#122. 갑질 -- Introducing the most entitled Korean family of 2018

As a Korean child, you grow up hearing about the importance of ethics. You are constantly educated on saying please and thank you, being polite to your elders, giving up your seats, helping the elders carry their heavy luggages, and so on.

Not following these social norms is not a crime. However, if you are sitting down in a crowded subway listening to music and minding your own business while an elderly grandmother is standing in front of you (swaying with the crowd and carrying a heavy 보따리), you can be assured of the fact that half of the people in the subway are silently judging you and your parents, who probably didn't raise you properly (in Korean, the phrase is "가정교육을 못받았네," or "he did not receive home education.")

You should probably give up your seat at this point.

With social climates such as these, the public figures of Korea are held to an especially high standard. They are expected to behave in an absolutely exemplary way, so that the young people of Korea can look at them and learn how to behave. If they fail to do so, they are subject to harsh internet criticism. For example, if an idol group is found to have bullied a member, then

1. The public will curse them out in comments to major internet news articles (we're talking about hundreds of thousands of hate comments), as well as on their personal social media accounts;
2. Their fans will have become disappointed in them, and they will leave the fandom (in Korea, just declaring that "I quit" doesn't count; most of these people will post proof on the internet that they've left the fandom by destroying all the fan merchandise they have accumulated over the years and posting a picture);
3. The general public will start boycotting any brands that this idol group models for, leading to their advertising contracts being terminated early. These groups are then often sued for having defamed the image of the products, and they will be ordered to pay for damages.

That is, engaging in a behaviour that goes against the Korean ethics can lead to huge financial ruin for these public figures. The Korean celebrities are not kidding when they say that their jobs are stressful!

The Korean speed skater 김보름, having accused of ostracizing her teammate in the Pyeongchang Olympics, had to apologize to the Koreans on her knees on her next game; she lost her contracts from her sponsors, and lost many fans over the incident.

The job of being a public figure is not limited to just the celebrities -- various members of high-profile political and entrepreneurial families are also expected to act in this way, as their success is also highly dependent on the public support. On top of being flawless in terms of the Korean ethics, these people are also expected to act according to the principles of noblesse oblige, which generally means being kind to even the people of the lowest social status, and donating to good causes.

Despite this, celebrities are not perfect, and these kinds of ethical scandals of national scale seem to explode in the Korean internet every couple of months or so. The most recent scandal that has the Koreans' blood boiling has to do with the family that founded Korean Air (대한항공 in Korean). As a quick background on how the Korean businesses work, most businesses are passed down within the family, forming their own small dynasties called 재벌 (chaebol, entrepreneurial dynasty).

The current CEO of Korean Air is a son of the founder of the company. He has three children, two daughters and one son. His two daughters, named 조현아 (age 43) and 조현민 (age 34), will take the centre stage of this article.

This is 조양호, the son of the founder of Korean Air.

As you can imagine, being born in a very rich family, knowing that you will one day become the CEO of one of the largest corporations of the country, can really shape your childhood. Whatever the truth of their upbringing was, in the popular Korean imagination, the children of the 재벌 family grow up never lacking anything, while everyone around them waits on them hand and foot. They probably have no empathy for the common folks, and they are probably rude and spoiled.

Many of the times, these speculations are proved wrong as many of these 재벌 families engage in volunteer work and donate to many good causes, but the current turn of events have made the Koreans suspect that the Korean Air family is probably exactly how they imagine how a 재벌 family is. And here is why:

The younger daughter, 조현민, has been making the headlines in the past few days for her entitled behaviour towards her employees. According to reports, an external advertisement agency for Korean Air was having a meeting with her to discuss the advertisement strategies for the British destinations for Korean Air. 조현민 asked some questions to one of the presenters, and it seems that the answer of the employee was not satisfactory.

This is 조현민, the third child of the Korean Air 재벌 family.

Being upset at the low-quality answer, 조현민 exploded in anger, throwing her glass of water in the direction of the employee; while the glass did not hit the employee, it is said that the water spilled from the glass splashed on the employee.

This instance by itself does not seem too scandalous to me (albeit humiliating to the employee). The reason it made headlines is because she and her family had been involved in several ethical scandals of similar nuance before -- they are rich and powerful, so everyone should bend to their will, right?

For example, her older sister 조현아 made international headlines for her entitled behaviour on a flight from New York to Incheon, where she got upset at the flight attendants for having served macadamia nuts in its original packaging (as opposed to serving them on a plate), and ordered the flight around back to New York to throw out the offending flight attendant from the plane (here is a Wikipedia article on the incident). As a result, having obstructed aviation safety, 조현아 served about three months in prison. It is said that their brother was also involved in scandals of similar nature, having cussed out an elderly lady in her 70s after a car accident.

