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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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#78. 아닥 -- Shut your pie hole

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

"닥쳐!" (Shut up)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Listening exercise with transcript #13: the Korean Pig Latin

Here are some Korean girls speaking 외계어 that I talked about a few days ago. The older members in the show clearly don't know anything about it, and they are shocked that all these young girls know how to communicate with each other using this strange language!

There are many popular Korean girl groups in this video, including GFriend, APink, and IOI, but I won't refer to them by name since not every reader is familiar with everyone.

Panel member 1: 할줄아시는분 계세요?
(Can anyone speak it?)

Panel member 2: 도깨비 언어가뭐야?
(What's the 도깨비 언어? -- language of the hobgoblins)

Girl 1: 어떤거요? ㄹ이요?
 (Which consonant do you use? ㄹ? -- remember that you need to pick a consonant to speak the Korean Pig Latin, and that choice is up to you!)

Girl 2: 아.. 저는 ㅂ으로...
 (Oh, I use ㅂ...)

Girl 3: 저는 ㅅ이요.
(I use ㅅ.)

Panel member 3: 도깨비 언어가 뭐야?
(What is the 도깨비 언어?)

Panel member 4: 일단 시범을 한번보여줘요.
(Can you do a demonstration first before talking about it?)

Girl 1: 펴성소소에세 보소미시서선배새니심 패샌이시에세요소.

Girl 2: 아사 저서도소 너서무수 패샌이신데세.
(The above conversation between the two girls is repeated twice)

Girl 3: 너서무수 귀시여서워서요소.

Girl 4: 가삼사사하삽니시다사. ㅅ은 잘 못하겠어요.

Girl 5: 저러도로 하랄수루이맀스릅니리다라.

So there's the transcript. Can you figure out what they are saying? Here is the translation of the Korean Pig Latin:

Girl 1: 평소에 보미선배님 팬이에요. (I've been a fan of Bomi sunbae -- sunbae is a word referring to someone who has been in your profession for longer than you. For example, a student in a higher year is your 선배, as well as someone who has worked at your workplace for longer than you.)

Girl 2: 아 저도 너무 팬인데. (Oh, I'm a fan of yours too.)

Girl 3: 너무 귀여워요 (You're so cute!)

Girl 4: 감사합니다. ㅅ은 잘 못하겠어요 (Thank you. I can't really speak it well using ㅅ -- here, she messes up slightly in speaking the Korean Pig Latin, and she says that she is used to using a different consonant from ㅅ.)

Girl 5: 저도 할 수 있습니다 (She pipes up from nowhere, telling people that she can also speak it too. But instead of using ㅅ like all the other girls before her, she chooses to use ㄹ, which is presumably the consonant that she is familiar with.)

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#77. 현피 -- Korean gamer drama gone wrong

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

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

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

The Koreans would say,

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

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

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

In reality, no blows were exchanged in this 현피.

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

Well, I can think of two major reasons.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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#76. 통수 맞다 -- Backstabbed

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

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

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

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

This is your 뒤통수.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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#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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#71. 맘충 -- Your kid is NOT the best

Some parents... should not be parents. I often find myself raging (internally, because I'm a loser) at parents who cannot control their kids not to kick the seat in front of them in planes. Then there are parents who let their kids run around screaming in restaurants, and so on.

Korea is a breeding ground for such parents. This is because Korea is not a society built on just law. Because of the influence of Confucianism (유교 in Korean), the Koreans also expect that there should be some kind of warmth when dealing with one another. Doing things exactly by law makes you seem a bit heartless to the Koreans' eyes.

If you're renovating your home and making a lot of noise? It's not required by law, but it's nice to visit your neighbours with a bit of snack and apologize in advance. Eating lunch with someone your junior? If you can afford it, it's nice to offer to pay for her. If you're a shopkeeper and an adorable and well-mannered child walks in with his mother? Not required, but you would often feel compelled to give out a piece of candy for the child for free.

