One of the weirder things about being KA (Korean-American) here is seeing Caucasians. Whenever I see someone who looks like a white American, I have to sort of fight the urge to walk up to them and say, "Hey! Are you American? So am I!" It's a bit like being a movie star and seeing another movie star, I imagine, where you and the star you see are both at the instant-recognition-by-people-in-the-street level in the fame hierarchy, but unlike the people on the street, you both sort of belong to the same exclusive club. So you nod at each other with an embarrassed smile that says, "Uh, I know you, and you know me, and we both make tens of millions of dollars in the same rarified career and are on magazine covers every other week, but I don't really know you so I'll just say hey from over here." Or maybe you flash a world-famous grin and walk over and say "Hi, I've always admired your work," when really you're saying, "Hey! You're famous, and so I am, and here we are, being famous together -- isn't this fabulous?"

I always feel like this whenever I spot an American, but then I get drawn up short by the realization that Mr. All American or Ms. All American doesn't know that I'm American. To them, I'm just another Korean staring at them because white people are still a little unusual in Korea. Maybe I'm about to approach them and tell them I'd like to get to know them and practice my English, which is what happened to my white American friend Wendy, who is part of a mission team hoping to get into North Korea. Or maybe I'm staring because I'm just not used to seeing blonde hair and blue eyes (yes, they are still a head-turning sight here).

Point is, Mr./Ms. American has no idea that I too sometimes long for a chili cheese dog, or that I too think that Korean subway etiquette has a long way to go, or that I too think that dog-shaped cell phone covers are weird. It's quite a peculiar feeling to think you're part of the club, and with a jolt, realize that the other members don't recognize you.

The same thing happens in the States, of course, and any Asian American can recognize the hesitant, "Can you speak English?" demeanor of someone who's not sure if you're a Japanese tourist or not. Most of us shrug it off as an inevitable result of looking different and just go on with ordering food, giving directions, or whatnot in our perfect American English, accented with whatever regional slang and pronunciation we grew up with. There have been times, though, when I think with exasperation, "Can you people just stop it with the hesitancy and accept that there are people who don't look like you who are nevertheless just as American as you are?"

But at other times, I really can't blame people for the hesitation. Several years ago, I was interning in New York during the summer, and it was one of those awful muggy days in the city. I was tired and hot and would have sold my first child if it meant I didn't have to walk into the warm wet dirty blanket of air in the subway. Finally the train came along and I trudged into the car, one of the last to enter, so that when the doors closed, I found myself looking at the reflection of a heat-flushed, tired-looking Asian woman, and thinking, "Wow, that Asian girl looks tired," before I realized, "That's me, you idiot."
----------------
Last night I had dinner with Woon-gil, a colleague from work who's interested in getting his master's degree in the U.S. We talked about various schools and such, and then, because there's no Christian like a Korean Christian, I was treated to a long story about how he found God, which was actually quite touching, but my goodness, proselytizing is a rather transparent art, isn't it?

Okay, that was an unnecessary cheap shot that was weak anyway, because of course proselytizing is transparent. I must say, Christianity is quite an optimistic religion in that respect, since anyone can be saved from the burning fires of hell if they believe. Perhaps I have a large sign on my forehead that reads "Pagan: Save Me", but this is the second time since I've been here that someone I don't know very well has told me about finding their way to Christ. Unfortunately, if I have any religious beliefs, they tend toward Buddhism, and I just feel incredibly awkward and embarrassed when someone is very clearly out to convert me.
------------------
Tomorrow I'm off from work and school, as it is the lunar new year (Chinese New Year) on Saturday. Sei hei bok manhi bahduh sey yo. I wish you all a blessing-filled year.

Random fact about Her Highness Helen: on the solar calendar, my brother was born on March 27, 1973, and I was born on March 23, 1976. On the lunar calendar, we were born on the same day, three years apart. My mother always insists that she planned it that way.

Chillin'
Before my current sojourn here, I had spent a total of less than a year in the motherland. I was born in Seoul in March 1976, and was spirited off to the States in November of that year. The only time I came back (before now, natch) was in the summer of 1993. So this, my friends, is the first winter I have ever spent here, and if you allow me to indulge my Anglophilic tendencies for a moment -- "It's rather chilly."

Or as the Yanks say, "It's fuckin' cold."

The kind of cold that takes your breath away (literally! Didn't really believe it could happen!) and brings tears to your eyes, not the least because the blood in your ears has in a split second come to resemble a 7-11 red Slushee. The kind of cold that then causes you to really regret tearing up because the icicles they have formed are pulling out eyelashes with their weight. The kind of cold that causes you to resolve to buy those surgical masks that people wear here to, uh ... keep their lips warm? Avoid catching cold germs? Look stylish?

Well, maybe I won't go as far as buying a surgical mask.

Now, I realize that the U.S. has also been experiencing a cold snap, and that Double M, holed up in Minneapolis, will probably choke on her tea as she laughs her head off at these figures, but let us for a moment, consider them anyway:

It's about 2 in the morning in the East Coast as I write this. Currently, the temperature in ONC (Our Nation's Capital) is 32 degrees F (feels like 25) and in New York is 26 degrees F (feels like 21).

It is 4 in the afternoon here in Seoul, and CNN tells me it's 18 degrees F.

However, with wind chill, it is about -7 degrees F.

