see me when you are not busy.) 

The more natural translation is: "바쁘지 않을 때 들러."

2. Suppress your pronouns. 

Unlike the English language, Korean doesn't need a lot of pronouns, and they tend to be suppressed whenever it is clear from context. For example, the sentence "I love you" does not get translated in Korean as "나는 너를 사랑한다," which is definitely an example of 번역체. It is enough to say:

"사랑해."

It should be clear from context whether this sentence is an affirmation of love, or if you simply adore Korean fried chicken. Similarly, you don't want to translate "They're coming!" as "그들이 오고있어!" It is enough to simply say:

"온다!" 

3. Be more specific with your pronouns.

This sounds contradictory to point 2, but this rule covers a completely different set of cases. If the context is clear, you should suppress your pronouns. But suppose that you are about to open the windows in the classroom, and your friend happens to know that the teacher is allergic and he really hates it. Then she might tell you, "He really doesn't like the windows open."

In this case, the easiest Korean translation might be "그는 창문을 여는것을 좋아하지 않아." However, the usage of non-specific pronouns such as 그, 그녀, or 그것 is very rare in Korean. Instead, saying:

"선생님은 창문을 여는것을 좋아하시지 않아"

is a much better translation.

4. Learn the Korean equivalent of the English idioms (sometimes they don't exist).

You should think twice when an English sentence does not serve its literal purpose. For example, think about the sentence:

"Seulgi is nicer than you think, if you ask me."

While a literal translation might be: "만약 나에게 물어본다면, 슬기는 네가 생각하는것보다 착해," the phrase "if you ask me" does not literally mean that the listener asked the speaker her opinion about Seulgi. The speaker is using this phrase to emphasize the fact that she is stating an opinion. Therefore, it is unreasonable to expect that Korean would have a literal counterpart to this English expression. A better translation is:

"내생각엔 슬기는 네가 생각하는것보다 착해." (I think Seulgi is nicer than you think.)

Other expressions that sound awkward when translated directly into Korean include:

- "please" (for example, "Can you please help me" doesn't translate to "나를 제발 도와줄래?"  but rather "도와줄수 있어?")
-  "I say": use "내 생각엔," not "내가 말하길."
- "Give me a break": use "그만좀 해" and not "휴식을 줘."
- "take into account": use "고려하다" or "염두에 두다."
- "you know": use "있잖아."
- "I'm excited": use "정말 기대돼" (note the suppressed pronoun.)

5. "Oh" translates to a variety of different words in Korean.

While it is not wrong to translate "oh" into "오" in Korean, as soon as this word is inserted into a sentence, it smells strongly of a 번역체 sentence. In general, the better translation is "아," but it depends on the purpose of "oh" in the sentence.

If it precedes a revelation ("Oh, you live here too?") or an afterthought ("Oh, don't forget to buy some apples!"), then the Korean translation uses "아." For example, the two above sentences become:

"아, 여기 사시네요?" (Oh, you live here too? -- note the suppressed pronoun of "you")

and

"아, 사과 사는거 잊지마!" (Oh, don't forget to buy some apples.)

If it denotes a mild surprise ("Oh, is that right?") you can use "아", as well as "어" or "어라." So you can translate this sentence to:

"아, 진짜?" or "어라, 진짜야?" etc.

If "oh" is used as lamentation ("Oh no!") then you can use "아아," such as:

"아아, 안돼!!"

And above all, "Oh my god" does not translate to "오, 신이시여." Koreans are more likely to resort to profanity, but the most (politically) correct translation might be:

"아이구, 맙소사." 

Oh my god, indeed!

Of course, all of these things don't operate according to a well-defined set of rules, and most Koreans avoid these usages by the "ear test" -- they just don't sound quite right. The best way to avoid making these mistakes is just to expose yourself to more Korean, and get used to the way Korean sentences are constructed.

However, I also want to emphasize that the Koreans love it when foreigners speak Korean. I think the foreigners, especially anglophones, do not really understand just how happy it makes the Koreans to hear a foreigner speak Korean. Learning Korean generally does not advance your career except in very specific niches (although speaking more popular languages such as English, Spanish, French, or German probably will!) and so knowing any amount of Korean really demonstrates your interest in the Korean culture. So, you should continue to learn and speak Korean, whether you make mistakes or not -- it is flattery of the highest form to the Koreans. I mean, just look at how Lindsey Vonn made the headlines with just one Korean sentence!

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#107. 좆만하다, 좆밥 -- You couldn't be any more irrelevant

Here is a word that shows the viciousness of the Korean internet users.