To the Koreans, these kinds of gestures (usually given out from the one who holds a bit more power to the one who is weaker) make you human, and in many cases, these kinds of gestures are expected.

But here's one case where this becomes a little hazy. Usually, elder people extend these courtesies to the younger people, because they are the ones in position of power. Or if you're being a bother, you extend these courtesies to the person you are bothering. But, what if a child is bothering the others? It's a child, and children are cute, so should everyone else be courteous and do favours for the child, or should the child make some kind of gesture since she is bothering the others?

To most of us, the answer is clear. If the child is being excessively annoying, the parents should apologize on the child's behalf, and make sure that they are preventing everything that they can. However, you can see that certain self-centered people might think that since they are with a child (read: helpless but really cute things) other people should be extending courtesies to make their lives easier.

For example, see the snippet of a text conversation below (translation follows):

 

A: Hello, I would like the baby crib ("나눔" means "sharing," but in this context, it means "giving away for free.")
B: Sorry?
A: My due date is approaching ㅠㅠ If you're not using the baby crib, could you give it to me?
B: Where did you see it? I'm not giving it away, I'm trying to sell it.
A: I saw it on 중고나라 (Korean version of Craigslist). I don't have a lot of money.
B: Oh, I'm trying to sell it because I don't have a lot of money either.
A: ㅗㅗㅗ (note that the Korean vowel "ㅗ" looks like the middle finger. This is the quickest way to say f*ck you.)

Here, the person "A" (in gray) expected the person "B" (in green) to extend the courtesy, because she will have a baby soon. In normal context, this is not unusual to expect in Korea. If your neighbour is having a baby, and you have a bunch of old baby stuff that your child grew out of, you might reasonably offer to give all of these things to your neighbour without getting a penny. But of course, this depends on your decision, and your neighbour should never expect it from you, or even ask you for them (although they might be secretly hoping for it). Unfortunately, as this kind of behaviour happens fairly frequently in the Korean society, some people started taking things for granted, like the woman in the above text.

The problem is that 1) the person A is demanding these things (very rude), and 2) they are strangers. Furthermore, 3) person B was selling the bed and A wanted it for free. Seriously, wtf? I'm pretty sure that Confucius would not approve of this behaviour.

Unfortunately, Korea seems to have a lot of mothers who behave in an unreasonable way (yes, fathers also do it too, but thanks to Confucianism still rooted in the society, there are many more full-time moms than full-time dads, and so a stereotype has stuck that mothers are unreasonable.)

Koreans have an appropriate word for someone like her. They call her a "맘충." Person B might tell her friend:

"오늘 맘충이 나한테 문자해서 침대를 공짜로 달라고 하더라." (Today, a 맘충 texted me asking for the baby crib for free.)

 "맘충" is made up from two words.

"맘" is the English word "mom" written in Korean.

"충" means "insect" in Chinese. For example, "곤충" means "insect", and "해충" means "pest (but just the insects).

So, the Koreans have taken to calling the terrible moms such as A a "맘충," or "the insect of a mother."  Remember that "-충" is a good suffix to attach to the object of scorn, such as "급식충" or schoolchildren. So this is pretty much the worst insult you can hurl off to a mother who is behaving terribly, using her child as an excuse. You'd have to be pretty upset to use it in anyone's face, although if you're talking behind someone's back with your friends, you might use it a bit more liberally. I guess that is the case with most insults.

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#70. 골때린다 -- I feel as if I've been hit on the head.

Everyone probably has a memory of the moment of betrayal by someone trusted. Maybe your boyfriend, with whom you were completely in love with, broke up with you out of nowhere. Maybe your sister knew a secret about you and promised not to tell mom, but then she did.

The moment you find out about this betrayal, especially if the person who betrayed you was someone you deeply trusted, there is actually a physical response to this. Blood rushes to your ears, your face turns red, and you're not really sure if you're hearing everything correctly. It almost feels as if someone took a swing at your head.

