The Tale of a Milder Meal...

So, after having taken a self-imposed hiatus from as many school dinners as possible (and there have been many!), I finally had some spare time (and patience, ha!) to attend another full-out gathering..

Overall, I would say that it was infinitely milder (thank goodness) than the very first one, though not without remnants of the past. Although, I can't say that this "normalcy" (if that's what you want to call it) wasn't due in large part to the fact that I was smart enough to have left early this time around, as it certainly had the potential to become weird, fast.

So a quick run-down from my short stay:

-Much to my horror, the men have improved their English dramatically?! Of course they can't discuss the origin of water on the moon (Who can??), but they are more than capable of verbalizing their feelings and opinions, which is generally NOT a good thing for me. Yikes!

-The respective music and computer teachers still insisted on doing shots with me, despite the fact that I had been intentionally nursing a sprite since my arrival. (It's REALLY hard to turn down a genuinely nice, smiling, old Korean man--who's not trying to coerce you into a date, I might add--since they are such a rare breed. Plus, when the music teacher discovered that I would be attending the school's orchestra concert that he was conducting a few months ago, he handed ME flowers after the performance! An amazing gesture, n'est pas? So I happily obliged.)

-Teeny, tiny, bald, important man immediately sat on my left, after observing Mr. S come sit on my right, says, "He likes you, and I like you." He also repeatedly said, "He is bad boy, I am good boy. I am small boy." (This man is all of 5 feet, with special slippers on, maybe.) Exasperated and uncomfortable, I finally said, "I know," and shook my head, but this time Mr. S was able to ask, between shots of soju, "Why do you think that?" (Ahhhhhhhh! Why are you now able to say things in my language that I can actually understand??) While I wanted to retort, "because your propensity to engage in extra-curricular activities is obvious, sir," I instead settled for a nervous laugh and "it's just a joke."

-Just when I was preparing to make my smooth criminal exit, who but Mr. Closeted Cassanova and Mrs. C rush over to my table, with the former requesting that we take a shot together, and the latter pouting and telling me how disappointed she was with my leaving, given that she'd just arrived mere minutes ago (You don't say?? Why, that is precisely when I realized that it was time for me to make my exit!) and quizzing me over whether or not I drank any alcohol. (Really, lady?? What's that got to do with the price of tea in China?)

-Got lost on the way back to my apartment, which occurred in my attempt to escape the creepiness caused by Mr. Closeted Cassanova's suddenly feeling the need to see me out of the door (Remember: This man doesn't even make eye contact with me during regular school hours, and Korean men in general certainly do NOT partake in activities such as holding doors or escorting females!) and into the dark sameness that is night-time in Korea, so I made a wrong turn to get out of his sight (too short a distance for a taxi), to avoid the creepiness of his smiling and watching me walk away. (I think that I have a pretty good sense of direction, but you'd be surprised at how many cell phone stores, coffee shops (under the same brand), and internet rooms you could pass at any given time here, especially since there are no street signs.) Luckily, I was able to ask a few pedestrians for directions (which was still a gamble, given that many Koreans don't see any need to explore areas outside of their daily route, plus they would be more likely to give wrong directions rather than admit to not knowing something, and thus, losing "face"), and I eventually ended up right around the corner, again.


Like I said, this dinner was a cake walk (preferably, with Western-style cakes that don't include things like sweet potatoes and red beans..) compared to the first one. And while this story may be a bit more yawn-inducing (lol) than the first one, given the things that continue to constitute my Korean (work) experience, I'll take it!

The (Not So) Temple Tale.

So, I finally did it. The thing that every fellow foreigner has been ranting and raving about since I set foot on this peninsula: a temple stay.

Let me just preface it by saying that it was NOTHING like I expected, and, from the stories of others who have done it (as well as the itinerary itself), nothing like how it was supposed to be.

In the event that you've never slept in a Buddhist temple, let's start by exploring all of the things on the list of "supposed-to-be"s, shall we?