The Russian girls at school (who, with their pale skin, impeccable make-up, leather pants and careful coiffures, stand out like a murder of crows on a snowy field) have taken to wearing their fur coats, and the nuns have broken out their black down vests. (At least, I think they're down. I mean, I haven't gone and fondled one of the vests or anything.)

And I? I managed, somehow, to lose both a hat and a glove in one day, that day being -- naturally -- the first day of the cold snap. (Here, just let me spend a moment eulogizing my beloved black FBI knit hat, which I bought from a vendor on the National Mall in DC two years ago. FBI hat, you were the impetus for many a random conversation. You allowed me to strike Charlie's Angel poses whenever I replied, "Yes!" to the question, "So, are you FBI?" You allowed friends to quickly find me in a crowded area. And you never gave me hat head. FBI hat, may you make a homeless person on the subway -- where I so sadly lost you -- very happy.)

So I've bust out the heavy hitters: the matching scarf, hat and mittens (the kind connected on a string!) knitted by my Aunt Patty last year. Ridiculously, though, I don't want to wear the hat, because it's a little itchy and also gives me a terrible hat head, so I haven't, and have been gallivanting around bareheaded, with just yards of scarf wound around my neck and the bottom half of my face.

Despite this silly aversion to the hat part of the ensemble, I haven't been too cold, and have indeed enjoyed the cold weather, to my surprise. It's true that I don't appreciate the way my ears require a shot of brandy to recover from the ten-minute walk from the subway station, but overall, I'm actually enjoying the bitter cold.

And no, I'm not actually drinking brandy.
-----------------
Factoids about the climate of Korea:

Winter in Korea stays cold and dry from December to February. Meteorologically, most regions have clear weather ranging from -5 to 9 degrees Celsius (23 to 48 F), but the effective temperature is much colder because of the cold winds blown from Siberia. (http://welcome.korea.com/generalinfo)

Situated on the eastern side of the great land mass of Eurasia, Korea has a rather extreme continental climate considering that it is surrounded by water on three sides. The winters are very cold. Nowhere else in the world, in a similar latitude, are winters so cold with such frequent frost and snow. Summers are warm and, at times, hot. Most of the annual rainfall occurs between June and September. Some precipitation occurs in all months but, from November until early April, this is often snow. Snow falls on an average of twenty-eight days a year at Seoul and on about ten days in the far south.

The transition from the cold, dry winter to the warm, wet summer occurs rather quickly between April and early May, and there is a similar rather abrupt return to winter conditions in late October and early November. Over most of the country summer temperatures are high enough for rice to be grown extensively.

Korea is one of the most northerly countries to be affected by the great seasonal wind reversal called the Asiatic monsoon. In winter the winds are predominantly from the west and north, bringing very cold but dry air from north China and Siberia. In summer the winds are mainly from the east and south, bringing warm, moist air from the Pacific Ocean. The weather can be somewhat variable from day to day at all seasons, since the country is affected by frontal systems and depressions moving from the west. These bring rain or snow and occasional thaws in winter. In summer these disturbances are associated with the spells of heaviest rainfall. About once a year a typhoon moves up from the South China Sea and brings very heavy rain and strong winds at any time between June and September.

A surprising feature of the Korean winter is the large amount of sunshine, averaging as much as six to seven hours a day. Even when temperatures remain below freezing all day the sun may shine from a clear blue sky while the cold is intensified by the strong wind. Hours of sunshine are rather less during the wetter period in summer. The strong wind-chill factor intensifies the cold so that warm winter clothing is essential. Otherwise the climate is not particularly uncomfortable and is generally healthy. Humidity is higher in the summer, and some days may feel distinctly muggy and uncomfortable.

(Copped from the BBC website, http://www.bbc.co.uk/weather/travel/features/south_korea.shtml, which copped it from the Hutchinson World Weather Guide, (C) Research Machines plc [2002] All Rights Reserved.)

Today in class we did an exercise in which we administered a kind of personality test to our classmates. Did they like music, sort of like music, sort of not like music, or not like music? Were they outgoing, kind of outgoing, kind of shy, or shy? The purpose was to practice a certain grammar form (duh).

Now. You remember in junior high and high school there were the kids that did all the exercises exactly as directed and didn't deviate from the lines. Somewhat uncreative? Perhaps. Somewhat rigid and unimaginative? Maybe. Somewhat smart and just didn't want to cause the teacher a headache because they'd rather keep the class moving? Possibly.

Then there were the kids that figured they were smarter than the crappy lesson of the day and so did it in a way that you knew the teacher didn't mean for them to do, but they would insist that hey, I'm just doing what the instructions say, and the teacher can't really say anything, because they did do it according to the letter of the instructions but not their intent, so the teacher just goes about with a pained look on her face and lets it go. Somewhat imaginative, that kid? Perhaps. Somewhat into challenging limits and authority? Maybe. Somewhat annoying? OH, YEAH.

Three guesses as to what sort of "kid" I got partnered with.

The "kid" is a 40-something American man with graying hair and slight pot belly and a predilection for thinking he is smarter than the rest of the class. So he turns in four-page typewritten essays on the differences between Korean and American culture, which the teacher returns with a sigh worthy of Sisyphus and a plea to please keep it simple so that she doesn't have to spend an hour crossing out and rewriting entire pages of his writing.

Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against giving yourself a challenge, pushing yourself to learn more. And the dude is smart, and certainly applies himself. There's such a thing as contributing to the class by using your more advanced vocabulary or grammar or whatnot, and the few superstars in my class certainly do so. But there's also the case where a kid is focused on himself and leads discussions and exercises into areas that aren't helpful in teaching the class anything. Just blowing air.

So. The question on our "personality test" was: Are you traditional, kind of traditional, kind of progressive, or progressive? (Incidentally, when the teacher explained the word for "progressive," she asked, "For example, do you think it's okay for men to marry men and women to marry women?" Midori, one of my classmates from last quarter, and I were the only ones to vocally "aye" the issue.) When I asked Kid this question, he said, "I'm not really any of those. Whenever anyone does one thing one way, there's always another way to do it."

"Yes," I said, "But say, oh, your son wanted to live together with his girlfriend, and they weren't married. What do you think of that?"

He repeated, "People can do things one way, but there's always another way."

"Okay," I said slowly, "Yes, people can do whatever they want. But what do YOU think? What about you and your wife, did you live together before you got married?"

"We got married very quickly," he said.

"Yes, but did you live together before the wedding?"

"Yes, but we had separate bedrooms."

And so on.

Finally, he said, "Just put me down as strange. I'm not traditional or progressive, I'm not like other people, I'm just strange."

What you are, my friend, is annoying, and I blow stinky kimchee breath in your general direction.

I am just finishing up my lunch, which my grandmother packed up for me this morning. A container of plain white rice; a very small container with three neat portions of banchan (sidedishes): garlic stems, boiled beef in soy sauce, and tiny seasoned anchovies; and to finish off, a quarter of an apple and a quarter of an orange, both wrapped in plastic and then again in a tissue.

Much better than my usual bowl of instant noodles that I buy in the small store downstairs in my office building.

I really should be nicer to my grandmother, who came over to cook me food when my dad called and told her I was sick this weekend.

I mentioned two weeks ago that for some inexplicable reason, I am bugged to death by my grandmere. I turn into a surly, uncommunicative teenager. I am annoyed at questions she asks me. I respond in monosyllables. I can just feel that I'm turning into my mother! (Last comment only really comprehendible by bigbro.)

Why? Why does she do this to me? Or rather, why do I react to her thus? This isn't a recent phenom. When I really was a teenager, she lived with us for a short while, and I recall acting in a similar manner.

There are a number of possibilities, but really, does it matter? I've been reading "The Art of Happiness," written by an American psychologist who spent some time talking with the Dalai Lama, who despite having been exiled from his country, is able to be remarkably happy. One of the differences between their approaches to human problems is that the psychologist, as his training dictates, tries to determine the root cause of someone's behavior (prior abuse, lack of love, etc.). In contrast, the impression I got from the Dalai Lama's words was that while the cause of the behavior is interesting, the important thing is how to alter a destructive behavior pattern, or how to accept an unchangeable situation.

So while a westerner might gnash her teeth and rend her clothes, all the while roaring, "Why me? Why me?", a Buddhist sighs deeply and figures out how to either deal with the problem or accept it. I guess Westerners just take an additional step, which adds to the time frame.

This is in part because the reincarnation aspect of Buddhism affords believers the luxury of saying, "Well, this could be happening as a result of karma from a previous life." There's no reason to the bad (or good!) luck -- at least, no reason you'll ever know. So you skip that gnashy/rendy/roary part, and go directly to the DEAL square (do not pass GO, either).

So, I just should deal, I suppose, and try to stop acting like a snot-nosed adolescent.
------------------
This morning, in Shincheong-dong, it was raining more than snowing, an undecided sort of bland wetness, irritating in its wishy-washy quality. It felt gloomier than night, even though it was the morning.

But when I got out of the subway station at school, there was a thin layer of snow on the ground and the flakes were coming down hard, as if the skies had met and argued this way and that and raised their voices and taken a vote and amidst the inevitable grumbling, the vote came down, finally, in favor of making an honest effort to blanket the city with fresh cool snow.

Decisive snow!
-----------------------
The addresses in Korea are written thus: city, district, area/neighborhood, apartment number. (The address I have on the left has been westernized.) The addresses in the States are written thus: street address, city, state, zip code. Does that reflect each culture's relative emphasis on the individual? Hm.

Was sick yesterday, possibly with food poisoning, and so did not post. Think it might have been the tofu stew; 'twas a bit old...

Ironically, in class the day before yesterday, we learned the words for "spoiled food," "past expiration date," etc.

The folk wisdom here says that if you have a headache, you should massage your middle finger at the fleshy part between the tip and the first joint. I thought it might be an acupressure point kind of thing, but our teacher said that if your hand is representative of your body, then the tip of your middle finger, stretching out furthest from your hand, is like your head...

I suppose the same logic applies to another piece of medicinal folklore: kneading your palm if you have a stomache ache. Unfortunately, I forgot to do so yesterday, and so can't speak to its efficacy.
------------------
I don't know if you know about my love of shoes, but, well, so I love shoes. So I take notice of them. And the shoes in Korea have been of some interest to me.