This is 조현아, the oldest daughter of the Korean Air family.

There are many rude people in this world; however, when the rude people also happen to have a lot of power over you, the amount of humiliation that one might feel on the receiving end becomes exponential. And this is probably why the Cho sisters received so much online hate -- as powerful public figures, they did not behave appropriately at all.

And sadly enough, this kind of rudeness, where the offending party holds much more power than the other side, happens so frequently that the Koreans have invented a word for this. The act of rudeness, or humiliating someone socially weaker than you, is called "갑질" in Korean slang.

The suffix "-질" has appeared in this blog a few times. It denotes the act of doing something shameful. It can be spoken in irony, so for example, a teacher can say something like:

"선생질 하고있어요." (I do that embarrassing/inferior thing called teaching)

to demean themselves (presumably mostly in jest), or if you spend cash in games, you can say:

"게임하면서 현질해요." (I spend cash "현금" in games).

The word "갑" comes from an old Korean way of keeping track of time. The Koreans used ten Hanja characters to keep track of year, month, day, and hour (along with twelve more Hanja characters corresponding to animals, but we won't get into that in this post). The ten Hanja characters, called "십간" are as follows:

甲(갑)

乙(을)

丙(병)

丁(정)

戊(무)

己(기)

庚(경)

辛(신)

壬(임)

癸(계)

In any case, note that the first letter of these ten characters is "갑."

These letters also came to be used in legal contracts -- these contracts tend to not refer to the two parties in a contract by their proper names (think of all the search-and-replace the lawyers must go through, if this were the case!) So for example, in English rent contracts, instead of names, one uses "lessor" and the "lessee."

By convention, the Korean legal contracts tend to refer to the party with more power as "갑" and the other party by "을," the second letter of 십간. So your landlord would be written as "갑" and you would be "을" in your contract. If you were performing for a party, the party host would be "갑" as they would be the ones paying you, and you, the performer, would be "을," and so on.

So by the word "갑질," the Koreans are saying that you're doing that shameful thing that the people with more power (갑) do. This extremely appropriate slang came into being in around 2013, and has been used extensively even in media since then.

For example, if a customer from a clothing store comes back with an obviously worn dress and demands a return (of course, customer is king, and hence the customer is 갑), the store clerk might mutter under his breath:

"갑질고객 한분 또 나타나셨네" (Another power-tripping customer.)

Or in the case of the Cho sisters of the Korean Air, one of the most common comments you will see online might be:

"슈퍼갑질 제대로다." (I guess that's how you super-power-trip.)

Perhaps taking a hint from these 재벌 families, small-scale 갑질 are quite common in the Korean society as well; many people feel that they are in power when they are paying customers. Some Koreans would take extreme offense when the store clerks are not behaving to their satisfaction, and would go as far as getting the clerks to ask for their forgiveness on their knees. Another common instance is professors using their powers to manipulate the students into doing what they want.

Based on the Korean tendency to become submissive to their superiors, 갑질 carries a nuance that is a bit more serious than power-tripping. While most people are deriding those who are power-tripping, the word 갑질 is often spoken with an underlying empathy for those in the position of "을," as they probably just went through a very humiliating experience.

In closing, here is a bit of a Korean humour making fun of the Korean Air situation:

The poster says that he learned a life lesson that he will always sieve out (거른다) anyone with the last name of Cho "조씨." And on this list are a bunch of people with last name "조," who have been featured in national news for criminal activities. Here you might recognize:

- 제너럴 조승희: the shooter at Virginia Tech named Cho Seung-Hee (the Koreans have dubbed him "the general," which is a story for another day);
- 성추행 조민기, 나쁜남자 조재현: these two actors, known for being loving fathers to their daughters, were recently in the headlines for having sexually harassed and assaulted numerous women;
- 땅콩리턴 조현아, 물투척 조현민: the Korean Air family;
- 고담시티 조커: here is a bit of a Korea joke, where they include Joker from Gotham City, because in the Korean alphabets, Joker is spelled 조커, which makes it sound like he has the last name "조" in Korean!

The other names on this list are more Korea-specific, but each of these people have made national headlines at some point, and I must admit that as of late, the people with last name Cho have been in the news a lot.

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#121. 도화살 -- Fated to be attractive (Shamanism 11, feat. Sulli, IU)

My mom was just in Korea for a visit, and on her way back, she brought back some Korean cosmetics for me (if you ever visit Korea, remember that these make the best souvenir gifts!) She excitedly told me that she chatted to the store clerk, and got some of the most popular cosmetics items for me, including these eyeshadows in the photo below. Alas, the Korean popularity does not necessarily translate to something that is wearable as a daily makeup in North America.