How it was supposed to be:

I'm told that it's supposed to be a very soul-calming and mind-opening experience. (Despite the fact that I'm definitely 100% Christian, I couldn't turn down the opportunity to have my soul calmed and mind opened, especially while residing in a place that is anything but.) Upon my arrival, I was supposed to be whisked into a room where I would learn all about Buddhism and temple protocols, and then made to change out of my regular-people clothes and into the baggy, gray, MC Hammer pants and Karate Kid shirt and belt similar to what the monks were wearing. (No one ever mentioned anything about having to shave my head, thankfully.) After having changed clothes, explored the temple grounds and getting settled into our women-only shared room, I was then supposed to have dinner with a monk and learn more about the Buddhist faith, various meditation techniques and exactly the things that temple life entails. I was also supposed to use this time to ask questions, which of course I had. After having my mind simultaneously calmed and blown via new information (I'm an info. addict, and I am NOT ashamed! Ha!) meditation, and temple tea, I was supposed to shower and retire to my pallet on the floor of my shared room (being extra careful not to kill so much as a mosquito, as Buddhists do not kill anything) and allow my newly-calmed mind to drift off into sleep in preparation for my 4 a.m. wake-up call. (This was all supposed to happen by 7p.m., in case you're curious.) After having awakened (That phrase was a bit of a challenge. You never realize how "use it or lose it" complex grammar is until you teach ESL!) before the sun, I was supposed to get lost in meditation and melody of the special drums being played by the monks. After being taken to yet another level of calmness, I was supposed to sip tea while discussing ways for world peace (Okay, so maybe that part was just something that I just imagined would happen, but you never know!). At around 6 a.m., I was supposed to have breakfast (vegetarian, bien sur) and meditate enough to be in complete harmony with the universe, drink some more temple tea and then prepare for my departure from the temple in an eternal state of bliss.

Now if you think for una segunda that even a watered-down version of the above story actually materialized, then I gotta bridge to sell you in Brooklyn. No, really...


How it was:

Where do I even begin? When we arrived, we were ushered to our shared, "women only" sleeping quarters, and allowed to explore the temple grounds. Never were we given our "Hammer time" pants nor our "Grasshopper/Wax on, wax off" shirts, which was a little disappointing for me. (Hey, I was really trying to get into the whole enlightened-minded-people-wear-the-same-clothes-as-the monks thing. Plus there was nothing calming about my multi-colored floral print dress.) While waiting for dinner, I hiked through the woods in said dress (And not a single mosquito bite! Amazing..) and had a 5 second conversation with a monk that we something like this:
Monk: "Hi. Where.are.you.from?"
Me, the soon-to-be-enlightened-chick-in-the-corner: "Oh, hi. I'm from the USA."
Monk: Smiles. "Very good. Nice to meet you."
Me: "Thank you. You, too."
Monk walks away.

Little did I know at the time, but, aside from a few orders given to me in Korean from the one female monk that I encountered (The next morning, she would also hand me a colorful bead bracelet with a glow-in-the-dark swastika in the middle. Apparently, Hitler stole it from the Buddhists. Who knew??) that would be the extent of my conversation with them. So I made small talk with the other foreigners who were also apart of the group to attempt to kill time. Dinner came and went sans fanfare, and again, there was more talking to foreigners. (I've never actually met anyone from Alaska. How's life up there? Cold? Is ice fishing really as boring as it looks? Do you make daily liquor runs to Russia?) Not exactly enlightening conversation. There was tea, but in light of the fact that it was like 95 degrees outside, I passed on that, too. Sadly, the most stimulation that I derived from "dinner with the monks" (sitting BEHIND us and eating in silence) was discovering that Alaska gets 20 consecutive hours of sunlight in the summer, and the slight sense of anxiety that I experienced while trying to eat every single thing that I had placed on my plate after being told that the monks are very serious about not wasting even a tiny morsel of food. (In the same breath I was also told that at some temples it is also customary to drink your dishwater as a sign of  humbleness and harmony with the universe. Here's the part where I am actually happy about my unconventional temple stay experience.) The buck stopped there.