Koreans often describe this feeling as

"머리가 띵해지는 기분이야." (It feels as if my head was '띵해지다')

and the verb "띵해지다" describes exactly the above physical response. This word is slang, although not offensive and widely known among all demographics. It is so well-known that you can probably even use it in formal settings. For example, if you're having a bad headache and what you're feeling is similar to how you would feel in a case of betrayal (often a heavy dose of cough syrup does this to me), you could describe your condition to your doctor by saying:

머리가 띵해요.

Before this expression existed, though, there was actually another expression in our parents' generation. This expression, once identical to "머리가 띵해지다," is "골때린다." The word "골" means "bones" in Chinese. In this particular context, it probably means your skull, which is "해골" in Korean. Remembering that Koreans like to take off the first letter of a word in order to become more informal and more vulgar, it is likely that "골" is a vulgarized form of "해골." And of course, "때린다" is "to hit," and its infinitive form is "때리다."

So, "골때린다" literally means "to hit (my) skull."

For example, if your boyfriend just dumped you out of nowhere, in your anger, you could say:

"너 정말 골때린다." (I feel as if you just hit me in the head.)

And your (ex-)boyfriend will get that you are hurt by his betrayal, and understand that you weren't expecting it at all.

However, as this expression has been around for a long time, and almost everyone uses it, it lost some of its strong meaning. This is because Koreans like to exaggerate. So now you can use this expression without offending in certain cases. If your friend tells you a really funny joke, you can say

"ㅋㅋㅋ 너 정말 골때린다." (I feel as if you just hit me in the head.)

In this case, this expression serves as a bit of a compliment, because you're acknowledging that his joke was completely unexpected, and it had an impact on you (as if you've been hit in the head.) The context makes this phrase almost a compliment, and your friend will remember your comment with pride.

"새끼" is a derogatory way to denote a person. "새끼" originally means young animals. So, "that person" is not only young (in Korean, treating someone your age or older as if they're younger than you is a huge insult), but also is nothing but an animal. Apparently, the guy in the picture has been surprised by someone to the degree where he feels hit in the head.

You have to be very careful of when you use it, though. For example, say that you went to a karaoke room for the first time with your friend. And your friend's singing is hilarious in a bad way. It's just not what you expected at all (maybe her singing voice is funny, or she is so absorbed in her emotion that she looks a bit ridiculous, or whatever. Just you did not see it coming at all and it's really bad.) Then you could say:

"너 노래 정말 골때리게 부른다." (I feel as if I've been hit in the head by your singing.)

She'll probably get really mad at you, and you'd have deserved it if you say it, because she didn't intend to surprise you with her singing. So this is not a good place to use this phrase.

However, if your friend was just being rude at the karaoke, not letting you take your turn, jumping in when you're actually singing really well and overpowering your voice with her voice, or god forbid, turn off your selection mid-way, then you could say:

"너 노래 정말 골때리게 부른다." (I feel as if I've been hit in the head by your singing.)

 This time, her manners were not what you were expecting, and you are offended by it. You would say it with a straight face, and with no trace of smile. She would still be offended, but hopefully upon reflection, she will understand that she's behaved badly with you.

While it's a subtle phrase to completely understand, it is also pretty versatile. Even the same sentences can have a completely different effect on people depending on how you say it (notice that even though I gave you four examples, same sentences were spoken twice.) And this is very common in Korean. Depending on your nuance, the same sentence could be the highest compliment, or the worst insult.

In general, however, I would refrain from using this phrase with elders, although they should know it (it's one of my dad's favourite phrases!) It doesn't feel right to me, and I don't see myself ever using it in front of my dad. I guess if we were both severely offended by the same person in the same situation, maybe I could try to make my dad feel better by bad-mouthing that person to my dad by saying

"저사람 정말 골때리네." (I feel as if I've been hit in the head by that person; That person is ridiculous.)

But so far, this situation hasn't happened yet.