Thanks, mom! Believe it or not, I'm sincere.

While I was a little taken aback by these colours, I was willing to give it a try. And I knew exactly what kind of look I would be aiming for. One of the most popular makeup trends today is called "도화살 메이크업" (makeup "메이크업" in the style of "도화살," which honestly has no translation in English.) Long story short, the Korean women are trying to imitate the looks of the popular celebrity Sulli (설리) by using red or pink coloured makeup items. Yet, it's not that they are trying to be Sulli (who has had her share of scandals, and many Koreans do not look kindly upon her).

Sulli is one of my favourite Korean celebrities! She is so beautiful, and so interesting (although she has her faults).

Let's start at the very beginning.

Many Koreans believe in what we call "사주팔자." Most Koreans take this word to mean "fate," and they believe in it with a reserved respect. While almost no one puts a blind faith in 사주팔자, people generally don't mind having their 사주팔자 told every once in a while (traditionally, people want to hear their 사주팔자 on New Year's Day, and before their wedding, or other big life events). In Korean, you say:

"나 내일 사주보러 가려고" (I'm going to get my 사주팔자 told tomorrow -- you often shorten it to just "사주".)

The way 사주팔자 works is very mysterious to me; the idea is that based on when you're born (the year, month, day, as well as the time of your birth -- these four (사) data points are the pillars (주) of your purpose on earth, by which you are assigned a role in life -- you are assigned eight (팔) Hanja characters (자). In this age of technology, you can find these eight Hanja characters by an online calculator, for example, here (fill in the first line only; these are your birth year, month, date, hour, minute, and location (You probably want to enter the time of your birth in Korean time, but I'm not sure.) Then click "만세력 (Manse calendar)").

These eight Hanja letters written in four columns (from left to right, time, day, month, and year), if interpreted correctly, supposedly tells you of your course of life, and the role you were given by the skies.

Of course, actually interpreting them correctly is said to take decades of learning and practice. As a result, of all the shamanistic beliefs that exist in Korea, the people who engage in the interpretation of 사주팔자 are probably one of the most socially accepted (some people don't even include them in the category of shamans, preferring to view them as "the wise," if you will; some people learn how to interpret these as a hobby).

By interpreting these columns correctly, you can perceive your good fortunes (called "신"), and your misfortunes ("살"). So Koreans would often talk about "신살," which are your good and bad fortunes. As you might have guessed, the word "도화살" is a type of "살", a bad fortune. 

So, why would the Korean women try to look like they have a 도화살, a bad fortune?

This is because 도화살 is an interesting bad fortune. The word "도화" literally means "peach blossoms" in Hanja. The word "도" means "peach" (for example, one type of peaches is called "천도" or sky peach), and "화" means "flower" (as in "국화" meaning chrysanthemum, or "화관" meaning flower crown). In pure Korean, one might instead say "복숭아꽃", where "복숭아" means "peach." So why would peach blossoms signify bad fortune?

Peach blossom, or 도화 in Korean

Peach blossoms are not necessarily known for their beauty (unlike roses, for example). Nonetheless, they have their own charms, and they have such delicious smell that entices the insects to flock to it. The insects (not just the bees and butterflies, but all sorts of terrible insects, too) apparently become addicted to the aroma of peach blossoms eventually, and they will die around the peach blossoms after pining for it for days (to be honest, I have no idea if this is true or not, but this is what the wise people of 사주팔자 say!)

In the olden-day Korea, where sex was viewed as a negative thing, it was said that if a woman has a 도화살 in her 사주팔자, then she would not be able to satisfy her needs with just one man, and that she would end up prostituting herself, or become a 기생 (Korean version of Geisha -- notice the similarities in the pronunciation!) If a man married a woman with a 도화살, he would lose all of his chi ("기," life energy) and die early. 

If a man had a 도화살, then he would eventually become enticed by drinking and women, and eventually lead his family into destruction. For this reason, whether someone had a 도화살 or not was an important question to ask each other before a marriage.

In Korean, if you have a 도화살, you say:

"나 도화살 있어." (I have 도화살).

However, times have changed. Sexuality is not so stigmatized anymore, and being attractive and charming is now a positive thing. For example, for celebrities, who make their living by attracting love and admiration from many people, it would be advantageous to have a 도화살 in their 사주팔자 (in fact, you can even have more than one!) and even the average Koreans started wishing for a 도화살.

현아, of the Gangnam Style fame, is another celebrity who is said to have 도화살.