So, rather than meditating myself to sleep after dinner, we instead left the grounds to go to an expo of sorts, which was fine, because it was expected. What I didn't expect was watching our group leaders get inebriated while at said expo. (We were staying in a temple for goodness sakes! Really??) Turns out this was merely a preview of what was to come. Some other things that I didn't expect to happen:

-When we arrived back at the temple, I hopped off the shuttle and into a cloud of cigarette smoke. Apparently, our bus driver had decided that the entrance to the temple was an ideal spot to light up.

-After navigating through the nicotine, I entered the "women only" room (under temple rules, men were supposed to be prohibited) only to find that the men who had helped organize the trip were literally setting up mini tables for an impromptu makalee (Korean rice wine) party and chopping up watermelon (On our floor. In the woods. At night. In 95 degree weather. On the floor. Where around 15 women had to sleep and NOT kill forest-dwelling creatures.) and using super sticky/sweet rice cake as chasers. Completely incredulous, I glanced across the table to see our bus driver taking shots!? What the??? This "party" lasted well into the night, and eventually dwindled down to ONLY the very men who had initiated it, as the rest of us were exhausted. (I later found out that some older women had even taken their pallets outside in an attempt to get some sleep. Of course they would have never challenged the men. See "Hierarchies" story.)

-After we finally figured out a way to coax the men out of our room, the younger women trip organizers' extremely loud Korean chatter even later into the night and 1st thing in the morning. Read: No sleep.

-After having gotten intoxicated while at the expo, and staying up til the wee hours of the morning chatting, the ability of our group leader to change our wake-up time, and have it extended by 2.5 hours (which was only so that we could have breakfast if we chose to). While it may have seemed like a good idea at the time, it also meant no monk music nor meditating.

-Open, communal showers (No, I still haven't jumped on that bandwagon yet, as I receive enough staring from Koreans with my clothes on, thank you.), which involved a lady leaving the shower area but coming back to peek through the door at me, and then having a different lady(?) sit next to me the following morning and rub the skin on my arm and knee in amazement.  (No, I hadn't shaved the previous night.)

-Cursing at the temple. Need I say more?

-Upon our return to the city, group leaders wanting to have dinner and drinks (with an emphasis on drinkS) after our long weekend of bus trekking, prolonged sun exposure ("sweaty" doesn't even begin to describe it), and lack of sleep. On a Sunday evening. (See: "A Short Story About Time")

After all of this hoopla, I actually began toying with the idea of drinking dish water. Would it really have been THAT bad?? I mean, I only used like 3 dishes anyway...






Oh, and did I mention that the main group-leader lady who stayed up late chatting and drinking, and who conveniently got all of the temple rules changed to suit her desires is--by her own admission-- a devout Buddhist??

A Short Story About Time...

It's not really yours. At least not in Korea.


Your employer can arrange various dinners, marathon drinking sessions, karaoke gatherings, and team trips mere minutes before you're scheduled to leave work, and you're expected to attend them all. What's that you say? You had "plans"??? Bah! 

This cultural norm also trickles down into social situations. Korean friends (especially if they're older than you--remember heirarchies?) think nothing of scheduling activities in your free time prior to finding out if you're actually "free."

And of course, everyone's always shocked when you are not actually available as you were "planned" to be.


                                                                     The End.

The Tale of the Longest Bus Ride EVER...

Those who are close to me would call it inevitable, while I will just settle for the term "mind-blowing."

