Hello My Loving Family,
If you couldn’t tell by now, I kinda enjoy my life in this
Land of Kimchi. However, it’s easy to love this place as a foreigner. We get to
circumvent a lot of the pressure that comes with being an actual Korean person.
The pressures of school, work, relationships—it seems like everything here is
designed to crush your soul into a convenient little cube. Perhaps the greatest
of these pressures, however, is that of Korean parents. Pressure in what, you
ask? In everything.
Let’s start with marriage. In Korea, people rarely get
married early or late in life, almost everyone gets hitched right around thirty
years old, plus or minus two years. You know how American women talk about how
“their biological clock is ticking” and it sends them into a hormonal tailspin
where they become so man hungry and vulnerable that they almost can’t function?
In Korea, it’s even worse.
I’ll tell you a quirky little anecdote from my own life to
accentuate this point. When I was a fresh-faced college grad who had just moved
to Korea, I was out at a karaoke on a Wednesday night. I had just finished
belting out the greatest version of “Living on a Prayer” Korea ever heard, when
a cute Korean girl approached me from across the room. Let’s call her Julie.
After I brief conversation, I deciphered two essential details:
1.)
She had a boyfriend
2.)
She had cute friends she could introduce me to
Clearly, the second point appealed to me more. A week later,
I ended up going out for drinks with Julie’s friend, a girl we’ll call Sally.
Sally was shy and had received a fair amount of plastic surgery, but was cute
and spoke decent English, so I gave her a shot. The problem was, whenever I
asked her how old she was, she would always answer “age is not important.” Coming
from a society where age determines respect, I found this answer to be suspect.
But, she didn’t look like she could be much older than me, so I didn’t let it
bother me.
Ultimately, the relationship fizzled out. I got over it, but
the question of Sally’s age lingered in my mind. Then, almost eight months from
the time we stopped dating, I was out with my kumdo brothers eating spicy
octopus when I ran into Julie, the girl who had originally set up Sally and I.
We got to talking, and the conversation went something like this:
Julie: Hey, Dan.
Wow, you look really handsome.
Me: Yeah, I get
that a lot. Hey, I never got a chance to thank you for setting me up with
Sally. Sorry things didn’t work out.
Julie: Oh that’s
okay, it happens. I’m sure you have no problem meeting girls with those muscles.
Me: Thanks, but
you should probably calm down. You have a boyfriend.
Julie: Sorry,
it’s just tough.
Me: I get that a
lot. Hey, there was something I always wanted to ask you.
Julie: Anything
for you, Dan.
Me: So, Sally
would never tell me how old she was. She would always dodge the question.
Julie: Really? Do
you want to know how old she is?
Me: Absolutely.
Julie: She’s
thirty.
Me: Daaaammmnnn. Didn’t
see that one coming.
Julie: Yeah, she
looks a lot younger.
Me: What’s she up
to these days?
Julie: Oh, she’s
married.
Boom.
When I discovered this, my wheels started turning. If we
assume she met the guy the day after we stopped dating AND we assume was
married the day before I met Julie, their relationship, from inception to marriage
was slightly less than eight months, and most likely way shorter than that. Or maybe she was two-timing me. The point is,
when I tell this story to Korean people, though, they’re not surprised. Spending
the rest of your life with someone becomes more and more spontaneous the closer
you get to thirty.
I think the cause of this phenomenon that many unmarried men
and women still live with their parents. Hell, most Korean girls have curfews
well into their late-twenties. This is the reason why every girl I’ve dated in
this country is fantastic at lying to their parents. Still though, this
explains how marriage is, ironically, a kind of independence.
Even if you find the love of your life, it’s not that easy.
They don’t only need to be good enough for you, they need to be good enough for
Mom and Dad. Marrying someone your parents don’t approve of doesn’t really fly
out here. Sometimes, parents veto the marriage for perfectly valid reasons. Sometimes,
though, marriages get the thumbs-down for…psychic reasons.
Koreans are superstitious by nature. When big decisions
arise, it’s off to the fortune teller. Using the art of shamanism, they can
tell anything about you, from how many kids you’ll have to what your job will be
in ten years. This isn’t just some random palm reading—there are entire schools
of shamanism unique to Korea. Kwan-sang fortune tellers, for example,
specialize in reading facial features. They determine future actions based on factors
like how close you eyes are together or how high your forehead is. The logic is
that the decisions you make help sculpt your face, so therefore your face is a
guide to your future actions. Interestingly enough, some people opt to get
plastic surgery, not to make themselves prettier per say, but rather to enhance
their Kwan-sang appearance. Plastic surgery, in essence, to change their
destiny. Weird, wild stuff.
This is not to be taken lightly. Recently, I knew a man who
asked his girlfriend to marry him. His parents, in Korean tradition, went to a
psychic after learning this. The psychic predicted their son would be divorced
within three years if he married the woman. The parents immediately tried to
veto the marriage, leading shit-storm of massive proportions within the family.