People who are born with a strong 도화살 are said to have a certain look (remember that the Koreans believe that one can guess certain aspects of a person based on how they look!) -- in short, the people with a 도화살 have a certain pinkish sheen in their face that makes them look very attractive. Here is how the people with 도화살 supposedly look like:

- softly arched eyebrows, like the crescent moon

- light brown and moist eyes

- the "inner V" part of your eye should be sharp

- white and soft skin

- round nose

- long eyelashes

- red and plump lips

- brown hair (as opposed to jet black that is typical of Koreans)

- flushed cheeks

In particular, Koreans place a particular emphasis on how your eyes should look -- they should look like you had just cried, looking moist and red around the rim -- it's supposed to evoke the "instinct to protect" from men, "보호본능" in Korean. The upper lashline does not go up as they travel towards the outside of your eye, and maybe there is a beauty spot around your eye.

And this is why the pink and burgundy eyeshadows are popular in Korea! The Koreans try to use these reddish shades to create the look of the women with a 도화살, in the hopes that this look will bring them popularity.

It is mostly understood and accepted among the Koreans that 설리's face is more or less the textbook definition of how a woman with a 도화살 should look. Interestingly, in the early 1900's, there was a very famous 기생 (Geisha) of the Joseon Dynasty named 이난향 -- she must have had very strong 도화살, given her occupation. And she looks almost identical to 설리!

When this photo first surfaced, this freaked a lot of people out, and surely it contributed to the popularity of the 도화살 makeup.

And this is why 설리's nickname among the Koreans (fans and non-fans alike) is "인간복숭아," or "human peach." Not only does she remind people of a peach, people are also referring to the fact that it almost looks like she was fated to be a successful celebrity, and they are acknowledging the fact that 설리's 사주팔자 probably contains multiple 도화살s (the maximum number that you can have is four). You might say something like:

"설리는 도화살이 적어도 서너개는 될듯" (Sulli probably has 3-4 도화살s.)

Interestingly, the popular singer IU, who is good friends with 설리, wrote a song for 설리, titled "복숭아 (Peach)." The lyrics tell the irresistible charm of 설리, and you can pick up some descriptions of the 도화살 there.

To close this long post, let me explain how to tell if you have a 도화살. Go back to your Manse calendar, enter your birth data, and look at the bottom row of the eight Hanja characters.

- If the second character from the left (子 in the above example), or the last character (辰 in the above example) in the bottom row is one of 寅,午, or 戌, then you have a 도화살 if you can find the character "卯" in your set of eight Hanja characters.

-  If the second character from the left or the last character of the bottom row is one of 申,子, or 辰, then you have a 도화살 if you can find the character "酉" in your set of eight Hanja characters.

- If the second character from the left or the last character of the bottom row is one of 巳, 酉, or 丑, then you have a 도화살 if you can find the character "午" in your set of eight Hanja characters.

- If the second character from the left or the last character of the bottom row is one of 亥, 卯, or 未, then you have a 도화살 if you can find the character "子" in your set of eight Hanja characters.

There can be at most four 도화살, and the more 도화살 you have, the more of a femme (or homme) fatale you are. I have never seen 설리's 사주팔자, but I definitely wonder how many 도화살 she has! As for my attempt at the 도화살 makeup, while it didn't turn out too terribly, I decided to reserve it for the occasional days when I feel like trying something new.

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#120. 틀딱충 -- Shut up, gramps!

What kind of classes were you taking when you were a grade 9 student? In Canada, where I spent my grade 9 years, I took the core classes (English, French, math, science, physical education), and some electives (business studies, fine arts, and music).

While it did not immediately strike me as odd, I realized over the years that there was one core class that the Canadian education system was missing, that the Koreans thought were important. And that class was called "도덕 (ethics)." It is a core class starting in around grade 3 in Korea, and you take this class every year, well into your high school years.

These classes go by different names; "생활의 길잡이 (guide to everyday living) or 바른생활 (righteous living)" for the elementary school students, "도덕 (ethics/morals)" for middle school students, and "윤리 (ethics)" for high school students. Look at the textbook covers, which supposedly illustrates the ethical way of living.

Honestly speaking, the 도덕 classes were giveaways. They mostly taught you a slightly idealized version of common sense (at least, they should be common sense, if you grew up with good Korean values). While it was an annoying class to be in, I don't remember ever stressing out about the class material. However, looking at it from the perspective of a grown-up in a North American society, some of the values taught in a 도덕 class are pretty strange.

Here is a test question from a 도덕 class: Which of the following people have the most desirable attitude towards being in a relationship as an adolescent?
1. Smoke to look cool.
2. Ask to touch their body to satisfy their needs.
3. Make sure that the time and place of your dates are public.
4. Make it a deep relationship just between the two of you.
5. Meet privately, rather than meeting alongside many other friends.
The correct answer is 3 (not obvious at all, unless you're Korean!)