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#69. The vixen sister (Shamanism 4)

In continuation of last week's story, I continue with yet another story about a vixen.

In the Western folklore, the fox is often seen to be of neutral gender -- by this, I mean that when a fox appears in a story, unless explicitly told of its gender, there is no reason to assume that the fox is either male or female.

However, in the Korean folklore, you almost always assume that if a fox appears in a story, then it is female (hence my translation as a "vixen" rather than a "fox" -- both are just called "여우" in Korean.) They have magical powers (mostly used for hiding their real identities), are malicious, and -- just like the Western foxes -- sly. Combining these two facts, it is no coincidence that Koreans often call the women who try to manipulate others using their femininity "여우." For example, the Koreans may badmouth the women who suddenly become full of 애교 (aegyo) in front of men by saying:

걔는 정말 남자들 앞에서는 여우야 (She is such a vixen in front of the other men).

 While this seems like a simple comparison between these women and what is considered the most sly of the animals, even this simple phrase is deeply rooted in this well-known Korean folklore, often referred to as "여우누이전" ("누이" is an old Korean word for "sister (both older and younger)" and "전" just means "folklore.")

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 Once upon a time, there lived a husband and wife, who had three sons from their marriage. However, they longed for a daughter, and they prayed to their god for a daughter daily. It seemed that their wish was not granted, as the wife did not seem to become pregnant. In their frustration, the couple said, "If only we could have a daughter, we wouldn't even mind if our three sons were dead."

If you've traveled around the Korean countryside, you may have seen a tree with a lot of colourful cloths tied to it along with a small temple. This means that the area is sacred in the Korean shamanism. Back in the day, most villages had one of these, called "서낭당," and this was a place of prayer. If you acted disrespectfully, you would have gotten punished by the local gods, and the children were forbidden to play in the sacred place.

Their god, upon hearing this, became enraged at their blatant disregard for their sons' lives. So he cursed the couple, although he allowed the wife to be pregnant with a daughter.

After the daughter was born, the household animals mysteriously dying off one by one. The couple, worried, asked their eldest son to investigate the cause, by standing watch over the animals one night. While the eldest son was dozing off in the stables, he was woken by the sound of footsteps. When he looked up, he saw that his younger sister had snuck into the stables, and had killed one of the horses. She opened up the horse, took out its liver, ate it raw, and disappeared.

Shocked and shaken, the eldest son went directly to his parents and told them about his sister. His parents, who had taken to doting on their daughter, were enraged at this story and bade the eldest brother to leave their home.

The animals continued to die off, and the second and the youngest sons were also met with the same fate as the oldest son.

The three brothers spent the next few years under the protection of a Buddhist monk ("중" in Korean), who fed and clothed them, and also taught them many things. All this time, the brothers were worried sick about having left their parents alone with their sister. They eventually decided to go back home to see how things were.

The Buddhist monk, fearing for the sons' safety, gave each of them a small 호리병 (these were made by scraping out the inside of a gourd -- a type of a pumpkin -- and drying them out, or they were made to resemble the shape). The eldest's 호리병 was yellow, the middle brother's blue, and the youngest's red. The monk told the brothers to throw the 호리병 in case of danger.

This is a 호리병. As an aside, have you ever heard people describe someone as having a "호리병 몸매?"

When the three brothers went home, they were astonished to see that only an abandoned house stood where their old house used to be. As they stood, thunderstruck, their sister came out from the abandoned house and greeted the brothers in tears. When they asked where their parents and servants were, the sister responded that they all died from illness.

A page from a Korean book depicting this story, where the sister (who clearly doesn't look right) is rushing out to greet the brothers.

Sensing danger, the brothers said, "Dear sister, we have come a long way and we are very hungry. Do you think you could find some food for us to eat?"

When the sister went into the kitchen to prepare food, the three brothers took flight. However, the sister had immediately realized that they were running away, and chased them at an unbelievable speed.