Some months ago, I wrote about "elf shoes," the pointy, Texan-witch boot crossed with Manolo Blahnik stiletto that graces the foot of many a stylin' Korean chick here. Often the chick wears jeans with these shoes -- jeans that completely cover the heel and go down to the floor. This usually amazes me, as I wonder how the woman keeps herself from tripping all the time. It also amazes me because it looks really strange, like the woman has two pirate-like pegged feet.

Also very popular is the exposure of the boot. Now, I adore tall, knee-high boots, and think it rather sexy when a woman combines, for example, a knee-length tweed skirt with black or brown knee-high leather boots. This I have seen in Korea, and silently applauded.

However. The trend here is to show boots, alright, but not those sexy knee-high boots. Women often wear boots that end just above the ankle, or end mid-calf. And they wear them with cropped pants or skirts. So you see a length of patterned tights (and patterned tights, believe me, are quite popular) rising above the boot, until it meets the end of the skirt, or pants, or what have you.

Perhaps it's just me. I have an aversion to cropped winter pants, which are popular here; I can't help but think, "But it's cold! Why do you want to expose your ankles in the cold!??" But I just think that ankle boots should be reserved for trousers. Long trousers. I think it looks strange when your calf boots have a big ole gappy opening from which your skinny leg rises like a flamingo wearing, um... well... a boot! Stop it!

(To totally come clean -- no, not that it matters -- I have to admit a prejudice against under-the-ankle boots, usually seen on suburban Texan women with frizzed hair and flouncy skirts. These, thankfully, I have not seen here.)

Another shoe trend I noticed is that young women, usually those looking about college-age, sometimes wear tan workboot-style shoes (not boots, just regular shoes that look like construction boots) with their baggy jeans. This in itself is not unusual. What I began to notice, however, is that the shoes looked... well, too big. Like, their heels were coming out the back with every step. Like, that size shoe belongs to someone at least 4 inches taller. Like, hey, I know your foot is not that big. What gives?

I asked my work colleague Myung-soo about this, and she said, "Yes, they do. It's the style these days." The "hip-hop" style is responsible for these extra-large shoes, plus pants so baggy that I couldn't find a pair last weekend that fit me.

Yeah, I know, I'm behind the times and so not cool and so not with it. Youth of America have been wearing this style for some time. I find it weird in the States. I find it weird here.

Then again, when I was in junior high, I did wear sweatshirts three sizes too big over leggings, puffy socks and Reeboks.

Yesterday, on the subway, a young woman in her twenties sat down and opened the free metro paper to read. As so often happens, a middle section slid out of her hands and onto the floor, where a man in his forties or so, standing with his back to the woman, promptly and unknowingly stepped on the edge of it.

The young woman reached down and tried to tug the newspaper section from under his heel. It was, however, firmly anchored by the man's weight. She tried again, tugging a little harder, clearly hoping that the man would notice the tugging sensation and notice the unfortunate placement of his foot.

He did not.

What did the young woman do?

(a) Tapped the man on the shoulder and asked him to move, whereupon he obliged with an apologetic smile.
(b) Tapped the man on the shoulder and asked him to move, whereupon he grudgingly lifted his foot.
(c) Poked the man in the calf, causing him to look back, scowl, and lift his foot.
(d) Did nothing.

And the answer would be ... (d)! The young woman (no, she is not me) sat back in her seat without attempting to inform the man of the newspaper he was stepping on. When the man moved on his own about 30 seconds later, she then leaned over to pick the paper off the floor and, presumably, read it.

Interesting, no?

Not much to report today. Went to school, went to work. At school, learned how to write up advertisements in the paper (there is a shorthand ending used only for memos and short notes like ads - talk about complicated). At work, edited/rewrote a speech that the former president of the Korea Foundation is going to give in Hawaii at a ceramics exhibition that is part of celebrating 100 years of Korean immigration to the States.

I wish I were going to Hawaii. I have a hankering to see the ocean.

For those interested, there was an article about the centennial on the front page of the Washington Post last week (http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A47604-2003Jan12.html); the Smithsonian is holding an exhibit somewhere. Shout-out to my pal Soo in DC for forwarding the piece.

Am slowly going through a book of Chinese characters, learning one by one. Beautiful, the characters, and fun to learn, but going quite slowly. At present rate, should reach the high school graduate level of comprehension (about 1,800 characters) in, say, 2020.

Oh yeah! For anyone who's planning to visit during my spring break, please let me know. Several have expressed interest, and I'd like to know whose plans are firming up. If you wanted to make it in the spring and find that you can't, that's cool -- come visit in the summer!

(By the way, my breaks from school are not the only times you are welcome here -- they are just the periods during which I have the most free time. If you're an independent kind of traveler anyway, and don't mind going around town by yourself during the day, you're welcome to come on over any time.)

I look at the past couple blog entries, and even to myself, I seem schiz(oid).

Ah well.

The Eigenpost clothing store, where I wrote the last blog entry on Saturday night, was the last stop in a long afternoon and evening of sightseeing with Maiko, my friend from Level 1. But before I even go there, I should tell you that I had my first Korean take-out experience! Yup, I visited my dad's office, and had lunch there with him and one of the teachers. We had solleungtang, a beef-based soup into which you can dump your rice and with which you shovel in kimchee.

