#92. 삽질 -- killing the time in the worst possible way

Korea is in the state of truce against North Korea. This may sound great, but if you think about it, truce is totally different from peace. It means that a war can break out any day -- given the current climate, it doesn't even seem that unlikely (actually, the Koreans are surprisingly nonchalant about the possibility of war even now, but that's a story for another day.)

Anyway, the possibility of war means that every Korean men bears the responsibility of protecting their country. On their 19th birthday (or thereabouts), the Korean men undergo a physical examination that determines whether they are fit to serve Korea as a soldier. Most Koreans get declared that they are physically and mentally fit, and they serve in the infantry or the marines (for 21 months), the navy (for 22 months), or in the air force (for 24 months). These people are called "현역 병사," or "active duty soldiers." The letter "현" means "present" as in "현재 (right now)," and "역" means "duty" as in "역할 (given role)."

Being in the Korean military sucks, though. So while having been a 현역 병사 is a source of pride for many Korean men, they would probably prefer to have avoided it in the first place. Indeed, many celebrities and the children of Korean politicians get caught up in military duty scandals for having tried to game the system by getting diagnosed with obscure illnesses. If they get caught, it destroys their (or their parents') careers. Yet they continue to do this, so you can imagine how terrible being in the army might be.

Here's a scenario that supposedly happens frequently in the Korean army.

A captain decides that all soldiers will be assigned to a construction within the army base for the day. Every soldier is given a shovel ("삽" in Korean) and is put to work. At the end of the day, his officer stops by to check on the progress, and finds that the work isn't even close to being half-done. Afraid that the captain might find out, the officer calls for a bulldozer, which finishes the remaining work in less than half an hour.

So, why would you do this?

Koreans believe in the art of looking busy. This is true in most cultures. In office environments, you don't just pack up and go home when you're done with your work (well, some innovative companies in North America have started this, but there are still many places where this is not an option.)
Koreans do this even better. Not only do they stay until 5pm, they actually stay glued to their seats until their boss (who also stays later than 5pm to look good to her boss) packs up and leaves. It doesn't matter if they're done with everything; they'll sit there looking busy.

Koreans also joke about underlining and highlighting every word in your textbook. That's the biggest aspect of studying after all, no?

In the military also, since there is no active battles being fought, the soldiers must be kept busy. This is often done in the form of training, or manual labour. If there's snow, send out the soldiers with a shovel to clear the snow from everywhere in town. If a hole needs to be dug, send out the soldiers with a shovel. And so on.

Thus, a neologism "삽질" was born. "삽" means "a shovel," and "-질" means "the act of doing something," and it is often used as a derogatory suffix (for another example, see 선비질). So "삽질" means "the act of shoveling," and with the unsaid nuance, it means "to shovel uselessly." Nowadays, it is used to make fun of the situation where someone is working very hard for no gain at all.

For example, say your friend is courting a girl rather aggressively, but the girl is not interested at all and turns him down despite all his efforts. You might tell him,

"괜한 삽질만 많이 했네." (That was a lot of useless shoveling).

The Korean soldiers whose work got out-done by a bulldozer might use this in a more literal sense and say:

"불도저 앞에서 삽질했네." (That was a lot of useless shoveling in front of a bulldozer.)

 If your younger sister is begging for a ride on your car this evening by doing all of your chores, and you already have a plan so you can't give her a ride, you might say:

"삽질하네." (You're doing some useless shoveling.)

While this expression does have a vulgar nuance, just by the virtue of all Korean men having experienced this, this expression gets used quite a bit, especially among men (but women will also use it from time to time.) This expression is suitable among friends or peers, but because of the inherent sarcasm in the word, you should take care not to say it in front of your seniors.

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#91. 나물 -- a uniquely Korean dish (and hipsters will be all over it in 10 years)

It's been a busy few weeks for me. I spent the past three weeks on the road for some work trips before the semester starts up again, and I'm now writing this post from my parents' house, where I spent the past couple of days before going back to work. As you might have guessed, the semester starting means that I will probably no longer update this blog on a daily basis, although I will aim for 2-3 updates a week, and more when I am less busy with work. The best way to stay connected might be to subscribe, or to follow my Twitter account, which updates automatically when I post something.