Terrified, the eldest son threw his yellow 호리병 between himself and the chasing sister. Immediately, an endless expanse of thorned hedges appeared between the brothers and the sister, and the brothers were able to put some distance between them.

However, the sister soon caught up with them again, and this time, the middle brother threw his blue 호리병. This time, an ocean appeared between the brothers and the sister, but the sister overcame that in time too.

A page from yet another Korean storybook telling the story of 여우누이.

Finally, terrified and fearing for their lives, the youngest brother threw his red 호리병. Immediately, huge flames engulfed the sister in pursuit. She was burned to death, and the flames disappeared.

In the place where the sister's body should have been was the scorched body of a vixen. In hearing the couple's unreasonable prayer for a daughter, they had angered the gods, who had given them a vixen child instead of a real daughter, who then proceeded to ruin the entire family.

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 So, vixens were sly beings that misled the people around them to hide their real identities. I am aware that the foxes are rarely portrayed as protagonists in the Western folklore; however, in the Korean folklore, the foxes, or rather, the vixens, were downright evil. The way to defeat them was first and foremost to be vigilant, so that you are not caught unawares, and to hope for a little bit of divine intervention (in both stories of the vixens that I've presented, they appear in the form of a Buddhist monk!) After all, the foxes are not particularly powerful, so you just have to be not tricked.

I do, however, wonder why the foxes in the Korean folklore are almost always women. No doubt this negative portrayal has somehow contributed to the Korean sexism, which often sees women as sly, two-faced beings (we do this sometimes in the Western culture too, but Koreans are much worse at this.) My guess is that among the animals familiar to the Korean terrains, there was the natural choice for the most powerful animal -- the tiger, who are almost always portrayed as being masculine (on the other hand, bears or wolves were also common in Korea, and they are fairly neutral in gender).

For what it's worth, tigers are often portrayed as antagonists too -- the powerful yet stupid kind. Sexism much? (To be continued in the next installation!)

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#68. 핑거프린세스 -- Can't you do it yourself?

I will admit that most of my time on the Korean internet is actually spent on mostly male-dominated sites. I'm not really sure why; I just find the blunt humour that is characteristic of the male-dominated websites a lot funnier than the female-dominated ones. As a result, a large number of slang that I have covered in this blog are used more frequently by men than women (Also, many women's websites are login only, where you are only accepted as a user if you can prove that you're female, so accessibility is sometimes an issue.)

That doesn't mean that I don't spend any time on the female-dominated websites. And these websites often have their own slang.

"핑거프린세스" is one of such slang, used almost exclusively by women. This word is broken up into two parts like many Korean slang, as "핑거" and "프린세스." Both words are English; "핑거" is "finger," and "프린세스" is "princess."

A: 나 내일 남자친구랑 롯데월드에 놀러가는데, 날씨가 좋을까? (I'm going to Lotte World with my boyfriend, do you think it will be nice tomorrow?)
B: 좋겠네. 잘 놀고 와! (You must be excitd, have fun!)
A: 날씨가 좋아야 잘 놀텐데. 너 내일 날씨 어떤지 알아? (I can't have fun if it's not nice out. Do you know the weather tomorrow?)
B: (핸드폰에 검색후) 내일 날씨 좋다네.  (Searching on phone Apparently it will be nice tomorrow.)
A: 다행이다. 근데 롯데월드에 지하철타고갈건데 혹시 몇호선을 타야 가는지 알아? (That's good. By the way, I'm going there by subway. Do you know what line goes there?)
B: 잘 모르겠는데. (I'm not sure.)
A: 나 지하철 자주 안타서 걱정되는데, 혹시 좀 알아봐줄수있어? (I'm really nervous because I don't take subways often. Do you think you could find out the directions for me?)
B: 야, 핑거프린세스짓 그만하고 니가 직접 검색해봐. (Hey, stop being a finger princess and look it up yourself.)