So I usually find myself largely ignoring old Korean men, as their stoic and perpetually angry expressions are extremely off-putting, if not completely intimidating altogether. Generally speaking, they are just not very happy/active individuals.. (Although there was that one time, when, after having slept for a mere 3 hours before having to work at an event outdoors, I decided to take a quick nap whilst walking through the park--Hey, it's called multi-tasking!--and upon opening my eyes I saw an old Korean male riding a UNICYCLE off in the distance. (How he was able to obtain a real-life, uber-fun unicycle in a country where the general populous doesn't have time to enjoy life I shall never know.)  I nearly tripped over my own two feet out of shock and utter confusion. And then I laughed hysterically (maybe it was the extreme fatigue??) until he disappeared out of the park. Priceless.) That being said, they usually don't bother me, aside from the routine stares that I get from either being A) non-Korean, B) not white, or C) all of the above. So everybody's happy! Or not...

I don't know whether or not the price of tea in China has changed (Ha! Such a stupid phrase..But alas, I love it. Sigh.), but for some reason these "adjosshis" (as old Korean men are referred to here) have suddenly taken an extreme interest in my existence??

 So I'm on one of the last buses coming back to my area on a week-night. As I am so entranced by my music (so as to remain awake and to keep my mind off the length of the bus ride), I do not notice the fact that all the people have gotten off, and I am the only passenger left until the bus abruptly stops and I hear the bus driver (also an adjosshi) yell something to me. So I look around, apologize, and quickly exit the bus VERY confused, as this bus was supposed to take me to my final destination, but whatever. So upon exiting the bus and seeing legions of Korean teenage boys dressed in school uniforms (it had to be after 10:30 at this point), I realized that I was at a bus station of some sort. Luckily for me, other buses were departing, so all that I had to do was chase the next one (Literally, as buses do not stop unless they are flagged down and chased. Silly people who actually WANT to ride buses!) and hop on. As it was at it's point of origin, it was refreshingly empty, and I resumed listening to my music and getting mentally prepared to the long ride ahead. After remaining relatively empty, a few stops later a group of people boarded. Anticipating the need for seats, I moved my bag into my lap from the seat next to me. Whhhhyy 'o whhhyyyy did I do that??? A few seconds later, out of the corner of my eye I observed an old man who was walking down the aisle take notice of me, and then sprint toward the seat next to me. SO I just turned up my music and proceeded to ignore his existence, as is common. (Again, Koreans=not bubbly individuals.) Imagine my surprise when he began to scoot closer and closer to me. I instinctively moved closer and closer to the window each time, until there was no room left and I realized that whatever was happening was no coincidence. So as I continued to ignore him, he starts poking me in my arm/side to get my attention. Annoyed at being poked, I look up to see him smiling (scary, given that they.don't.smile.ever. I'm pretty sure that he even had a gold tooth in the back, too!?) and pointing to his business card, which has magically appeared in his hands. I smile politely and take the card (using TWO hands of course, so as not to offend), and then nod slightly to show respect. After pretending to read/take interest in what it says (actually it was mostly written in English?? Something about being a wedding planner? Huh???), I start to put the card in my bag. He then, grabs my hand and attempts to speak English to me using a series of random verbs and pantomiming. Since I somehow understand him, I nod in agreement. He then resorts to Korean to ask me about going on a date with him, eating, drinking ("a little"--his exact words--which is also a complete lie. After attending a festival a while back, I noticed that the pamphlet said, "You think you drink like fish?? Well, Korean drink like WHALE!!" No arguing that!), and seeing a movie (I think?? maybe I'm getting him confused with another one from yet another bus...). (Side note: these are the same people who are known to openly insult white men who are even walking with Korean women. Koreans will tell you that they are "one race," and they are doing everything in their power--especially the old men--to main that distinction! Keep that in mind.) It's then that I realize his motives, and pretend not to have understood any of his requests. I smile politely and turn back around to face the window. I then feel him vigorously patting the left area of my chest (The fact that I'm a girl makes it a wee bit more than that.) with one hand and touching my knee with the other. Mortified, I turn around and push his hand away. "What are you doing? Don't do that" I tell him, but he is so excited to talk that after stopping, he resumes, only this timely slower, and even more child-like. He's now telling me that he is happy to meet me and that he works with people who are getting married. Again, trying not to be rude, I tell him, in Korean, "don't do that" and wave his hand away. I look around the bus and there are only a few, nearly life-less bodies scattered around, all collectively engulfed in their perpetual tiredness. (Not that they would've cared anyway. He's a king an old man, he gets do do whatever he so chooses, be it "right" or "wrong.") At this point I'm annoyed AND exhausted, so I simply pretend not to understand that he's telling (Asking? Yeah right!) me to call him at that moment so that he can have my number, (of course I do no such thing) and that he will be waiting for my call the next day for our "date." Sir, as far as I'm concerned, we've already had one, which ended with you making it all the way to second base, thank you very little!!! Thanking GOD that my stop is finally approaching, I go to push the button and realize that he's waving good-bye. Nice. After nearly an hour on this bus from one part of the city to the next, it's revealed that he will also be getting off at my stop. Perfect! Thinking quickly, I hang back and wait for him to get off the bus, all the while making phone gestures with his hands. "Call!" he demands.