But in general, these classes teach you to be considerate of the others, and to be courageous in standing up for your morals and values. For example, it teaches you to be courteous and respectful to the elders in the society, and to listen to what they say, since they have years of wisdom; it also teaches you to give up your seats in public transit, if an elderly person gets on board; it also tells you never to raise your voices with an elder -- even if they make a mistake, you should be considerate, don't make them lose face, and privately point out their errors.

An ethical question might be: If you were not seated in a priority seating, and an old man with a cane hobbles in; do you give up your seat, or not?

Be considerate, respectful, and courteous, these ethics classes say. When you respect your elders, you will be respected when it is your turn to be the elderly of the society.

All of these things are, of course, completely reasonable to a Korean, especially considering that Korea is a country built upon Confucian values. However, with the development of the internet, and the ease of cultural exchange that comes with it, the Korean society is facing a fair bit of conflict in its ethical values.

The elderly, as they were taught, expect a certain level of respect and consideration from the younger generation. They expect that they will be given a seat by the younger Koreans whenever they board a public bus or a subway. They expect a certain degree of respect from the young. They expect all this, because they had given up their seats when they were young, and now it's their turn to reap the rewards of an ethical society.

If you're a Korean, you have likely seen pictures like this in your 도덕책 (ethics textbook).

However, the younger generation of Korea feels differently. While being over the age of 65 legally classifies you as an elder who should be respected, nowadays, 65-year-olds barely even have wrinkles, and they can certainly make a few stops on the bus while standing. There is no reason for them to give up their seats to these healthy-looking people, since they got there first. And the younger generation is not shy about speaking up. To the young of Korea, the expectations of the elders feel like entitlement.

So, the scenarios like the following are fairly common in Korea:

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A young Korean is dozing off in her seat on the subway. The subway is fairly empty, with open seats scattered throughout the car. The door opens, and an elderly man strolls in, leaning on his cane. Evidently deciding that hobbling over to an empty seat is too long of a trek, the man stands in front of the young Korean and expectantly stares at her.

The young woman, mostly asleep, doesn't notice the elderly man, who grows impatient and starts conspicuously muttering to himself:

"아휴, 오늘 다리가 참 많이 아프네." (Ugh, my leg really hurts today.)

When the young woman still doesn't notice, the man starts tapping the young woman's leg with his cane, escalating the force with each tap. When the young woman finally looks up, the old man explodes in fury, saying:

"요즘 젊은것들은 버릇이 없어요." (The young ones these days have no manners.)

Flustered, the young woman gets off at the next stop, while the people around the two are trying to calm down the man.

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The consensus among the younger generation of Korea is that these elders have too much entitlement. And so there is a certain degree of enmity between the younger Koreans and the older Koreans. Although many Koreans won't usually raise their voices to an elder, just like how they were taught in their 도덕 classes, they might whisper in their anger:

"와 저 틀딱충 진짜 너무하네." (Wow, that denture-clicking insect is just too much.)

or

"요즘은 틀딱이 벼슬이야." (Nowadays, clicking your dentures is a status symbol or something -- "벼슬" used to mean the status as a government official in Joseon Dynasty, but it makes more sense to translate this as a status symbol instead!)

As you can see, the word "틀딱" or "틀딱충" is an extremely derogatory term that refers to the elderly people (who behave in an entitled manner, or, in some annoying manner.) It comes from two Korean words "틀니" (dentures) and "딱딱" (onomatopoeia for click-clacking sounds).

Quite literally, the young Koreans are being derisive towards these older Koreans, who are often loud and vocal about not getting the treatment that they feel are entitled to, by evoking the imagery of dentures opening and closing, and making those clicking noises. And often, they add the suffix "-충," meaning "insect" (you can also say things like "맘충," those insects of mothers who don't take the time to educate their children.)

So, by calling an older person a "틀딱" or a "틀딱충," you are both making fun of the fact that they are old and obsolete (since they wear dentures), and the fact that they talk too much (since their dentures are making clicking noises).

You can even use this word to insult people even just a few years older than you (when they try to act like they are your elder), as a way of exaggerating, although if you use this word to someone in their twenties, say, it is no longer mortally offensive, as it would be if you said this word to a 70-year-old!

This means that you need to be very, very careful if you're using this word in real life. Sometimes, the older people do act terribly, and perhaps you feel that this is the only word you can use to insult them; however, you should brace yourself for the consequences, as it may very well backfire -- the bystanders might feel that you went too far, and side with the rude elderly person (such public humiliation!)

Unfortunately, judging by the viciousness of this word, all those ethics classes have done very little to the young generation of Koreans!

 

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#117. 반다비 -- Can you bear being the mascot of the paralympic games? (Shamanism 10)

Many of the anglophone fairy tales start with the phrase "Once upon a time..." Korean fairy tales often begin with the phrase:

"옛날 옛적에, 호랑이가 담배피던 시절에..." (A long, long time ago, back when tigers used to smoke tobacco...)