I'll admit that I was fairly ignorant of the Korean culture until a few years ago, and never appreciated many aspects of my own culture. After having started this blog, I am often struck by the mundane things that I used to take for granted.

나물 is one of these things that I always took for granted. I am not even sure if there is a word for this type of dish in English -- running them through various Korean-English dictionary just returns "herbs," which is a gross underestimation and a terrible description of these dishes that I am about to tell you about.

Let me start by giving you a recipe of one of my favourite dishes that my mom makes every time I come home. It's called "시금치 나물," or "spinach 나물." Note that I am not giving any measurements of the ingredients -- this is kind of intentional. Although every Korean eats this dish, it tastes differently in every household. You should feel free to add/take away any ingredients and adjust the amount so that it tastes good to you!

This isn't the picture of my mom's dish, unfortunately. I meant to take a photo but I had already eaten too much of it by the time I remembered!

Ingredients:

- spinach leaves

- minced garlic

- chopped scallions

- sesame seeds (if they're not already roasted, you should roast them in an ungreased pan to increase flavour)

- soy sauce

- sesame oil

- salt & pepper

 Steps:

- Boil water in a pot, and add a pinch of salt.

- Blanch the spinach leaves in the boiling water, just until the leaves don't have the crunchy feel to them anymore (Koreans call this state of vegetables "숨이 죽다" or "no longer breathing -- the more literal translation would be that their breaths have died.") Koreans say that it's important to leave the lid open while you do this, otherwise the colour of the spinach will not be as green, and also destroy some vitamins that are in the spinach (although I can't find anything credible that backs up this claim.)

-Drop the blanched spinach leaves into cold water to stop cooking. Wring out any excess water by squeezing them hard with your hands. You should only have a small handful of spinach leaves left at this point!

- Season the spinach leaves with the garlic, scallion and soy sauce. Add salt and pepper to taste (My mom prefers to season with soy sauce, because it's supposed to add the umami taste that is present in many Asian foods. But too much soy sauce ruins the look of the food sometimes, at which point she starts using salt.)

-Finally, drizzle sesame oil and decorate with roasted sesame seeds. Serve with rice and other 반찬. Use the sesame oil sparingly, as it has a fairly strong taste.

This is a typical recipe of a 나물. The word 나물 has two meanings. It can refer to all edible herbs/leaves/stem (not all vegetables are 나물, though! For examples, potatoes are definitely not 나물), but it an also refer to the blanched and seasoned herbes/leaves/stem.

Many traditional Korean markets will sell all kinds of 나물, and there are hundreds of different kinds! Not even Koreans would know all of these.

시금치 (spinach), 콩나물 (soybean sprouts; these are more common in Korea than bean sprouts and they are less crunchy), 숙주나물 (bean sprouts), and 미나리 (Korean parsley) are among the most popular kinds of 나물 that appear in the Koreans' dinner tables frequently.

The 나물 are not rich men's food. But meat of any kind was generally very expensive for the Koreans throughout our history, and so they needed ways to make their tables more interesting, not to mention that droughts and ensuing famine was a frequent occurrence. As Korea is home to hundreds of mountains, the easiest way to do this was to go into one of these mountains and scavenge for edible things.

A typical Korean table back in these days would often consist of a bowl of rice, a soup of some kind (called "국", also often made with some of these 나물), some kind of kimchi (김치, there are also hundreds of variety of this), and some 나물, as well as some kind of sauce such as 간장 (soy sauce), 된장 (soybean paste), or 고추장 (hot pepper paste) so that you can adjust the flavours yourself.

It still hasn't changed much. Now that food is abundant in Korea, people would often add a meat 반찬 to their tables, but still the 나물 are consumed on a daily basis. They are cheap, healthy, and easy to make. And depending on what kind of 나물 you use, the taste is amazingly varied! So, it is totally possible to set up a fancy dinner table with just the 나물, see for yourself:

This table is set with the spring herbs, or 봄나물 in Korean.

While I am glad that many Korean dishes such as 돌솥비빔밥, 불고기, and 잡채 are gaining popularity in the Western culture, I wonder whether people realize that these are not something that Koreans eat on a daily basis. They would have been a huge treat back in the day, and you would have gotten a taste of it if your village was having a festival of some sort.

The 나물, on the other hand, is what kept the Koreans alive through the difficult times, and I feel that it is uniquely Korean (and at some point, I hope that enough people will pick up on it for it to gain popularity!)