The food delivery is free, and usually comes via a motorcycle. The bike has a space in the back to carry a metal box. In the box are shelves, on which the food is placed. But no little white boxes will you find here! We got three bowls of soup (in plastic bowls, covered with Saranwrap), a small white ceramic bowl of radish kimchee, a ceramic bowl of cabbage kimchee, and a ceramic bowl of sliced scallions and pepper. Yum!

When you're done with the food, you set out all the dishes and leftovers in the hallway, and the delivery guy comes by later to pick them up. Far out, huh?

Well, yes, I'm easily impressed (and amused).

So after lunch, I took the subway up to Kyungbokkung, the old royal palace. The grounds are extensive, but that's kind of all there was -- you couldn't enter any of the buildings, only a few had exhibitions of furniture from the times, and though the roofs and walls and gates were beautifully painted, that was it. Of course, the main building was under construction, so maybe it's more impressive when you can go in there...

Mostly we just walked around the grounds and said things like, "Hey! Hangeul (the Korean writing system) was created here! Cool!"

One thing I did learn there was that nearly every building, it seemed, had been originally built in the 1400s, burned down by the Japanese during their invasion in 1592, and rebuilt in the 1800s. On Friday, when I mentioned to a work colleague that I was headed to the palace the next day, he said, "You know, Korea has a very long history, but not many historical relics." Well, with a history full of invasions and occupations, no wonder.

I recently edited a Koreana magazine article on uigwe, detailed records of special events (like royal weddings, funerals and birthday celebrations) as well as large-scale construction projects during the Joseon dynasty (1392-1910). Uigwe are incredibly detailed. For example, when the Hwaseong Fortress in Suwon was recently added to UNESCO's World Heritage list, the evaluation committee members were amazed by the 1,500 page account of the construction process, which included: the type and amount of lumber, stone and metal used; the number of roof tiles and bricks used; the location at which the tiles and bricks were produced and how much each cost; and a list of the thousands of workers involved, as well as how many days they worked, what they worked on, and how much they were paid (divisible by quarter-days!).

In another uigwe of Queen Hyegyeong's 60th birthday (a very big birthday in Korean culture) in 1795, government historians kept track of the type of food, ingredients used, amount served, cost of preparation, and types of dishes the food was served in for 1,800 celebration participants over eight days.

I mention these amazing examples of recordkeeping (see, national history of being anal -- it's a cultural thing!) because uigwe were one of many things that were lost during the Japanese invasion of 1592. In fact, according to the article, ALL uigwe produced before the invations were destroyed or plundered by the invaders.

Another interesting factoid: about 300 volumes of uigwe are now in France, a result of plundering by French troops during the French Incursion of 1866, which France initiated in retaliation for the killing of French Catholic missionaries by the Korean government as part of its suppression of Catholicism. (Ironically, today the Catholic Church sends many clergy to Korea because Korea has good theology graduate programs). In an fascinating twist, according to the article, one of the uigwe volumes was sold to a cheese shop in Paris and then was acquired by the British Museum in 1891. Which just goes to show that -- it's the cheese.

Okay, history lesson over.

After seeing the palace, Maiko and I wandered through Insadong, a long street of vendors of Korean knicknacks and such, then decided to go to dinner at a touristy but very cool traditional Korean restaurant, where two servers come out carrying a table on which dozens of dishes are placed. Talk about balancing act! During the meal, performers sing and play traditional music, and once in a while, someone walks around clacking a huge pair of iron scissors, which is what sellers of yut, a sticky Korean candy, used to do in the old days to attract attention.

Hey, it's 9:08 on a Saturday night, and I'm in an Eigenpost clothing store in the fashionable Daehangno area, and am writing from a free internet station in the store! Whee!!!

Well, I don't know WHAT the hell is wrong with me -- or, for that matter, with my blog: the archives have disappeared, the "current" posts are not coming up, I can't put spaces between the address and other junk in the description column on the left, and you know, I think I need a big, fat reality check. Shaka buku, anyone?

Actually, I did receive a swift kick to the head earlier this afternoon, when I read on msnbc.com today about the labor camps where the North Korean government (i.e., Kim Jong-il) puts political dissidents. Personal accounts from former prisoners and guards made my blood run cold.

In North Korea, if you make any kind of remark that could be construed as critical of the regime, not only you, but three generations of your family can be imprisoned. The camps are huge: at least two are bigger in area than the District of Columbia. A total of about 200,000 North Koreans are estimated to be imprisoned.

In one camp, Camp 22, as many as 20 to 25 percent of the inmates die every year. How do they die? Take your pick: harsh conditions and enforced labor, biological and chemical experiments, enforced abortions all take place there. Kang Chol-Hwan, now a journalist with a South Korean newspaper, was sent to camp when he was 9 years old, because his grandfather made complimentary statements about Japanese capitalism. (His recent book, "The Aquariums of Pyongyang," is the first memoir of a North Korean political prisoner.) Pregnant women, even 8 or 9 months along, are injected with salt water to kill the fetus; if a baby is born, it is kicked to death by guards. A former guard said that if a guard killed someone who was trying to escape, that guard was entitled to a college education.

I know there are human rights abuses all over the world. And I know there shouldn't be any difference as to where it happens or who it happens to. But for some reason, this article has shaken me more than any other account has.

Maybe it's just as simple as: it could be me. My father's father was originally from a town in now-North Korea. After the Korean War started, he never saw his family again. Who knows where they are? If any of them survived?