And the story I want to tell in this post is very relevant to this particular phrase, so let me begin my story with this:

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옛날 옛적에, 호랑이가 담배피던 시절에, there lived a tiger (호랑이) and a bear (곰). They both badly wanted to be humans. Luckily for them, the son of the Sky-God, whose name was "환웅 (Hwanung)," had descended to the earth, and was living in the Korean peninsula.

The two animals went to 환웅, and asked if he could turn them into humans. 환웅 agreed, and gave them some bundles of mugwort (쑥) and garlic (마늘) -- the Koreans believed (and still do today, to some degree), that these ingredients purify the mind and the body. 환웅 told the animals that if they were able to remain in a cave without seeing the sunlight for 100 days, while subsisting on the 쑥 and 마늘, then they will turn into human beings.

Mugwort and garlic. Mugwort is a pleasantly bitter-tasting herb that grows everywhere in Korea. You can eat this raw, or put it into your fermented-bean soup, or use it as a colouring and flavouring agent in your rice cake, etc. It is also used in traditional medicine.

The tiger, being used to the freedom of running around in the sunlight and eating meat, gave up rather quickly, and left the cave. However, the bear was slow and steady, and she stayed in the cave eating only the 쑥 and 마늘. On the 21st day, the bear transformed int a beautiful woman.

When she emerged from the cave, 환웅 named her "웅녀" (in Hanja, this means "Bear-Woman") and took her as his bride, and the two went on to have a son, named 단군, and he eventually founded the nation of 고조선 (Gojoseon), often considered to be the beginning of the Korean history.

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This story is known to every school-aged child in Korea, since, if you believe the legend, this is how Korea came to be. In fact, you can find various temples, as well as shamans (called 무당 in Korean) around Korea that worship 환웅, 웅녀, or 단군.

A portrait of 단군, the son of 환웅 and 웅녀, probably drawn for the purpose of worship.

While I do not mean for this post to be a history lecture, there are a few interesting points about this legend. First, it is widely accepted that the nation of 고조선 was founded in 2333 BC (the ancient civilizations were just beginning to flourish elsewhere in the world!) which puts 고조선 squarely in the bronze age. And indeed, many relics have been found throughout the Korean peninsula to support that there was indeed civilization during the bronze age.

고조선 precedes 삼국시대 (the Three Kingdoms Era, which began around 300 BC) which I have mentioned in a few of the posts in this blog (you can find them here, here, and here), and the existence of 고조선 is also confirmed in the history texts written during the Three Kingdoms Era.

So, there is a very fine line drawn between the legend and history -- a country that began with an unbelievable legend is proved to have existed! While many modern historians believe that the tiger and the bear are symbols for two tribes (and the bear tribe probably won some power struggle), most Koreans, especially in the early years of the long Korean history, probably grew up believing that they were descended from the Sky-God and the Bear-Woman. There were rituals dedicated to 환웅, 웅녀, and 단군, some of which continue to this day within the native Korean shamanism -- of course, most Koreans do not subscribe to this belief anymore, but their attitude towards those who do is not simple derision; most Koreans will be respectful towards their beliefs.

Furthermore, the name of "단군" is so familiar to everyone that you can use it in everyday conversation. For example, if you see someone who is particularly rebellious towards the traditional Korean culture, you could say something like:

"널 보면 단군할아버지가 눈물흘리실듯" (I think the grandpa 단군 might cry seeing you.)

Here's a religious picture drawn by a Korean, which includes various native Gods of Korea (환웅, his father the Sky-God, and 단군) as well as Jesus and Buddha. Many aspects of these religions are intertwined within the Korean community!

Anyway, this story reflects how the Koreans view bears. To the Koreans, bears are steady and constant. They work hard, and they endure the hardship in anticipation of the rewards to come (this is perhaps a bit more serious than the honey-loving and slightly dumb bears that you can fool by playing dead, in the Western psyche.)

This makes a bear a perfect candidate for a mascot for the Paralympic Games. The athletes competing in the Paralympics have overcome tremendous personal difficulties in order to be there. They are resistant, they are strong, and they have persevered.

This is probably the species of bear that 웅녀 was, as this is the native species of bear in Korea.

The native species of bear in Korea are called "반달곰 (Half-moon bear)" or "반달가슴곰 (half-moon chested bear)" due to the moon-shaped fur on their chests. From this name derives the name of the Paralympics mascot, "반다비."

Here is 반다비 wearing the cute 어사화, the hat of the winners!