Knowing the meaning of each part, and a context in which this word might be used, can you guess what it means?

I sometimes link my 핑프 friends to this website.

"핑거프린세스," "핑프" for short, means that the person in question is such a princess in the fingers that they refuse to search the internet for themselves. These are the people who ask very straightforward questions (usually online) whose answers can be found out by a very quick Google search.

Here are some more examples of how to use this word in context:

The girl from the above example might see her boyfriend the next day on her way to Lotte World, and tell him:

"나 어제 핑프라고 욕먹었어." (Yesterday, I was insulted to be a 핑프).

Or, on an internet forum, someone might see this word for the first time, and make a post to ask about its meaning:

Netizen A: "핑프가 뭐에요?" (What dose 핑프 mean?)
Netizen B: "너요." (That would be you.)

Here, "너요" is a very sarcastic reply, because the first half of this short sentence "너" is an informal denotation of "you," while the second half "요" is formal honorifics. By writing out a sentence in informal speech except the very end, you can give off a very sarcastic vibe, like in the above example. Many websites require its users to use honorifics at all times, so Netizen B is trying to get away with as much non-honorifics as possible, managing to be sarcastic and disrespectful at the same time!

"핑프" is definitely an internet slang known to only the young people of Korea. It came into use not too long ago, I would estimate it to be maybe 3-5 years old. It is fairly popular among the young women, although it is, of course, designed to insult. It seems that some men try to use this as well by calling their male friends "핑거프린스 (finger prince)" but it hasn't caught on so much.

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#67. 현타 -- Just what was I doing?

Sexual references are rife in the Korean internet scene. Some of them are hilariously clever, while some of them are downright foul and makes the listeners cringe. If you think that English profanity is bad... Well, make sure that you stay on the squeaky clean side of the Korean internet!

But there are also some expressions that are almost cute, like the expression "현자타임."

The meaning of this expression, originally used by only men (I'll explain why in a second), can be easily guessed by any Korean. It breaks up easily into two parts, "현자" and "타임."

"현자" means "wise man." The letter "현" is Chinese for "wisdom," as in "현명" meaning "wise." The letter "자" is Chinese for "man." For example, "기자" means "reporter." Although this word is very rarely used in everyday life, you would often see this word appear in fantasy novels, for example, to describe the man who lives alone in the wilderness, leading an austere life, in search for truth. The protagonist probably needs to pay a visit to this man at some point in order to realize something very deep.


"타임," of course, is the Koreanization of the English word "time."

So, putting the two words together, the slang word "현자타임" means "the time of the wise man." You can also tell that it probably has a humorous nuance, because it combines an English word and a Korean word (since there are almost no standard Korean word that should mix with English, when these kinds of combinations appear in Korean slang, the Koreans are almost always trying to be funny. They're kind of trying to play the part of the dumb arrogant jerk, who opts to use simple English words -- for example, "time" -- in lieu of a Korean word -- "시간.")

Now, this word was originally used by the Korean men to describe the feeling of calmness and the lack of sexual libido right after ejaculation. Of course, the wise men would abstain from worldly sins such as sex (they probably don't ever feel the need to have sex, right?), and every man gets to feel just as holy and austere as the wise men right after having ejaculated.

I'd say that Yoda qualifies as a wise man. Learned, insightful, wise, and probably doesn't care about trivial things like sex.

So, the Korean internet users, in their usual vulgar manner, would often type out:

"현자타임 왔다." (The hour of the wise men has come.)

Which was initially taken to mean that they had just masturbated (after perhaps seeing a particularly lewd post somewhere on the internet).

Sometimes, 짤방 like this will substitute the word "현자타임."

But here's the thing. If you think about what's going on here, this expression really should apply to a wider variety of situation than just sex or masturbation. In both cases, you're basically having a moment of insanity/euphoria/clouded judgement, and after that moment passes, you regain your sanity and your perspective on the things around you. It doesn't have to be sex; it could be the moment of wild partying, maybe you went crazy with your makeup experiment, or you were really hungry and you devoured everything in your sight.