I'm no fan of President Bush, but I have to wholeheartedly agree with something he told Bob Woodward last year during an interview for Woodward's book: "I loathe Kim Jong Il ... I've got a visceral reaction to this guy because he is starving his people. And I have seen intelligence of these prison camps -- they're huge -- that he uses to break up families and to torture people."

I'm not a violent person, but I think it would do the world a great service if Kim Jong-il -- a man who was Hennessy's largest single cognac buyer in 1993 and 1994, who ordered 200 Mercedes Benzes at $100K a pop in 1998, who is singularly responsible for the deaths of 2 million people from starvation in the last decade -- was taken from his palace and shot point blank. And then shot again, to make sure he's dead, and then once more for good measure, and then perhaps beheaded and drawn and quartered, just to be absolutely certain. The existence of this man proves -- as if we needed more evidence -- that evil lives on this earth.

Sources:
"Death, terror in N. Korea gulag," Robert Windrem, Jan. 15, 2003, http://www.msnbc.com/news/859191.asp;
"Women, Wine and Weapons," Evan Thomas, Jan. 13, 2003, http://www.msnbc.com/news/855119.asp

Cripes, I nearly forgot to write today. I had some stuff at work to do, and then I sort of drifted around on the Internet for a while, catching up on various columns and writers. I really like tomatonation.com, written by Sarah Bunting, a Princetonite around my age who's just an amazing writer. I actually talked to her before I became a fan of the site; a friend of M la M's introduced me to her last year around this time, when I was doing some soul-searching about careers and stuff.

Now I'm doing some soul-searching again.

It's so, so weird. I really do swing completely one way, and then the next moment, completely the other way. I'm talking about law school again, of course. (And you thought this blog was about Korea and the experiences I'm having there. It was all a big hoax so that I could torture my friends with repeated and repetitive whining about me me ME! Mwah ha ha hah!)

Anyways.

So yeah, I'm just hanging out here in a foreign country, which I've always wanted to do; learning a new language, which I've always wanted to do; making enough money doing something fairly simple at a place that treats me to concerts and performances, which is more than most people could say; and all I can fucking do is mewl about how hard it is to decide whether to go to law school!!!

You know, I sometimes sicken myself. In fact, I'm just going to go hurl right now.

So what's the deal with me blabbing on yesterday about law school and random non-Korea-related schtuff? Well, it's my weblog and I can cry on it if I want to, I guess.

The final student in my Korean language class came to school today; he'd stayed in New Zealand 'til now because of a friend's wedding. It's been a long time since I've seen green eyes -- pretty! Reminds me of a Spanish guy I met once in France, when I was at that Christian camp with Maggie la Magnifica and about a thousand European teenagers. I talked to him maybe twice, but I remember his mesmerizing eyes.

I have a hunch that it won't take long for Koreans to latch onto colored contact lenses, which is gonna be just SO weird. Everyone colors their hair already, and half of the young women in Seoul have undergone cosmetic surgery to create western eyelids or more prominent nose. I think I did see a commercial this weekend in which a young Korean woman had some colored lenses in.

When we were in high school, ABD Linders, who is Thai, did have some purple contact lenses that she would put on for drill team shows. Being the owner of two huge almond-shaped eyes, the color really stood out. They were cool but scary at the same time. Like, whoa! What planet did you come from? (Incidentally, I always see "almond-shaped" in descriptions of Asian eyes, but what eyes are NOT almond-shaped? Are there eyes out there that are walnut-shaped? Or pistachio-shaped? Macadamia-shaped? I mean, really. Let's just forget I mentioned the almonds.)

I applaud everyone's right to change the way they look to suit their tastes (which is why, every autumn for a few years, my own black hair would magically become reddish brown), but at what point do tastes reflect a cultural imperialism? For Christmas, John gave me Warrior Lessons, a book about Asian American women written by Phoebe Eng, the publisher and founder of A Magazine, a magazine targeted at Asian Americans. At one point, she writes about women in Asia getting their jawbones ground down to create a more oval, less classically "Asian" look. I hadn't heard about this, so I asked a colleague at work, and she verified it.

She said that while neither she nor her friends have had cosmetic surgery, she has heard that it is addictive: you start with getting some eyelids or tattooing on some eyebrows (my mother and my father's mother have done this), and then putting extra cartilage on the bridge of your nose to make it stand out more doesn't sound so radical. She also said that she thought Korean women are very conscious about how they look, and that there was a recent poll that showed that 80 percent of Korean women think they are fat! Oh dear. In addition, many Japanese and Chinese women come to Korea to undergo these types of surgeries, because Korean surgeons are cheaper than Japanese surgeons, and more reliable than Chinese surgeons. Oh my.

Before I came to Korea, the Tiffster called me and asked me not to have cosmetic surgery while in Korea. Well, Tiff, I said it then and I'll say it now: I'm waaaaay too cheap to have cosmetic surgery. But I'm also wary of the statement, however unintentional, that I might make if I opted to have larger, rounder eyes or a bigger nose or a less round face. In late December the Islamic Malaysian government pulled a Toyota ad featuring Brad Pitt. Malaysian Deputy Information Minister Zainuddin Maidin called the advertisement "a humiliation against Asians" and said that "Western faces in Western faces in advertisements could create an inferiority complex among Asians."