So, when I saw the announcement for the mascot for the Paralympic games, I thought it made very good sense. There is the added advantage that the 반달곰 are native to the Gangwon province, which is where PyeongChang is! So somehow, this mascot is the perfect blend of showcasing our long history, the native wildlife, and the display of our admiration for these athletes who have been through so much in their lives.

Let me close this post with one food for thought: in English, there are expressions such as "I cannot bear to do this task." In this phrase, the verb "to bear" means "to work through" or "to persevere." As I cannot think of any Western-based stories that should suggest the relationship between the two-fold meanings behind the word "bear," it amazes me that somehow these double meanings exist in both English and Korean. Are they related? Where did this even come from?

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#115. 소나무, 대나무, 민들레 -- Here are four phrases related to the native plants of Korea

When I started learning English, there were some phrases that did not make any sense to me. For example, what does it mean when you say that "Bob is as cool as a cucumber"? Does that mean that Bob is hip? Are cucumbers hip? Are we talking about their soothing powers? I admit that I always had an image of a cucumber wearing sunglasses and chilling in the sun, with a margarita in one hand (not that cucumbers have hands!)

And I'm not the only one who imagines things like this!

Later on, I learned that it is fairly common knowledge among the anglophones that the cucumbers are almost always cool to the touch. Even under the blazing sun, the inside of a cucumber is much cooler than the outside temperature; that is, it is able to "keep its cool." So, the above phrase says that Bob is a calm and unperturbed individual even in emergency situations. (However, fun fact: the reputable sources of the internet don't necessarily believe that cucumbers are cooler than any other objects.)

Anyway, I had never heard of such a thing from the Koreans. The random tidbit of knowledge that "cucumbers are cool" never reached the Korean-speaking community, and it seems that the French also find this expression strange. It may be something that only the anglophones believe!

It really fascinates me that while some concepts transcend languages, some other concepts are enclosed completely within a language. This got me thinking about some Korean expressions, also using plants, that may not be obvious to the non-native speakers. Can you guess what these expressions mean?

1. 수연이의 취향은 진짜 소나무야.
(Suyeon's tastes are like pine trees.)

2. 진호의 성격은 대쪽같아서 사실 좀 피곤해.
(Jinho's personality is a bit like bamboo, and frankly speaking, it tires me out sometimes.)

3. 동완이는 완전 일편단심 민들레라니까?
(I'm telling you, Dongwan is totally like a passionate dandelion.)

4. 요즘은 치킨집이 우후죽순처럼 생기는것같아.
(It seems that there are chicken restaurants opening like bamboo shoots after the rain.)

How many of these similes can you guess the meanings of? Here are the meanings that are accepted within the community of Korean speakers:

1. 취향이 소나무다 (has tastes like a pine tree)

To Koreans, pine trees have a very positive image, for their constant presence, for their beauty, and for their aroma.

Pine trees are evergreens; that is, they are unchanging throughout the years. This relatively new phrase is making its rounds on the Korean internet, by comparing someone's tastes (usually in their preferred style of girlfriend/boyfriend, or their tastes in their K-Pop group, or fashion, etc.) to an unchanging evergreen. So, if Suyeon's tastes ("취향" in Korean) are like pine trees, she has kept the same tastes (on whatever issue befits the context) over many years, like an evergreen tree. In context, one might come up with a sentence such as:

"수연이 넌 벌써 10년째 동방신기만 파니? 참 니 취향도 진짜 소나무다." (Suyeon, you have been digging TVXQ for 10 years already? Your tastes are so much like a pine tree!)

2. 성격이 대쪽같다 (personality is like a piece of bamboo)

Bamboo trees (대나무) are very hard and tough. There is almost no flexibility in the bamboo branches. Therefore, under heavy winds, while most other plants would bend to the wind, bamboos tend to come out with the most amount of damage, due to their inflexibility. So, if someone is described akin to a bamboo, it means that they have very strict standards, and they are unwilling to bend their standards even when there is outside pressure. "대쪽" just means a piece of a bamboo tree, which retains the same properties as bamboo trees.

Therefore, if Jinho's personality is like bamboo, it means that he is inflexible, and unwilling to compromise. Depending on the context, this could be a positive thing (like a politician who is like bamboo, or 성격이 대쪽같은 정치인 in Korean, is generally an extremely positive description), or a negative thing (if you're describing your groupmate for a project like this, perhaps you are hinting at your exhaustion for having dealt with someone who doesn't compromise at all.)

In context, you might use this expression like this:

"진호의 성격은 정말 대쪽같아서 단돈 100원도 정확히 나누고 싶어해. 걔랑 있으면 정말 피곤할 때가 많다니까?" (Jinho's personality is so much like a piece of bamboo that he wants to split even 10 cents right down the middle. I'm telling you, it is so tiring to spend time with him most of the time!)