Let's start with the word "좆," which I explained in a previous post; in short, it is a vulgar slang for "penis," and it is used in several expressions that are meant for insult, or for venting one's frustration. The word I want to talk about in this post is also based on the word "좆," but it is a bit more insult-like than just saying "좆같다 (despite the vulgarity, it mostly just means "it sucks")"

I love puppies!

Say that you are arguing with a user online about a topic (in the Korean internet lingo, we say that you're engaged in a "키보드배틀," or that you are "키배뜬다".) During the exchange, it becomes clear to you that the other user has no idea what he is talking about. Perhaps you are arguing about the best computer specifications to play some game, and it is clear that the other user only has beginner's level equipment.

One way to insult him is to say

"좆만한 새끼야, 까불지 마" (Don't brag, you baby.)

"까불다" is a verb that means to frolic to draw attention, or be overly cheery and loud. It is used to describe the class clowns, or a little child cheerfully and loudly showing off some random skill that he learned from his friends. It can just be a positive quality (focusing on the cheery and outgoing part of the personality) or it can be a negative quality (focusing on the fact that the person likes to be in the centre of attention, regardless of whether they deserve it or not).

"좆만하다" means that you believe that your listener is about as big as a penis (and the underlying assumption is, of course, that the penis in question is tiny!) So by drawing this comparison, you are implying that the listener only has a small bit of experience, and that they are no more than a baby and a newbie. (As an aside, "-만하다" is a comparison in size; "사과만하다" means "as big as an apple," etc.)

But then you can go one level higher, and tell him:

"좆밥같은 새끼가 어디서 까불어?" (Look where you're bragging, you irrelevant sh*t!)

The insult is in the word "좆밥." We already know that the letter "좆" means "penis." From the phrase "좆밥같은," you can tell that the above sentence is comparing your opponent in your keyboard battle to a penis. (Another aside, "-같은" is a comparison in quality; "사과같다" means "looks/feels like an apple")

However, there is so much more than that to this insult.

The letter "밥" has many meanings; while its primary meaning is "boiled rice," this is not what it means in this case. The letter "밥" also means "crumbs," especially the residue left after working on some material with tools. So, in Korean, "sawdust" is "톱밥," literally "saw crumbs."

Other words that use this suffix are "귓밥" (ear crumbs, i.e. earwax; this is actually not correct according to the dictionary -- it should mean earlobes, but Koreans use it to mean earwax anyway) and "실밥" (the threads forming the stitches after an injury).

So what in the world is "좆밥"? Koreans use it to mean the residue left on the folds of your penis when you don't wash it carefully. Disgusting, I know. So you are basically insulting your opponent by saying that they are so irrelevant, and that they are more or less equivalent to the residue on your penis.

The skater Adelina Sotnikova is often referred to as "형광나방," or "fluorescent moth" among the Koreans.

So, for example, the Koreans still hate the figure skater Adelina Sotnikova, because they believe that she stole the gold medal that rightfully belongs to Kim Yuna (and all things considered, Kim Yuna has much better records than Adelina Sotnikova). So they might say:

"김연아 좆밥새끼가 까부네." (That b*tch who is about as relevant as the residue on Kim Yuna's penis (?!?!?!) is bragging again.)

It sounds awkward when you think about its meaning, since Kim Yuna surely doesn't have a penis! Yet this phrase does get used, because the Koreans don't think carefully about the etymology of the insult words; they know that "좆밥" means "not even worthy of comparison" but they rarely think about what the word actually means.

This is possibly one of the reasons why Korean profanity tends to be a lot more aggressive and extreme compared to the English profanity. While most of the anglophone profanity retain their meaning, the Korean profanity does not; as soon as a word becomes popular, people usually become desensitized to the actual meaning behind the words, and they are off to find the next exciting word soon afterwards.

If you wanted to be slightly less vulgar while conveying the same meaning, you can say instead:

"김연아 발톱의 때만도 못한게 까부네" (That b*tch who is less relevant than the residue on Kim Yuna's toenail residues is bragging again.)

While conveying approximately the same idea, this word uses words from the dictionary, and is much less of a slang.

In any case, I would refrain from using this word in real life, but if you ever engage in a keyboard battle, go ahead and use it, by all means! It is definitely an insult, but not the one that the listener would take very seriously. You might occasionally see your very close male friends use it on each other (if you are male), but I would not want to be the one to initiate the usage of this word, especially if you are not familiar with the Korean words and their nuances.

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