Zainuddin want on to say: "You advertisers inject the sense of inferiority complex among Asians...Why do we need to use their faces in our advertisements? Are our own people not handsome?"

This is all the more weird since Brad's ads had been running in newspapers for some months, and since Brad has proven to be VERY popular in Asian markets (his first Toyota advertisements in Taiwan in May 2001 were stolen by young girls for their bedrooms!).

I'm sceptical about the motives behind pulling Brad ads (I've read that there is a trade agreement involved), but I'm intrigued that Maidin used this line of argument, since Caucasians are used in Asian market ads all the time. While I think Maidin's accusation of advertisers is horse puckey, I wouldn't mind if Koreans stopped going under the knife in order to look more western.

(sources: "Malaysia Bans Toyota Ad," 12/20/02, asiamarketresearch.com; "Pittch man gets pinched," Andrew Yeh, 5/1/01, Asiaweek.com)

I've just put up my address and my breaks from school for those who have been curious. Breaks from school are the best time to come visit, since I don't have the four hours of class in the morning (and I could probably be persuaded to take off from work too!). I'd like to travel during my vacation periods, but would be happy to host folks too.

Yesterday was a cloudy day, but today on the train I could see the ice that covered most of the Han River (that I could see). Brr! It's been mild since I got here but today it's probably about 35 degrees Fahrenheit (not including wind chill factor).

I've been very good so far and studying diligently when I get home, but Korea feels a bit different to me this time around. I feel restless, anxious. So today after class, as I walked to the subway, I was very happy to experience that sudden fierce rush of happiness that comes sometimes on a clear, sunny day. I felt happy about class, about work, about my life here, and optimistic that I'd figure things out with grad school and with boyfriend. That it would all work out.

Well, that moment passed. And now I feel restless, uneasy. This damn decision I need to make about law school is getting me down. ("The Man is bringing me down; I say, we got to bring the Man down!") I have to let the school know by Feb. 1 (which means I better mail a letter from here by early next week), and I swing so wildly from extreme to extreme that my head feels like it's one of those big pirate ship rides at Magic Mountain where the ride operator tells you to secure your glasses and change because the ship makes a huge arc and swings you practically upside down.

I never liked that ride.

Yes, no, defer? That is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of the first year in law school,
Or to take arms against a sea of relatives asking why you haven't made a career choice yet,
And by opposing end their hopes? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That a first-year associate at a corporate law firm is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be avoid'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have drunk our 20th cup of joe and fallen asleep on our desk anyway, drooling,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of senior partners,
The oppressor's wrongs (which you defend), the law professor's contumely,
The pangs of love missed (because you didn't have time for a relationship), the law's delay,
The insolence of law firm politics and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy associate takes,
When she herself might her quietus make
By not going to law school at all? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary associate's life,
But that the dread of not being something or someone before death,
Puzzles the will and makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus fear of striking out on one's own does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action
And become lawyers.

Many, many apologies to Will, and to my many friends who are lawyers; this isn't about you being a lawyer, it's about me being one.

And now some more plagiarism, courtesy of Professor Jason, who gets a big bowl of kimchee stew (redeemable only in Seoul) for his elucidating response to an entry from December about budae jjigae (military unit stew, created through hardships during the Korean War) and the two American soldiers who accidentally killed two Korean high school girls.

Note: I had originally guessed that the caning took place in Thailand.

"1. That kid who got caned was in Singapore. If I'm not mistaken, his parents worked for the State Dept, and that was a big part of the to-do.
"2. Food from hard times--first, that was a really cool post. In the Rust Belt portion of the mid-Atlantic/midwest, there are a number of dishes that often get described as "depression food." Salisbury steak comes to mind quickly, but the stuffed bell
pepper (filled with a rice/hamburger meatloaf, if you've never seen it) also occurs to me as a foodstuff from this category."

The stuffed bell pepper sounds pretty good, actually. Though ever since I saw a re-make of "What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?" I've not been able to see meatloaf without thinking, "Arf! Arf!"

Okay, I'm finally back on track now; this shows a Monday post, and it actually is Monday.

This past Saturday I went to lunch with a couple of work colleagues, and heard a funny wordplay joke. It's going to fall a little flat because it requires explanation of the Korean terms, but here it is: Kim Jong-il, the leader of North Korea, wouldn't dare to come to South Korea because of three things he'd encounter: 1. the knives in kal gooksoo (kal means knife; these are noodles made by hand and do not, rest assured, contain knives); 2. the tanks in tank-tops; and 3. the cannons in the name of a popular alcoholic drink here.

I had some Pyongyang style dumplings (I think they are bigger and rounder than southern dumplings) at the restaurant, which was a bit of a mistake because my grandmother had made some at home too. I've mentioned before that my grandmother is a phenomenal cook. I really, really appreciate her talents in the kitchen. Unfortunately, I can't seem to appreciate anything else about her.

I got home at 10:30 pm on Thursday night, and the two days until my father came back home were perfectly awful. Okay, no, they weren't awful. They were just very, very annoying.

Shortly after I wrote about my grandmother's mad cooking skills, Minnesota Margot asked me before I left here whether I liked my grandmother, since she couldn't tell from my post. I will now let her and everyone else know: my grandmother annoys me.
I don't want to be annoyed, but... I cannot tell a lie. She bugs.