And yet again, no tip.



(I sprint to my apartment, relieved that I'm off that bus and away from the old Korean man with the gold molar who will be awaiting my call the next day. I chuckle at my luck, not realizing that two not dissimilar situations were about to happen to me again on two different buses a mere two days later...Yiiiiiikkees...)

The quest for "High Nose, Big Eye, Small Face"

Koreans are surprisingly vain; there's no question about it. More so than Americans (and I didn't think it could get any worse than America...) Given their reputation of having one of the best education systems in the world (no comment!!), I naturally assumed that the focal point of their lives would be education. Ha! Boy was I wrong!

You see, while high academic achievement is important (to the extent that it sets you up to be able to make the most money possible--and Koreans LOVE money!), I would argue that physical appearance is even more important. Nearly all of the students carry around mirrors the size of their heads (no exaggeration), and even larger, full-body mirrors can be found everywhere from the hallways to the principal's office. (Oh, and don't forget the public restrooms, where there are mirrors in each individual stall, placed strategically at the eye level of the person sitting on the toilet at the moment. You're on your own if you want hand soap, though...)

So it comes as no surprise that while teaching teenagers, and working around women, the topic of "beauty" comes up on a daily basis. As the students are applying whitening cream to their faces and using toothpick-like devices to poke their eyelids into forming what Koreans refer to as "double" (i.e. Western-looking) eyelids (Well, the ones who haven't yet had the surgical procedure done. After we returned from our first holiday break of the year, I was shocked to see all of the students who were still wearing surgical tape around their eyes, apparently having taken advantage of their break from school to have their eyes done.), they always tell me how much they adore big eyes, "S-line" body shapes, and small faces. (I'm starting to think that this "big eye" obsession has become a little too extreme, as all of the female news anchors--and some actresses, who, I'm told, would not be taken seriously by their fans without it--have gotten so much of the skin around their eyes cut off that they look like real-life Anime characters, just plain freakish.) As far as the "small face" goes, there are ample billboards advertising plastic surgery procedures that involve chopping off pieces of the jaw and cutting it into a more slender, rounded chin, complete with before and after pictures! Nose and breast jobs are no big deal--only a few thousand dollars and a few stitches, and voila, you're set for life!

The men want to be beautiful too. My neighbor casually told me about his male friends' seemingly unnecessary procedures, from nose jobs, to chin jobs, to space-between-the-nose-and-upper-lip jobs, along with his father's use of special shoes to look taller (Hilarious, considering that this is a place where you have to remove your shoes constantly in public places. When I mentioned why this very fact might pose a slight problem to his father's ingenious plan, he told me that his father's strategy is to always be the last person in the group to take off his shoes before entering a building, and the first person to put them back on on the way out, even if it means that he has to drastically shorten his time to eat or handle business.), and the fact that many Korean men routinely go to beauty salons to have their hair permed. (He also spoke nonchalantly about all of his mother's voluntary surgical procedures, which was a little odd, given that he told me that she had also had to have very necessary surgery to remove cancer from some part of her body. How does that even work??)