So, I hope you try out this humble yet delicious Korean dish in your kitchen. You can vary the seasoning as you wish -- that's exactly what our Korean forefathers would have done, when they got tired of eating the same 나물 over and over again. Of course, to get the authentic taste, you'd want to use some of the more Korean seasonings such as 간장, 된장, or 고추장 (and also sometimes vinegar), but really, 나물 is about making use of edible things that are otherwise not very interesting, and I don't think the Korean forefathers would be picky.

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#90. 박쥐 -- You're an opportunist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Listening exercise with transcript #15 -- Introducing a Korean cartoon series

When I was just starting out in French, I watched a large number of cartoon series dubbed in French. I found that the dialogues were fairly repetitive and clearly enunciated (as they were made for children for the most part), and the vocabulary was at a very manageable level. Plus, it was more fun than poring over grammar books and vocabulary builders!

If you are asked to name a cartoon series, chances are, you are thinking of a series that were made in America (such as the Simpsons, South Park, and so on) or the ones made in Japan (such as Pokémon, or Sailor Moon). But Korea also has a number of fantastic cartoon series, one of which I hope to introduce in this post.

"아기공룡 둘리" (Baby Dinosaur Dooly) is a classic Korean cartoon which began airing in 1987, and new and old series continued to show up on Korean TV for many decades after that. The premise of the cartoon series is that a baby dinosaur, which was preserved in a piece of glacier, finds himself stranded in Seoul, and inserts himself into a family (interestingly, the original manhwa series appeared in 1983, Michael Crichton's Jurassic Park was published in 1990! I guess the interest in dinosaurs was very high in the 80s!) The series deals with various chaos that ensues from it.

Find below the first episode of this cartoon series. I have typed out the transcripts from 0:00-7:00 here (the entire episode is about 22 minutes, so I have transcribed about a third of it). My goal in these listening exercises is to provide access to diverse Korean media, but for sake of completeness, if there is a large interest, I am also considering finishing the transcription in the next two listening exercises. If you feel strongly either way, let me know in the comments or via email!

 

(Dialogue begins at 1:45)

Penguin 1: 쟨 뚱보? (It's the fat one?)
Penguin 2: 걔잖아? (It's him?)
Penguin 3: 이제 나오는거야? (He's coming out now?)

Grandpa penguin: 아이고, 그놈 살좀 빼야겠다. (Geez, he should lose some weight.)

Sailor: 저게 뭐야? (What's that?)
Sailors: 빙하다! 충돌한다! (It's glacier! We're going to collide!)

News anchor: 정체 불명의 빙산이 서울의 한복판 한강에 나타났습니다. 전문가들은 이 빙산이 남극으로부터 흘러들어왔으며 지구 온난화가 가지고 온 재앙이라고 합니다. 하지만 이 빙산이 무공해 웰빙 얼음이라는 소문이 나면서 생선조합, 냉면연합, 팥빙수협회, 주부 연합등 아저씨 아줌마들이 양동이를 들고 나타나 캐가는 바람에 얼음은 순식간에 그만 뼈만 남았다고 합니다.

(A piece of glacier of unknown origin appeared in the Han river, in the middle of Seoul. Experts call it a disaster from the South Pole resulting from global warming. However, due to rumours that this glacier is pollution-free (무공해) well-being (웰빙; means "organic" in English) ice, many ajussis and ajummas from the "fish union," "the naengmyun association," "the society of bingsoo," and "the association of housewives" showed up with buckets and took the glacier pieces home. So there was only the skeleton of the glacier left in a heartbeat.)

Boy: 아이 깜짝이야! (You startled me!)
Girl: 오빠, 빨리 가봐. 개천에 강아지가 있어. (Oppa, hurry. There's a puppy in the banks of the stream.)
Boy: 왜? (Why?)
Girl: 아직 안죽었어. (It's alive.)
Boy: 그게 뭐? (So what?)
Girl: 근데 그게... 녹색 강아지야! (Well, it's a green puppy!)
Boy: 어, 녹색 강아지? (What? A green puppy?)
Girl: 여기야. 어... 없네? 어디로 갔지? 거짓말 아냐 뭐! 누가 주워갔나? (It was here. Hmm.. it's gone? Where did it go? I wasn't lying! Maybe someone already took him?)

