K-overs III
What a cool cafe.
Samsung docks.
Yonsei really wants to be Yale.
I love this Korean family.
But the kids don't really like me. They said I was boring.
K-overs II
I'm artsy
I like the girl in pink dress
I forgot the name of this game. Help?
K-overs
Allegedly every new building in Seoul must have a statue in front of it. So, voila.
K-overs I
My Advice for Korean Teenagers who hunt a job: TAKE A CHILL PILL 
Buddha's Bday
CK: Corporate Korea
K-drama
Olympic Park
Korean Hats - by Mrs. Bae
Mrs. Bae and her friends design hats. Like this one.
Vogue Korea Photographer.
Korea makes the best plastic cups.
I wouldn't wear that hat.
There were many hats.
Keeping up with the Confucians
“You come from a country of great artists – Dvorak, Smetana, Kafka. You go to a great school.
So why did you turn out so immature, selfish, and stupid?!”
I have a fierce Korean friend. His name is Chan. He goes to Yonsei University, where he has perfect GPA. He plays the violin in the best amateur ensemble in Seoul. When he speaks English, he sounds like a human version of Google translate – a bit too perfect. He often scolds me.
I met Chan through Mrs. Kim, my Korean teacher. I asked her for a language partner, and she said Chan was immediately interested in doing a language exchange with me. On the day we met, Chan seemed very excited to meet someone from the Czech Republic who goes to Yale. Like many of his peers, he held some pre-fixed opinions about what a boy from the Czech Republic who goes to Yale should be like. For some reason, the Czech Republic – and Europe in general – seems to strike chord with the sensibilities of educated Koreans. It is associated with intellectual and artistic superiority. Likewise, Yale seems coupled with Korean image of schooling par excellence, the pinnacle of Western education.
I could tell that Chan was disappointed when he first met me. I mean it’s hard to match Kafka and Kundera but I am afraid I might have been very far from matching my fellow countrymen. On our first men-date, I asked Chan whether we could go to movies. “Movies? You don’t want to go to a gallery?” I told him I’ve seen too much art and preferred to relax in a movie theatre. In the cinema, Chan picked the King’s Speech, I chose “Fast and Furious: Unlimited.” On our way home, Chan wanted to stop by at a traditional Korean restaurant. I politely told him that I cannot really eat any more kimchi and asked if I could just grab a slice of pizza at Papa’s Jones. Chan seemed confused.
The next week, we met a few times to study Korean and English for an hour. Throughout our language exchanges, we were able to learn a great deal about each other. For me, Chan served as a great introduction to the Confucian conventions of Korea. His opinions and values deeply rooted in the tradition of Confucianism – respect for elders, veneration of established institutions, worship of education – and lack of fun. Having spent the past year in East Asia, I felt fairly comfortably with hearing Chan’s standpoints that were in many respects very similar to those of his Japanese peers. Not having had much interaction with foreigners, Chan, however, seemed awestruck by my attitudes and opinions.
Everything I said seemed to arouse either disbelief or anger. On the topic of parenting, I shared with Chan a story from my teenage years. When asked by my parents for “a bit of respect,” I told my mum: “I didn’t ask you to give me birth.” Chan got nearly hit by a car on the street after hearing how “disrespectful” I had been to my parents. In a restaurant, I ordered a bowl of cheap bulgogi but couldn’t really finish it as it tasted pretty awful. Chan scolded me for being “selfish.” “Why am I selfish?” I asked puzzled. “You don’t care about the effort of the old cook lady!” “Come on, Chan, I’m sure it’s not the first time a customer hasn’t finished this atrocious bulgogi.” “Excuse me!?!” Every time, I met Chan he scolded me. His anger climaxed two days ago. Somehow, I didn’t save his number in my phonebook, and so when I received a missed call from him, I did not know from whom the call was. So, I simply replied by a text message: “Do I know you?” Chan went crazy. He called me back and went on a manic tirade. “You’re so selfish! Instead of saying “who are you?” you center everything around yourself, you’re asking me to tell you whether YOU know me. You come from a country of great artists – Dvorak, Smetana, Kafka. You go to a great school. So why did you turn out so immature, selfish, and stupid?!” He hung up.
I was really flabbergasted by Chan’s tirade. Am I really that culturally insensitive? Am I really such a shame to my country? Am I Yale’s admission’s mistake?
: NO. NO. NO.
It’s just in Korea, much more than in Japan, the greatness is defined under Confucian terms. To be great stands for extreme veneration of the elders and established institutions, and hard-work; it stands for the lack of self. In Korea, a great artist is someone who works ceaselessly on his craft, practicing every day for several hours without respite. In the West, on the other hand, a great artist is someone original, inspirational, Bohemian and often a bit crazy. Just think Oscar Wilde, Beethoven, or Warhol. In Korea, a great institution only takes students with best scores, the “most intelligent” kids. In the West, however, schools value extracurriculars, character, etc.
I am not Dvorak, Smetana, Kafka or Kundera. I am far from being great in the West – having been accepted to Yale for running a fun high-school blog rather than for having perfect grades. But I’m even further from the Confucian ideal. And that’s why I have been such a disappointment to Chan. He expected a great artist, a Confucian hero, but instead got a European male version of a Valley girl who wants to go to movies, eat pizza, hang out with friends, and have fun.