Back to my point about being "set for life." Again, in a place where it's common for students to go to school from 8:30am to 10:00pm (and then study at private academies until midnight), and the government just recently made it illegal to have school on Saturdays (Though there are many ways around this, with the most common being to simply lengthen the school year and shorten holiday breaks. Calling Saturday school "optional" also helps.), not only do you have to include a professionally-taken photo of yourself on your resume, but most people attach pictures that look NOTHING like their actual faces?! Yep. I believe they call it "photoshop." Every.single.picture is photoshopped here. Resume pictures, social networking site pictures--even family photos! After having to have some pictures taken for my official documents here, I was floored to discover that the very well-meaning photographer had even photoshopped the pictures of me?!? When I pointed out to my co-teacher the fact that my eyes weren't quite as large as in the picture (He even added a cartoon-like twinkle to my eyes. A TWINKLE.), and that my skin wasn't exactly so flawless and creamy, she nodded with satisfaction and simply said, "More beautiful."

I am told that I am lucky that photographs aren't required on my domestic resume, because in Korea, employers are only interested in hiring beautiful people.

By the looks of it, the word "beautiful" is a pretty euphemism for people whose facial features are "not ethnically Korean."

Beware the Yellow Dust!!!

So apparently in doing my pre-Korea research, I missed the part about there being yellow dust storms. (Please don't bother asking me "how" it is that I was able to overlook such a major aspect of the Korean climate, as I've already asked myself that same question too many times. Ah well, I'm here now!) As any red-blooded Korean will tell you, the dust migrates over from China, each spring, is a byproduct of China's sacrifice of trees for economic growth (Can't eat trees!) and it is beyond obnoxious. (The word "China" is italicized to illustrate the deep disdain that most Koreans feel towards China--and Japan, too, for that matter. When I innocently inquired as to why that is, I was told "Because China gives us the yellow dust and the Japanese STOLE our cherry blossoms!!" True story.) They will also tell you that it can make you sick when inhaled on days when the levels are particularly high, and that you should invest in (okay, so they only cost like 2 bucks) a face mask that covers your mouth and nose. (Which probably half-way explains why all the little babies in the park look like tiny surgeons!) When I actually did some research on the yellow dust storms (after an entire day of being fully exposed, no doubt), I found out that it can also irritate your eyes and skin. (Wait. Skin?? My pores are already plenty clogged, thank you very much. They will most certainly NOT be requiring any help from China...) From what I can tell, it doesn't really seem like a huge deal for anyone who is over the age of nine and under the age of 90, and who doesn't have any major problems with allergies. In fact, some days when the dust is at it's highest levels it's kind of cool to watch it (literally) blow through the trees. (I'm a dreamer, what can I say?) Well, at least I used to think that watching dangerous dust blow was cool, until I realized that that this "cool" dust is more closely related to the word "pollutant" than it is "fairy," and that its magical journey through the trees eventually ended in my eyes, nose, and throat. (And heaven forbid that I have to visit the ear, nose and throat doctor here again. The guy that I saw was wearing one of those creepy headbands with the big, metal disks in the front like you see in cartoons, his nurses were all silent and wearing shagadelic prints, and his medical apparatus looked like video games from the 80s! Plus he sent me out into the world (unbeknownst to me) with white stuff oozing from my ears. I aint goin' back! You can't make me!!) Being the rebel that I am, I underestimated the dust and spent an entire day at the park. By the end of the day, I could literally see it comfortably chill-laxin' (and I don't even like that word) in each of the individual curls in my hair, from root to tip. (No exaggeration.) It was then that I discovered that yellow dust wasn't to be taken too lightly. (I can only imagine how much dust I had actually inhaled, yikes. Good thing God created nose hairs!)