Boy: 영희야, 머리 치워! 머리 치우라니까? 영희야, 귀찮대도? (Young-hee, don't put your head there. Stop! Young-hee, you're bothering me! Here, we learn that the name of the girl is 영희.)
        으아! 이게 뭐야? (Aaah, what is this?)
영희: 그 강아지야 오빠! 얘가 내 뒤를 따라왔나봐! (It's that puppy, oppa! He must have followed me home!)
 And thus, the main character of this cartoon series is introduced. The characters then try to guess exactly what kind of animal Dooly is, until he looks at the dinosaurs on TV and cries, "Mommy!"

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#89. Letter from a Korean king

This picture went viral on the Korean internet a couple of days ago:

This letter (which you are supposed to read from right to left, and top-down), is interesting for several reasons.

The first is that this was written by 정조, one of the kings of Joseon, when he was about five years old. And although the letter is hard to decipher even for a native Korean, you can see all the markings of a child's writing.

This is actually why this letter went viral in Korea -- regardless of the meaning, you can see that the child starts on the top right with quite impressive calligraphy. Then as he continues to write, his writing gets fainter (meaning that he wasn't dipping his brush into the ink often enough), and also larger (probably he was getting tired of writing this letter!) Koreans found this letter adorable.

This is 정조, who was a colorful character, and a good king, comparable to King Sejong.

Not only that, it is interesting that the letter was written in 한글 instead of Chinese characters. Ever since King Sejong made the unique Korean alphabets, the upper class, who saw China as the fashionable and powerful neighbour of Korea, objected to the popularization of 한글. Chinese was the language of the intellectuals (since each character has a meaning, and you need to study for quite a long time before becoming proficient at it), and 한글 was for the common folks who did not know Chinese.

However, here you see the next king of Korea writing a letter to his aunt in 한글! This letter was written in 1757, while 한글 was invented in 1446, so between these three hundred years, you can see that much has changed in the Joseonian society.

As for the contents of the letter, it says the following (the old Korean had some characters that we do not use anymore, so I have re-written it to today's standards, still using old expressions that you might hear in historical dramas):

"문안 아뢰고 기후 무사하신지 알고자 합니다. 이 족건은 저에게 작사오니 수대를 신기옵소서. -- 질"

 If you try to translate it to a more mundane language, it goes like this: 

문안 (greetings) 아뢰고 (asking) 기후 (the status of the body and mind) 무사 (no troubles) 하신지 알고자 (to know) 합니다 (want). 이 (this) 족건은 (pair of traditional Korean socks, called 버선 now) 저에게 (for me) 작사오니 (small) 수대를 신기옵소서 (give them to 수대, the name of his cousin). --질 (nephew)

These are the traditional Korean socks, called 버선. This pair is for men, and women often wore an embroidered version.

Putting these together:

I am hoping that you are well and want to know that nothing troubles you in mind and body. These socks are now too small for me, so please give them to 수대. - Your nephew.

Adorable, and kind of surprising that even the royals wore hand-me-downs!

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#88. 하드캐리 -- Playing the hero

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

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

So for example, you can say:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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#87. How the Korean dragons are born (Shamanism 7)

I've always been fascinated by dragons. While most mythical animals of the Orient and the Occident remained largely disjoint from each other, the idea of "dragons" seem to be common in both cultures. My personal far-fetched hypothesis is that perhaps the idea of dragons orally descended through stories from pre-historic times, when men and dinosaurs co-existed. From a linguistic point of view, if this were true, it would be pretty satisfying, because the Korean word for dinosaur (공룡) literally means "scary (공, as in 공포 "fear") dragon (용/룡, meaning dragon)."

In any case, there are some physical differences between the Korean dragons and the Western dragons. The Korean dragon (called "용") is described as having the face of a camel, the horns of a stag, the eyes of a ghost, the body of a snake, the scales of a fish, the hair of a lion, and the talons of a hawk.

When you put the above description together, you get roughly this picture.

The Korean dragon has amazing powers that are unparalleled by the other mythical beings. It is able to fly (despite not having any visible wings), it can control the weather, and it can breathe fire as well as cause frightening storms in the sea. This means that if humans dare to displease the 용, it can make your life very difficult. In particular, it could cause drought (Korea was an agricultural society, so this can lead to mass starvation), and only when the humans apologize in earnest will it bring rain.