Yes, this is the fourteenth most powerful economic country
in the world, but old habits die hard. Not that this author is trying to
discredit the validity of psychics. Who’s to say they can’t really tell the
future? Koreans even acknowledge there are a lot of fakes, but some truly have
the ability to see into the future. Still, though. Calling off your son’s
wedding because of something a stranger on the street told you? That’s cold,
baby. Ice cold.
Now let’s go to my favorite topic, women. As we all know,
Korea is the plastic surgery capital of the world, but why? What is it about
this region of the globe that instills this need to go under that beautifying knife?
While doing some research on that very topic, I came across this little gem:
“Twenty-five percent of Korean mothers who have daughters between the ages of
twelve and sixteen suggested plastic surgery to their daughter.” Wow. Thanks,
Mom. Sadly, this doesn’t surprise me, nor does this statistic: “81.5 percent of
women between twenty-five and twenty-nine felt the need for cosmetic surgery.”
Numbers don’t lie, baby. Approximately half the adult
females of Korea have received plastic surgery, many of them unnecessarily. The
root cause is this omnipotent social pressure. And if you can’t buy into these
bogus statistics, check this. I’ve dated my fair share of Korean hotties and all of them have considered plastic
surgery at one point or another. A couple even admitted to getting it. One of
the girls who hadn’t was constantly berated by her aunt to get her eyes and
nose done, despite the fact she was perfectly lovely. As sick as it is, though,
it comes from a place of love. They want their daughters to be successful, and in
Korea, just like most of the world, pretty people just get farther in life.
It’s not just with looks. Pressure extends into the realm of
education too. Korean parents spend an average of one thousand dollars per
child per month on private academies from the time they’re six years old. What
makes this even more impressive is that the average salary in Korea is less
than two thousand dollars per month. You can imagine why little Billy Lee isn’t
so much encouraged to “find his passion” as get perfect scores on every single
test he takes. And if he falls short, well, that’s why God invented corporal
punishment.
But it’s not all psychics, savage beatings and bank-breaking
debt. Korean company life has taught me the joys of 회식 (pronounced
“hway-shik”). This is the the pressure of the forced-drinking variety. 회식 translates
to something like “company food,” the idea being that workers and bosses go out
together to eat. In reality, everyone just ends up getting sloppy drunk. Or, at
least, I do. The older company men at work have really taken a shining to me,
especially the one we call “Soju Guy.” I have yet to go out for a 회식where
my memory stays intact. The Koreans actually have a term for this, called “필름이 끊겼다”
which translates to “My film got cut.”
In addition to the pressures of family and work, there’s the
societal pressure to speak English. Koreans spend an unnatural amount of time studying
English. A common ground for such practice “language exchanges.” These are weekly
coffee shop events, where foreigners and Koreans go to chill out, sip on lattes
and practice various languages. Every time I go, I encounter so many Korean
college students, trying like hell to master the English language, and I
applaud their efforts. Likewise, I encounter so many foreigner dudes there with
the sole purpose of picking up a Korean college girl. Scummy, yes, but also
highly effective.
Societal pressure extends even further, out to the dating
world. Korea is a country built for couples, and having a boyfriend or
girlfriend is kind of a status symbol. Innovations have been made to make this
process easier, including a slew of mobile application helping people to meet
up and go on dates together. I recently downloaded one called “Badoo” just for
the hell of it. While browsing through the list of girls, I found one who was
actually pretty cute. Now, despite the fact that this author believes online
dating is totally lame, he was a little curious that night and decided to message
said cutie in Korean. The following is the translated exchange:
Me: Hey
Badoo Girl: Where
are you?
Me: I’m in
Itaewon. You?
Badoo Girl:
Itaewon’s kinda far, but I can go. Do you want a paid meeting?
Me (trying to understand what a paid meeting
is): How much is a paid meeting?
Badoo Girl:
Eighty dollars for the short meeting, Sixteen for the long.
Me: So you don’t
just want to get drinks?
In case if you missed it, she was a hooker. I tried it out
with another few girls, same result. First question is always: “Where are you?”
As it turns out, Badoo is essentially an extensive online network of prostitution,
and it’s not the only one. Sure, there are real girls there too, but a lot of
them (especially the knockouts) are just trying to make a little scratch.
Lesson learned: smoking hot girls don’t need a dating service, but some of them
do need money.
However, I’m going to take a wild guess and say she didn’t really look like this…
We foreigners are sometimes victim to this Korean pressure as
well, even when we’re not aware of it. English academies, where most foreigners
work, often put teachers through hell. A year ago, when my replacement teacher
came in from America, they constantly criticized his teaching and fired him
several times in the first week. In reality, it wasn’t because his teaching was
bad, but rather because his hair was too long, which made them fear he was a homosexual.
Another dude I met (the only dude in Seoul I’ve met from Boston) likewise got
fired from his English Academy after one week of work. The fake reason? His
manager “didn’t like his style.” The real reason? He couldn’t speak Korean. His
manager believed this might cause a rift in their communication, seeing as he,
the manager of an English academy, couldn’t
speak English.