Then at some point, you realize that you were slightly crazy, and the feeling of slight shame creeps in.

And the expression "현자타임 왔다" was just too good not to use.

In a delicate balance between not wanting to use such a sexual expression, and the desire to use such an appropriate expression, the Koreans seem to have decided to use its abbreviation, "현타." Most Koreans, in non-sexual context that describes a moment of insanity and the ensuing feeling of guilt, would say:

"현타 왔다."

Of course, this word is still also used to describe the post-coital calmness/sadness/whatever, although it seems that the full neologism "현자타임" is often used in sexual context, and "현타" is often used in a more general context (partly because you could also claim that "현타" means "현실자각 타임," or "coming to terms with reality time"). In any case, I don't think there will be much confusion with regards to what the speaker is talking about.

As for when this word is appropriate, I would say that with people close to your own age, "현타" is always a safe bet. If you're male and you want to use the word in a sexual context with your male friends, "현자타임" should also be fine. In other contexts, maybe I'd be a little wary of using it depending on my familiarity with the listeners just to avoid awkward moments (although it's not really that offensive). In any case, this is real slang that started (and mostly stayed) among the younger generation who spend a significant portion of their days on the internet.

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#66. 보쌈 -- Wrapped up

When Romulus founded Rome, he had only male followers. This was not particularly surprising, as Rome was founded via numerous battles against Alba Longa, which was the major Latin city of the area. This soon became problematic, as no city can prosper without having enough younger generation. So he invited the Sabines, a nearby Italian tribe, to a festival in Rome. At a predetermined signal, the Roman men grabbed the Sabine women and married them. For what it's worth, the historian Livy claims that no rape took place right then, and that the Sabine women were more seduced into their marriages rather than coerced. Nonetheless, it still makes us cringe a little.

Rape of the Sabine Women, Pietro da Cortona, 1627-29.

Unfortunately, Koreans resorted to similar types of violence from time to time. If the lack of women was the major problem for the Romans, the big issue for the Koreans was Confucianism (called "유교" in Korean). The teachings of Confucius forbade widows from re-marrying again, as being faithful to your husband (of whom there is only one) was one of the major virtues for the women. There have been nation-wide efforts to praise women who were exceptionally faithful to her husband (for example, by acting like a daughter to her deceased husband's parents and rejecting all advances by other men, or even, killing herself to be with her husband), to encourage faithfulness. (By the way, men were allowed to re-marry three years after their wives' deaths...)

However, this became a problem as Korea went through major wars against China and Japan in the Joseon Dynasty. Many men were killed in the wars, and there were too many widows who were not willing to re-marry, due to their faith in Confucianism and also due to the societal pressure. And if the country were to re-build, they needed the birth rates to be up.

Thus came about the custom of "보쌈." The word "보쌈" literally means "wrapped up (쌈, whose verb form is 싸다) by cloth (보자기, or more commonly 보 in old Korean)."

Among the lower and lower middle class of Korea, men would enter a widow's house late at night, wrap her up in a piece of cloth (보자기), and kidnap her to his own home. At this point, as her fidelity was already violated, she would be forced to marry the man. And the government would turn a blind eye towards it, as they were secretly happy about unions of this kind. The upper class, of course, would prefer to adhere to the rules of Confucianism, and did not engage in this kind of behaviour.

Just like the story of the Sabine women, historians claim that it wasn't all bad. Often the kidnapping would be pre-arranged between the man and the woman, to set up the pretext that the widow had no choice but to marry the man (but secretly she wanted it as well). This was, of course, not always the case, and some women, who took Confucianism seriously, would prefer to kill themselves after being kidnapped.

This problem was resolved only in the late 1800s, when the Joseon Dynasty, at the urging of the critics, ruled that widows indeed have the right to re-marry whoever, and whenever they please. This was one of the clauses inserted into 갑오개혁 (Reform "개혁" of the 갑오 year, which works out to be 1894).