Because of its strong magical abilities, the 용 were revered in Korea. The traces of this can be seen from the language. The face of a Korean king was not called "얼굴" -- as a sign of extreme respect, they were called "용안," meaning "the face of a dragon." The royal garb was called "용포" (the robe of a dragon) and so on.

Despite all this, however, the dragons seem to have a pretty sketchy origin in the Korean mythology.

The Koreans believe that only the snakes that have lived a thousand years have a chance of becoming a dragon. These large snakes, called "이무기," usually lived near a secluded pond, would spend their days meditating and hoping to become a dragon. They would develop scales after 500 years, and become a dragon after another 500 years, if it has lived a commendable life for the past 1000 years. When it does become a dragon, it would develop the rest of the features of a dragon (the horns, the talons, etc.) and rise to the sky.

The pure Korean word for a tornado, therefore, is "용오름," which literally translates as "the rise of a dragon." While tornadoes are very rare in Korea, it has been observed in the waters, and given that the 이무기 live near the water, this must have activated some imagination.

To ancient Koreans, this looked like a newly-born dragon.

However, if the snakes fail to be a dragon after 1000 years of wait, this is when things become problematic for the Koreans, as they are really bitter (I mean, wouldn't you be?) To make things worse, apparently 1000 years of meditation will still give them some magical and physical powers, most of which gets used for harming the innocent villagers!

Many legends (although there is not a single one that is particularly iconic) speak of sacrificing a virgin to pacify such snakes (often this is an annual event, which must have been a terrible burden for the villages). Then a hero (often in the form of a Buddhist monk or a known Korean historic figure) shows up and defeats the snake using various means (some legends talk about a full-on battle, some speak of a self-sacrifice where the hero gets eaten by the 이무기 after having slathered on poison all over their body).

Of course, since the dragons could control weather (very important for the farmers!) the dragons figure into the ancient shamanism a fair bit. Many Korean shamans would conduct a religious ceremony (called 굿) aimed at pleasing the dragon and bringing the rain. Unlike the other creatures introduced so far in the shamanism series, this is one deity worth worshiping!

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#86. 의문의 1승 -- How Koreans do sarcasm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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#85. 좆같다 -- That sucks

Here's a phrase that you will hear a lot from the Korean men (women tend to be a lot less foul-mouthed than men in Korea in general). When something doesn't go well, or when something that they didn't anticipate happens, they might mutter in anger and frustration:

"진짜 좆같네." (This really sucks.)

This vulgar expression and its derivations are one of the most common profanity that you will hear in Korea. While the Koreans probably have an idea of what this phrase actually means, most of them use it without really thinking. (That being said, please please please do not use this expression in front of polite company. You use it with your good buddies, or when you are really angry.)

Koreans all know that "좆" is a very vulgar slang word for "penis." However, this word appears a lot in Korean profanity, and it is likely that Koreans are almost never referring to a penis (or even thinking about one) while they are swearing using this word.  In formal writing, you should say "성기 (reproductive organ -- can use for vagina as well!)" or "음경 (penis).

A less offensive slang word for penis is "고추," which writes and sounds exactly like the Korea word for "hot peppers." By the way, one of the Korean proverbs goes: "작은 고추가 맵다," which translates to "the smallest hot pepper is the spiciest." Wait, what?!

 But once you start thinking about what this expression means, you will see that it's actually a fascinating expression! It's so fascinating that its vulgarity almost goes away (key word: almost).

When you are in a frustrating situation, by saying "좆같네" you are saying that this situation is "like a penis." How so?

Well, the situation is beyond your control, just like how you can't always control your penis. And despite the fact that it is beyond your control, you often get into trouble for failing to control the situation. Ugh! (Not that I'd know, I'm a woman, in case you haven't realized it yet.) So, many Koreans are actually unconsciously drawing a really interesting and hilarious analogy between two situations beyond their control.

You can also build on this analogy a bit further (actually, there are countless expressions using the word "좆," but let me postpone the other meanings to other posts, and stick to this one particular aspect -- the uncontrollability of your penis -- for now). Say that you are working with a bunch of people on a project, and you have been put in charge. One person in particular refuses to pull his weight, disagrees with the group, and is in general hard to control.