Despite my colorful (but accurate, none the less) depiction of the great annoyance that is "yellow dust," there is plenty of good news. First of all, the news (and U.S. military websites) issues daily forecasts and warnings to stay indoors during peak times. Second, there are still plenty of low-dust-level days, and it has yet to inhibit me from doing anything that I've wanted to do. Further, I'm told that, due to global warming, spring only lasts for a short time here anyway. (Hey, you can't have your cake and eat it too.) While some people have had some difficulties, I think that I can say that I really haven't been bothered by it in any major way so far.

If you ask my pores, they may tell a different tale, though.

Here, Hierarchy Rains...

There are some things that you just can't learn in the classroom. When I was in grad school, I took a course about managing the human resource aspect of different cultures. (Or maybe it was about managing multi-national corporations?? Yeah, something like that.) So of course I learned about the heavy emphasis placed on status in many Asian cultures, especially within the workplace. What they didn't tell me, however, was the fact that hierarchies exist within every.aspect.of.Korean.life..

A small digression about making friends:

Being the friendly little fairy that I am (and also being new to the country), I wanted to meet as many people as I could. While meeting fellow foreigners (I use this term because in Korea, anyone who's NOT Korean, despite his or her actual country of origin, is not only considered, but also called a "foreigner."), was no task at all, meeting Koreans of the same age is not as easy as walking in a bar and striking up a conversation. (There goes my plan!) This comes as no surprise at all when you consider the fact that they work insanely long hours, are painfully shy, and generally prefer to mingle with people who are already in their long pre-established circles. (When I asked my friend why she didn't bother to invite her good friend out with us so that she could meet another girl, who had just returned home to Korea after living in the U.S. for 7 or 8 or 10 years, she frowned and retorted, "but she doesn't know her." When I pointed out the fact that I (an obvious outsider) had been introduced to both girls, she politely explained that "Korean girls are shy to meet other Korean girls, but it's okay for you because you're a foreigner." Yeah...) In the end, every single Korean male or female that I have met thus far has been a result of my being introduced from another person, and that chain leads all the way to the first person that I met here (co-teachers don't count!): my neighbor. Kinda crazy when you think about it...

Okay, so you came here to hear about heirarchies. (Try saying that 10 times fast. Or not.) Well, it goes without saying that age is the number one thing that determines your daily life, from how you address the store clerk to the type of endings you use for your sentences to even which verbs that you use to describe a situation. (For example, if you want to say that someone is asleep or eating, the verb that you would use would depend on the age of the person completing the action. Con.fu.sing.)  So it's waaay deeper than the pultry "sir" and "ma'am" that we use in the West. Your age (determined by the lunar calendar, which already makes you older than you really are), goes so far as to determine even how you address your school mates and--get this--siblings?! Older and younger siblings get called by different names completely, and there are 4 different words that can be used to address your older siblings depending on the sex/gender (synonymous here) of both yourself and of the older sibling in reference!

Speaking of "referencing people," you usually don't call people by their name. (This includes family members and "friends," which further emphasizes how loosely Koreans use the word. For example, if you meet any random person and they discover that you are both the same age, they will very likely refer to you as their "friend," since no one is of higher status than the other person. Fortunately, many younger, more worldly, Koreans have taken to using American names, so as to get around the whole "my-friends-can't-call-me-by-my-name" thing when dealing with foreigners.) Rather, people are generally addressed by their status (or a combination of one of their names--can't remember which one right now, but one is acceptable and the the other is deeply offensive--and their status), which is why it's so important to know who's higher up in the food chain, during any social interactions. Which is how I quickly learned that when all of the younger Koreans that I encountered asked me my age (Why does the bartender, who is female by the way, really need to know how old I am? Same goes for the nice lady in the museum... Turns out it wasn't the good genes!), they were trying to determine our respective statuses, and thus, establish the roles of each party for the duration of our relationship, however short.


Or maybe they just really wanted to know how to refer to me while talking to their co-workers? "This distinguished person would like a mimosa" versus "That foreigner over there wants to know what time the exhibit closes." (Literal translation of actual words used.)



Call it tomato or tomahto, but in Korea, it's the difference between a mere drizzle and an outright downpour.