Although this practice disappeared, the word remained in a particular type of kimchi (김치), weirdly enough. There is a type of kimchi called 보쌈김치. Usually, kimchi has two components. Brined cabbage, and what the Koreans call "속 (insides)," consisting of chopped radish seasoned with red pepper powder. Normally, you take the 속 and interlace it with the leaves of the cabbage.

보쌈김치.

But in 보쌈김치, the cabbage leaves enclose the 속, so that it forms the shape of a 보쌈, as if there is a woman inside the cabbage leaves (of course, you have the 속 instead of the woman!) As this type of kimchi was the popular choice to eat with boiled pork, the word "보쌈" started becoming the word of choice to denote the Korean dish where you wrap some pork in leaves of kimchi.

So there you have it, why this food is called 보쌈.

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Listening exercise with transcript #11: Dad jokes revisited (feat. Mamamoo)

This week we revisit Mamamoo, because their new song Aze Gag has such wondeful references to the Korean culture. In particular, they did a live performance a few weeks ago, which I thought was absolutely wonderful, as it includes a random bit of a dad jokes in the middle (starting at 1:35).

One other thing to notice is that since the dad jokes are so old fashioned, they have elected to add the subtitles for the dad jokes in 궁서체.

See the clip below, and try to understand what the joke says. The transcript follows (after which is the translation/explanation), where D stands for "the Dude" and M stands for "Mamamoo."

D: 마마무 신곡나왔나봐, 신곡!
M: 네~
D: 야~ 나 이 무대 십년 기다렸잖니. 어?
근데, 나 뒤에서 들으니까... 아재개그 이런거 좋아하나봐?
M: 아, 네.
D: 내가 아주 기가 막힌거 하나 가르켜줄까?
잘들어. 음악의 음이 장음과 단음이 있잖아.
근데 세상에서 제일 긴음, 이게 뭐게?
ㅋㅋㅋ 참기름!
M: ...
D: 참기름, 참기름! 야! 이거 가사에 쓸래, 가사에? 어? 왜? 시.. 싫어?
M: ... 네.
D: 싫으면 시집가!

Here are the translations:
D: Mamamoo, out with the new song ("신곡" where "신" means "new" in Chinese, and "곡" means "song" in chinese)!
M: Yes~
D: Wow, I waited for this stage for ten years, huh?
I was just listening to you guys in the backstage, and... you like dad jokes?
M: Oh, yeah.
D: Can I tell you an awesome one?
Listen. You know how music has long notes ("장음," where "장" means "long" in Chinese, "음" means note) and short notes ("단음," where "단" means "short" in Chinese). What's the longest note in the world? It's "참기름 (sesame oil; explanation after translation)" lol. Sesame oil!
M: ...
D: Sesame oil, sesame oil! Hey, do you want to use this in your lyrics? Huh? Why? You don't like it?
M: ... No.
D: Well, if you don't like it, go get yourself married!

So there are two jokes here.

The first asks, what's the longest note in the world, and the answer is "참기름." In the true dad joke fashion, the word "참기름" should be re-written as "참길음" and separated as "참 길음." The word "참" means "very (a more literal translation would be "truly")," and "길음" means "long."

The clever feature of this dad joke is that musical terms denoting notes should end in "음" as that's the Chinese letter for "note." Interestingly enough, "참 길음" also ends in "음," a happy accident that makes the joke even better!

The second joke is more subtle, and it is a true dad joke in the sense that it was a popular phrase back in the 80s and 90s. When someone refuses to do something by saying "싫어 (I don't want to)!," it used to be the funny thing to say "싫으면 시집가 (If you don't like it, go get yourself married!)" Not being from this era, I'm not really sure why this was even funny, other than the fact that there's a very weak alliteration there. But I do remember being a very young child and saying this phrase to my friends, because my parents thought it was really funny!

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