You could decide to badmouth him with the rest of the group, and one of the common expressions that you might choose to use is:

"아, 저 좆같은 새끼!" (Literally - Ugh, that penis of a bastard! Nuance - That asshole!)

Again, you would be more correct than you originally intended, in the sense that you made an unconscious analogy between the guy that is the source of your frustrations, and how your libido is hard to curb.

No one should be swearing like this in front of you, if they respect you. But unfortunately, you will probably hear this word every now and then. Instead of being offended by the vulgarity of the expression, maybe we could be secretly amused and give the offending party some credit for an (unwittingly) well-constructed metaphor!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"피곤하냐?" (You tired?)

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

Awww.

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

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

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

"안자냐?" (Dude, aren't you sleeping?)

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

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

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

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

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

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

피곤하냐? (So you're tired, huh?)

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

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

"죽고싶냐?" (Do you have a death wish?)

"맞고싶냐?" (Do you want to be punched?)

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

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

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Listening Exercise with Transcript #14: Baby talk

Here is a transcript of a Korean baby (her name is "예빈") having a conversation with her mother. While babies talking is definitely more difficult to understand, this kind of baby talk is often used by the Korean women as an aegyo material, as they often mimic babies in trying to look adorable to their boyfriends!

Without further ado, here is the transcript:

Mom: 예빈이 누구닮았다고? (Who does Yebin look like?)
Baby: 에비느엄마달마쪄요! (예빈이 엄마 닮았어요! - Yebin looks like mommy!)

Mom: 에이~ 거짓말! (You're lying!)
Baby: 즘말즘말! 지짱지짱! (정말정말! 진짜진짜! - Really really!)

Mom: 에이~ 아닌것같은데? (Hmm. I don't think so!)
Baby: 지짱 지짱야~ (진짜 진짜야! Really really!)

Mom: 누구닮았다고? (Who does she look like again?)
Baby: 예비니엄마달마쪄요! (예빈이 엄마 닮았어요! - Yebin looks like mommy!)

Mom: 정말? (Really?)

Baby: 응! (Mmhmm!)



Mom: 진짜로? (Really?)

Baby: 응! (Mmhmm!)

Mom: 진짜? (Really?)
Baby: 응! (Mmhmm!)

Mom: 에이~ 아닌것같은데? (I don't believe you!)
Baby: 지땅 지땅야~ (진짜 진짜야! - Really really!)

Mom: 정말 엄마 닮았어? (You really look like mommy?)
Baby: 응. (Yes!)

Mom: 예빈이 누구 닮았다고? (Who does Yebin look like again?)
Baby: 에분이엄마달마쪄요!  (예빈이 엄마 닮았어요! - Yebin looks like mommy!)

Mom: 진짜로? (Really?)
Baby: 네! (Yes!)

Mom: 진짜? (Really?)
Baby: 네! (Yes!)

Mom: 알았어! 최고! 최고! 따봉! (Okay! You're the best! The best! Tabon!)
Tabon is Korean slang originating from Portuguese. Although it means "okay" in Portuguese, Koreans must have understood this to mean "very good" in their initial contact with Portuguese people (if you think about it, this is an understandable mistake!) So "따봉" in Korean means "very good"

Mom: 예빈이 누구 닮았다고? (Who does Yebin look like again?)
Baby: 네비니엄마달마쓔유! (예빈이 엄마 닮았어요! - Yebin looks like mommy!)

There are a couple of interesting points to note from this short conversation. First, notice that the baby is referring to herself in the third person. This is actually quite normal, as babies are probably learning to talk by mirroring her mother, who is referring to the baby in the third person. In fact, a lot of Korean women attempting aegyo will also refer to themselves in third person, so that they can pretend to be a baby.

Also, the baby conjugates the verbs in an adorable way because she cannot yet speak Korean well enough. Instead of pronouncing "닮았어요" she only manages to pronounce "달마쪄요," which is another common form of verb conjugation in aegyo!

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#83. 숙주나물 -- Bean sprouts

Let's start with the King Sejong (세종), who was a great king for the early Joseon Dynasty. He has done a lot to bring order into the new Dynasty that was barely 30 years old, but of course, his greatest achievement is coming up with a new system for the Korean language.

King Sejong, one of the greatest kings in the Korean history.