Maybe it's that rejection of mother figures cropping up again (a large part of why I left my boarding house in December). Or maybe it's something else. But very simply, I just want to blow my nose in peace. I blew my nose several times on Saturday because it's very dusty in Seoul. My grandmother went from asking me if I had a cold, to wondering out loud if I had a cold, to telling me to take some cold medicine for my cold, to saying out loud (not to me) that I must have a cold, to telling my father when he came home on Saturday that I had a cold.

ARRRGH!

It's love, but it's pushy love, and I'm not used to it, nor do I like it.

My father said an interesting thing many weeks ago, when I asked why my grandmother -- who doesn't really like my mother, I'm pretty sure -- would ask after her and try to take care of her anyway. He said, "Old people have their own kind of compassion." I'm sure I'm testing my grandmother's these days.
------------------------
Back in Korea
Where there are mothballs in the bathroom stalls
Where girls call their boyfriends "Older Brother"
Where people brush their teeth religiously after lunch
Where you can smoke in the stairwells at the office
Where you don't thank someone for a present but proclaim them mad for spending so much money
Where your relatives ask you, "Why'd you get so fat?" and "How come you have so many zits?"
Where you always dress your dog for going out
Where you can amuse yourself on the subway by guessing which women have had cosmetic surgery

This shows a Saturday post, but I'm actually writing this on Monday. Not that you care or anything.

Strange, but when I was in the U.S., I didn't miss Korea, and now that I'm here, I don't miss the U.S. much. I missed things about my life in Korea: the simplicity of my day-to-day schedule; the low-profile social life; the yummy, healthy food; the exercise induced by all those stairs in the metro -- these things I missed. But not the actual place.

Now that I'm here, I have my nice, pretty (sterile?) lifestyle back, but I miss my friends and John and some members of my family. I also miss space. As Matt, another expatriate for the year (in the Netherlands) commented, there's a lot of wasted space in America and an overdependence on cars, and while I too hated the waste, at the same time, I liked how BIG the country is (exaggerated, of course, in sprawling L.A.) and how much personal space Americans give each other. I also liked, as recent L.A. visitor Wendy wrote to me, the courtesy with which Angelenos, anyway, treat each other. (Except when they are shooting at each other on the freeway. One of the best scenes in LA Story, by the way.)

I was reminded of the different perceptions of personal space in LAX (the L.A. airport). Standing in line for an hour and a half as two United Airlines employees struggled to take care of a line stretching out of the door, I noticed that the Chinese people behind me seemed to consider me as part of the group. Every time I moved forward, one of their party would put their stuff right next to my bag and stand at the same position in line as I did. I got irritated after a while and purposely wheeled my suitcase near the nylon divider so that no one could put their stuff there. Of course, someone else then put their stuff on the other side of me.

About 20 people behind me, I heard a Caucasian man ask (with a smile!) the Asian man behind him, "It would be nice if you could give us a little more room." The Asian man sort of nodded, and pulled his cart back about a centimeter.

Knowing how crowded Seoul subway cars can be (and how that level of crowdedness would never be tolerated in the U.S. -- and yes, I have been on a NYC subway car during rush hour), I imagined how China must take crowdedness to a whole new level. And how that might automatically cause people to get really close to each other, utilizing every space possible.

Or maybe it isn't about space. Maybe this crowdedness has something to do with what my teacher told us last quarter about the way Koreans behave toward each other. You see, when someone brushes past you, causing you to drop something or nearly fall over, you kind of expect an apology, right? Not so here, my friend. What about when you give up your seat to an elderly woman, and she takes it without even a glance in your direction? Would you think she's incredibly rude? You'd better think again while in Korea.

My teacher explained it like this: in the old days, when everyone lived in small villages, all the inhabitants knew each other, and indeed were probably in some way related to each other. Therefore, small graces like apologies and thank-yous were unnecessary, since it was all understood nonverbally. Besides, you're all family, right? My teacher said she'd read that this was why Koreans today still don't bother with those formalities -- it's a holdover from the days when such things were understood without speaking.

Well, I'm not sure I buy this explanation. I also still think that small courtesies are worth the effort. But while in Korea, do as Koreans do. That way, I'm pleasantly surprised by someone who steps on my foot and actually says, "Oh, I'm sorry!"

I'm back.

Due to the travel agent's mistake (note to self: never again trust one of dad's "friends" in the travel biz), I left L.A. three days later than I expected to, spent three hours on the phone to United Airlines, was told I was supposed to be on a flight I was never informed of (from Tokyo to Seoul -- without a flight from L.A.!), and if I never hear Rhapsody in Blue again, it'll be too soon.

(Note to self: Also, never wear freshly washed jeans on an 11-hour flight, especially if you have been eating only Denny's, Mexican food, and In 'N Out burgers for the past two and a half weeks. Squeezy.)

There are so many things I'd like to tell you, I'm going to start with the least important and most random: when you have the chance, rent Spy Kids 2. I watched it both on the way to the U.S. and on the way back to Korea (where I had to sit at the edge of my seat and crane my neck over the guy in front of me in order to see), and it's funny and smart, plus, Steve Buscemi makes a nice mad scientist. Mad props to Robert Rodriguez for writing, co-producing, directing, shooting, and editing it. Oh, and writing the music for it.