I talk a lot about Korea, but it’s always good to know that
the rest of East Asia is just as wacky. Some of you may have seen the news
about the Chinese man sued his wife for being ugly. Yes, this really happened.
Here’s how it went down:
A man marries a woman who he finds stunning. Life is good. Then
she gets pregnant, and life couldn’t be better. Then the baby comes out and
everything goes to hell. Why? Because the baby is really, really ugly. Like,
circus ugly. So ugly, in fact, that the man had this to say:
“Our daughter was incredibly ugly, to the point it horrified
me.”
Being a good-looking man, he naturally assumed her of
cheating on him. After all, it was the only possible way such a disturbingly
ugly child could be born to his wife. If only that were the case. In a classic 21st-century twist,
it turns out his wife had once been quite ugly herself. However, after undergoing
over one hundred thousand dollars in
plastic surgery, she turned into a beauty queen. With the truth discovered, the
man rescinded his accusation, and then sued her for “marriage under false
pretenses.” He ultimately won, and was awarded the equivalent of her plastic
surgery costs. That poor kid.
Shown here, the wife, before and after.
And if that story doesn’t warm your soul, here’s a treat
from the Land of the Rising Sun:
To say the Japanese are a bunch of insatiable sex-perverts
would be a horribly racist thing to say, and this author would never be caught
dead pushing such smut. Switching topics for a minute, Japan recently hosted its
annual Charity Breast Squeeze Event for the prevention of AIDS. Really, here's the link. As part of the
“Erotica will Save the World” campaign, ten adult film actresses volunteered to
allow their sweater cows to be squeezed for donations to charity. The event was
wildly successful this year. Many participants, after donating and squeezing, got
right back in line to donate and squeeze again. Disgusting or genius? You be
the judge.
Side note: there was another booth at this charity function known
as the “Masturbation Marathon.” No further description was provided.
And as long as we’re off topic, let’s talk about food. As
you know, I am always in search for bizarre fare from far off lands. But, in my
heart of hearts, I’m really just a freedom-loving American boy who loves a good
burger. Finding American food in Korea isn’t hard. Finding good American food in Korea is almost impossible. Most places are
just filled with noobs peddling flavorless, bastardized mini-burgers or salads covered
in corn and sauerkraut for some terrible reason. Such places leave me feeling
cheated and used, like a rebound girl who thought she found the one. There is,
however, one place in Seoul that is the exception to this rule.
Located on Apgu Rodeo, just above the NBA store is a gem
known as Salt n’ Butter. I mean, sure, it’s got a friendly staff, open kitchen,
good music, all the elements of good atmosphere, but if you’re anything like me,
for you, it all boils down to taste. So, what about the food?
What would say to peach salads with goat cheese that eat
like a meal, spicy buffalo wings served with French fries dripping in home made
chili, and the only authentic pesto pasta in all of Seoul? Yes, it has all of
these, but where Salt n’ Butter really shines is the burgers. Before Salt n’
Butter, I never thought I would find a burger that would rival an all-American
patty, let alone transcend it. The true testament to this is in the care that
goes into every burger. The owner built a smokehouse and personally smokes all
the bacon himself. If that’s not commitment, I know not the definition of this
word.
My latest addiction at Salt n’ Butter is the spicy chicken
sandwich, which, I kid you not, is the fattest
chicken sandwich I have ever eaten. Seriously, it looks like they stuffed an
entire chicken in between two toasted buns, dripping in hot sauce and slaw.
Dear God, it’s beautiful. Ever since I left America, there’s
a hole inside me I’ve been trying to fill, and I’m pretty sure this burger is
the answer.
You know people, life out here is truly a roller coaster
ride. There are highs and lows, adventure and longing, decision and indecision.
It’s not all delicious burgers and breast squeezing. Sometimes, I am riddled
with doubt. It’s not hard, being away for this long from the people I love to
not sometimes wonder if I had made a mistake coming out here. Not that it
hasn’t been amazing. Surely, it has. But with every decision we make, we embrace
one world and destroy another. My mind sometimes thinks about those worlds that
never existed, had I spent the last two years in Boston, or gone to grad
school, or joined the Peace Core.
But then, something usually comes along and reminds me that
I’m on the right path, at least for the time being. The topic of this blog was Korean
pressure, especially that of parents. But it’s true around the world, parents
put pressure on their children, whether they want to or not. When you become a
parent, you go a little insane. There’s no avoiding it. You have to be crazy to
devote your life to completely taking care of another. That’s the beautiful part
about it.
That’s why I’m happy to announce that my Korean brother Alex
and his lovely wife Helena have just given birth to a very healthy and very awesome
baby boy. I never imagined be an uncle, especially the uncle to a Korean baby,
but like I said, life has a way of coming along and showing us whether or not
we’re on the right path.
So, to my nephew, Dan Yu Kim (김단유), thank you, and welcome to the world,
little man.
-Uncle Dan