He did not make Hangul (한글) all by himself, though. He had a large number of scholars working for him in 집현전 (which was basically the National Academy that supported the best scholars of the time), and they were the ones who created 한글. One scholar in particular stood out. His name was 신숙주 (Sookju Shin).

신숙주, whose reputation is questionable at best.

It is said that his passion for the studies was so great that he would often spend all night at the Academy reading. One night, he fell asleep at his table while reading, and King Sejong saw this while passing by. The king took off his coat and draped it over 신숙주's shoulders as a gesture of appreciation. When 신숙주 woke up the next day, he saw the coat, and swore that he would be his loyal subject forever. In return, 세종 was very fond of 신숙주 and had complete trust in him.

Unfortunately, this oath was not to be kept. After 세종 passed away, his oldest son, 문종, took over. While 문종 was a competent and savvy politician, his health was not so great, and he died only two years into his reign.

This was a terrible time for Joseon, as 문종 had only one child, and he was only twelve years old. This child, 단종, succeeded his father, which immediately made many Koreans (Joseonians?) unhappy. In particular, his uncle 수양대군 felt that this was his opportunity (note that this makes 수양대군 a son of Sejong, and a younger brother of 문종.) 

단종, one of the more tragic figures of the Korean history.

So 수양대군, who really had no claim on the throne as he was not the first-born, plotted a very bloody coup d'état, and succeeded in becoming king. To keep the cause of the rebellion legitimate, his nephew 단종 was "elevated" to the title of "상왕" or "high king," but it was of course just a show.

Many scholars of the National Academy (집현전), who were trusted by Sejong and created Hangul, felt that this was very wrong (in particular, very against the principles of Confucianism, as this tested their loyalty towards the now-deceased King Sejong). Six of these brilliant scholars plotted a rebellion, but it failed and they were executed by the evil uncle. Another six quit their posts and refused to help 수양대군 in his political endeavors.

The former six who gave up their lives are called 사육신. "사" is Chinese for "death," "육" is Chinese for the number 6, and "신" is Chinese for "subject." So "사육신" means "six subjects that died (for their beliefs.)"

The latter six who did not take part in the rebellion, yet let their beliefs known through resignation, are called "생육신" and "생" is Chinese for "life." For example, "생일" is "birthday, or day of life." They are the "six subjects that lived."

So which was 신숙주? Astonishingly (given Sejong's trust in him), he was neither. In fact, it seems that he was with 수양대군 from the beginning. In fact, he was one of the people who strongly pushed for the execution of the "six subjects that died," although he was once colleagues with all of them at the National Academy. He was also instrumental in executing the poor boy king, in order to stop more rebellions from taking place. If only Sejong knew what he ended up doing to his own grandson!

In any case, his political career thrived from here, and he was later appointed to be the prime minister (영의정) of Joseon.

This betrayal was not taken well by the Koreans, both from the Joseon era and the modern era.  So, the Koreans found a way to mock 신숙주 for eternity.

If you've ever bought bean sprouts, you might have noticed that they spoil very well, within a couple of days. It is one of the trickier ingredients to work with if you're trying to cook.

Well, bean sprouts are called "숙주나물" or "the sookjoo vegetable" in Korean (totally standard usage at that!) This is a twofold insult for 신숙주.

First, just like how 신숙주 changed his loyalty quickly, these veggies have a very quick turnaround date. And secondly, the Koreans decided to use the first name only in naming this vegetable. You use the first name (without the last name) for friends, or when you want to be very insulting. For example, try walking up to your Korean teacher and call them by their first Korean name only: they'll gasp and tell you that this is rude and you must never do it!

So, there you have it. Next time you eat your pho, I hope you take some time reflecting on this piece of Korean history, and take a moment to silently curse 신숙주 on his very non-Confucian (yet good for his career) betrayal!

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#82. 금수저 -- Thanks to your parents

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

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

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

Koreans might say:

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

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

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

So Koreans started saying:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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#81. 괴담 -- Just how real is the tiger-demon of Korea? (Shamanism 6)

I'll admit it, I slept with the lights on after I wrote the tiger-demon article from last week. Something about the Korean horror stories (especially if they're claimed to be true) freaks me out; maybe it's because there's traces of shamanism in my upbringing (and as a consequence, a small part of me believes these stories); or maybe it's just the sheer number of these stories, and how they all seem to match up. There were so many stories that some media outlets even wrote articles about them!