In a more positive spin, you can use this expression as:

"우리 할아버지는 나를 정말 귀여워하셨지만 성격이 대쪽같으셔서 내가 잘못할때마다 많이 혼내셨어." (My grandpa adored me, but his personality was like a piece of bamboo, and so every time I did something wrong, he gave me a severe talking-to.) 

You can also say that "진호의 성격은 대나무같아," using the simile of a bamboo tree instead of a piece of bamboo, but you will see the expressions using the word "대쪽" more often.

3. 일편단심 민들레 (passionate dandelion)

If you've ever had to maintain a lawn, you have probably felt a stab of fear from seeing dandelions, or 민들레, on your back yard. Dandelions are extremely resilient; its root digs deep into the ground, and it is very hard to get rid of all of the root; if you pull it out, you'll inevitably leave some pieces of its root in the ground, and another dandelion will bloom from the same spot not too long afterwards.

Well, that's how most of us would feel if we were crushing on someone. You think that you have no chance, so you try really hard to suppress this feeling of infatuation -- you tell yourself that there is no way that your crush would like them back, that they are way out of your league, and that they don't even know your name! But you wake up and you pass them in the hallway, and voilà, your feelings are back. Like those pesky dandelions.

The phrase "일편단심" is a 사자성어, or literally, four-letter words (usually each letter comes from the Chinese character Hanja, and so they have very concentrated meaning). Here, "일" means "one," and "편" means "piece." For example, you see that a one-way ticket is called "편도," and a single mother is "편모." The letter "단" means "red," as in "단풍나무" or "maple tree." Finally, "심" means "heart."

So, the short phrase "일편단심" means "one piece of red heart," or, "passionate love." At some point, the Koreans started using the phrase "일편단심 민들레" to denote the people who are madly in love, and refuse to give up in their love. In context, you can say things like:

"동완이는 민지가 관심이 없다는데도 벌써 여섯달째 일편단심 민들레네." (Even though Minji is not interested in Dongwan, he is being a passionate dandelion for six months.)

4. 우후죽순 (Bamboo shoots after the rain)

The Korean spring is very wet. There are so many rainy days, but these rains go by the beautifully-nuanced name of "봄비" or "spring rain." This is the rain that starts the blooming of the flowers and other plants, and the Koreans tend to welcome it.

In particular, these rainy days are very beneficial to the bamboo shoots. After a bout of spring rain, these shoots can be seen anywhere in a bamboo forest. They can grow up to 10cm (about 4 inches) overnight after it rains, and is a truly amazing sight to venture into a bamboo forest after a spring rain, as the scenery can change completely overnight, with these bamboo shoots everywhere!

The Koreans are very sensitive to fashion. You may have seen this trend in the Korean Entertainment TV -- if an audition reality show is a hit in one broadcasting station, all other stations scramble to mimic it; at some point, the trend was a child-rearing program, and so on. When a particular brand of clothing becomes popular, many Koreans hurriedly buy a similar brand, so that they will not fall behind the current fashion.

So it is not unusual to see the atmosphere of an entire country (or, more locally, your workplace, or your classroom) change quickly, based on what the current fashion is. It can remind you of the new bamboo shoots after a spring rain, to see these popular items dominate the country one by one. And by the phrase "우후죽순," literally meaning "bamboo shoots (죽순) after (후) the rain (우)," the Koreans are drawing exactly this analogy. In context, you might hear someone say:

"요즘 치킨이 인기가 많더니 치킨집이 우후죽순처럼 생겨나네." (Chicken has been the most popular item these days, and now the chicken restaurants are appearing everywhere like bamboo shoots after the rain.)

To close, all of these expressions are safe to use, and not offensive at all. However, they are associated to different time periods. The two expressions related to bamboo trees are classic -- I would not be surprised if they were used in the pre-modern Korea era. After all, bamboo forests are not so common in Korea anymore, although they were much more common in, say, Joseon dynasty. So it makes sense for these people to draw analogies to bamboo trees. You will see these expressions in newspapers, literature, and anywhere else that you can imagine.

The "passionate dandelion" phrase evokes the 70s-80s era, mostly thanks to the song of the same name released by the popular singer Cho Yong-Pil in 1981. You can listen to the song here:

And I imagine people my parents' age (people who were at the peak of their youth in the 70s-80s) using this phrase the most often -- if the millenials are using it, they might be trying to be sarcastic or facetious!

Finally, "having the taste like pine tree" is a phrase currently popular among the young people of Korea. While I cannot imagine the older people not understanding this phrase, or figuring it out from hearing it, it is mainly used by the people in their teens and twenties.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 or

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

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

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#111. 즙을 짜다 -- Crocodile tears

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Koreans dug up evidence in no time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mmmmm!

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

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

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

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

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