These kinds of news articles actually appeared in media.

Tiger-demon aside, there are actually a surprising number of these stories in the Korean society. These "scary urban legends" are often called "괴담."

The letter "괴" is Chinese meaning "strange" or "scary." For example, "괴물" is a "monster" in Korean, aliens are sometimes called "괴생명체 (strange life-forms)" and demons are called "요괴 (magical and strange beings)."

The letter "담" means "story" and it is used widely. If you want to read about someone's experience, search for "경험담 (experience story)." If you want to hear about the time when your friend saw something happening, ask about their "목격담 (witnessed story)."

So "괴담" means "strange story" and you will find so many "장산범 괴담" on the internet.

Anyway, here is the story that really scared me, with some edits to make the story clearer. As before, if you'd like to read the story in Korean, you can find it here.

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 My grandmother is 93 years old. Yep, she is pretty old. But she is still full of life. She can still walk well, and she can down an entire bottle of soju if there is a family gathering. She likes to sing, and her memory is top-notch. She remembers even the smallest events in my family from many years ago.

Anyway, this is a story that my grandmother often told me when I was in elementary school and middle school. It's the story of a 범. Every time she told this story, she always looked tense and shivered.

Whenever she sees a tiger ("호랑이" in Korean) on TV, she always says that this is not a 범 (while it is another word for a tiger in Korean, it seems that at least some people distinguish them, at least in these stories!) She says that 범s have magical powers, and that they are snow-white.

When she was in her 20s, my grandmother lived in the 황해 province, which is now in North Korea. One day, she went into a nearby mountain to pick some wild fiddleheads with three friends. While they did this often, that particular day, they decided to go a little deeper into the woods in hopes that there will be more fiddleheads.

Indeed there were a lot of fiddleheads and other wild edible plants, and they filled up their baskets with them. My grandmother remembers that on that day, they ate lunch of barley rice (보리밥), soybean paste (된장), and cucumber kimchi (by the way, this is a totally standard meal in the 1920-30s of Korea). Then they decided to leave the mountain early because it looked like they could be trapped in a storm if they stayed too late.

Unfortunately, they didn't bring enough water. As they finished lunch and started to come down from the mountain, one of their friends was whining about how thirsty she was. But as they were near the summit, they couldn't find any water.

All of a sudden, they heard the sound of a stream, where the water seemed to be flowing (in Korean onomatopoeia, it is described as "졸졸졸 시냇물 흐르는 소리 -- the sound of flowing stream.") All four of them heard it.

The friend who was whining didn't want to get separated from the group, so all four of them set out to search for the stream so she could drink some water. Although they followed the sound for some time, they couldn't locate the stream. Sometimes they could hear the sound, and sometimes they couldn't. They were so tired so they gave up on the search for the stream and turned back to get back on the mountain trail.

Then they saw the thing on their way back up. Two lights not unlike the headlights of a car shining down at them. My grandmother described it as a thing covered in white fur. Very fine, very soft, and long. While it was clearly not human, it felt human. It was standing there, between them and the trail, looking down at them, and making the sound of the flowing stream from its mouth. It wasn't growling or roaring.

The four women screamed and ran down the side of the mountain, already having dropped all of their baskets full of fiddleheads, and even losing some shoes in their panic. And behind them they could still hear the sound of the stream following them.

About halfway down, they saw a little hut, probably used by those who look for medicinal herbs in the mountain. They ran inside the hut, locked the door, and cried in their panic. Then the sound of the stream stopped.

They could hear something coming up to the door. It circled the hut, then called out the name of the friend who was whining earlier of thirst. The voice was so full of warmth, and so soft. The friend recognized it as her mother's voice. No one dared to answer, and it started to rain. So instead of trying to get back to their village, they all fell asleep in the little hut together.

In the dawn of the next day, when the woke up, the friend who was complaining of thirst was gone. The three remaining women searched for her frantically but could not find her. Their return to the village of course put everyone in panic, and the Japanese police force with their long swords (this would have been in the Japanese occupation era) searched the village and the surrounding areas. But no one ever saw the friend again, and they never found her body either.
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I'm still not sure why I am so fascinated by these stories, but all of these shamanism theories aside, it's good fun to read scary stories once in a while and get some organic goosebumps in the heat of the summer, no?

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#80. Someone tweeted about a 맘충

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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