Recently, the Tiger mothers have been upstaging Japanese earthquake survivors and Libyan rebels. News about “lacking Western parenting” has been echoing throughout European and American media. Allegedly, Chinese economic success is due to the strict Confucian parenting. Respect your parents, and study hard to get into a good school. You can hang out with your friends on Sunday afternoon after you’re done with your Goldman Sachs job for the week. The issue is extremely sensitive. It does not assault Western politics (which we all know is corrupted anyway) or Western economy (easy talk, China, with undervalued yuan and wages). Instead, the Tiger mother invective is an assault on Western parenting, i.e. Euro-American dads and moms are no good. Ouch!
My adventures in Korea have, however, taught me that Western parents can stay relaxed. Tiger mothers might roar but they’re far from biting. Strict Confucian upbringing might work in an isolated, tempations-free environment, but cannot but fail in a world of TV, movies, playstations, and malls. Just like the Biblical Apple, fun is infectious.
Today, I got a call from Chan. He didn’t apologize – and neither did I think he would do so. Instead, he asked whether we could “grab a pizza” tomorrow. I said I was sorry I was not exactly what he had expected me to be. “Whatever. You’re kind of fun to talk to.” I didn’t know google translate knew to use “whatever.”
And so, Tiger moms might drill their kids as much as they want but it’s only a question of time before all the Chans start going to movies, eat pizza and hang out with friends. Girls just wanna have fun. And when the tiger moms start roaring, the Chans might just discount them with a nonchalant “whatever.”
Asian Gaze
“They will stare at you.” I had been told at every pre-departure meeting before I left for Japan. “Be ready. They’ll just keep staring and staring.” Every Light Fellow returning from East Asia seems to include the “staring” observation into his/her Top10 info about the “Asian experience.” The meaning of uninterrupted one-sided eye contact is fairly negative in the West. It stands for rudeness, lack of restraint to cover one’s curiosity, and sticking one’s nose into someone else’s business. To stare means to be childish and immature. Well-mannered adults don’t stare.
When told about the “Asian stare,” one is immediately reminded of the East-West borderline. The message at pre-departure sessions stood as a clear memento of the distinction between the starring (Japanese, Koreans, Chinese) and the being stared at (people with non-East-Asian features). The message contained a self-centered notion of “us” being more interesting, of us being stare-able. It highlighted the fact that those starring must lack life experiences (they haven’t had enough chance to meet non-Asians) and good manners. Otherwise, why would they keep flashing their infantile curiosity in such an unrestrained way?
Arriving to Japan, I surely felt the “Asian stare.” And although I might have gotten used to it over the past year, I am still more than aware of being looked at. On subway, in a convenience store, at school. There seems no escape for a white person in Japan. Starring makes me especially uncomfortable in Japanese and Korean bathhouses.
The onsens of Japan and mogyokdangs of Korea are such amazing spots to relax! Several beautiful pools with mineral water, roman sauna, finish sauna, all surrounded in a beautiful setting. If only, it wasn’t for the staring… Asian spas are definitely not gender-neutral. Boys go to their section and girls go to theirs. No swimsuits are allowed. So, once you get over the fact that you’re completely naked in a pool with a bunch of other naked guys, everything’s alright, if only…
You get completely undressed, you leave your stuff in a locker, you take a shower, you enter the pool area…BANG! Everybody’s eyes are set on you. First head, then chest, then… And you want to shout aloud “Come on, guys! Really? Here too? I’m butt-naked! Hello?!” But bathhouse, no bathhouse, it’s business as usual. They just keep staring…
When relocating to Seoul, I became the object of primary interest once again. And, oh man!, the Koreans really do stare. Lacking the Japanese shyness, Korean stare reaches unimagined dimensions. In Japan, when you stare back, people usually wake up and try to pretend as if no staring had ever occurred. In Korea, you meet the eye of the stare-er, and he/she just keeps staring. “Oh, how cool! Now I can check out the white person’s pupils too!” Last week on subway, some old lady was so hypnotized by my grey hair that, as if unconscious, she moved from staring into actually trying to touch it.
When naked, when dressed, when nervous, when at rest, a non-Asian person gets stared at in Korea at all times. And so I started thinking about the nature of staring. Why does it bother me when people look at me fixedly? And does it bother me? Why should it bother me?! I started to stare back. First, I felt stupid and rude and too direct. But then I began to enjoy staring. What an interesting face! Oh, that lady looks really tired, I wonder why. What’s wrong with that guy’s eyelids? Single eyelids? Oh, for real? How exotic!
I realized that staring is awesome.
Staring at someone else is an expression of a child-like curiosity. Most people in East-Asia have grown up with a little or no exposure to other races, and so when they see a non-Asian person, they grab the learning opportunity. They stare to discover.
Staring is harmless. One is never hurt by being stared at. If you feel uncomfortable, just turn around.
Staring is an expression of genuine interest. When communicating orally with other people, there’s a great deal of ego involved. We all want to say cool things so that we could be considered cool people. Staring, on the other hand, is a purely selfless form of communication. You’re looking at someone else not to show your intelligence, but to learn about the person. A gazer does not want to actively communicate anything; they want to learn about someone else. The only active part is the decision to stare. The rest is the insight that comes out of observation.
Staring is a part of East Asia’s recent success. Staring is a genuine, harmless expression of the hunger to learn more. No aggression or force is involved. The Japanese, the Koreans, and the Chinese excel at observing and learning from other nations. Ever since the Meiji Restoration, the Japanese, in particular, have done an excellent job, scrutinizing the face of the West and implementing what they find appropriate in their own society. I find this process of cultural observation rooted in the omnipresent curiosity. It’s a regional phenomenon, just like the probing gaze.
Living in Japan and Korea, I am trying to study not only the languages of the two countries but also their respective cultures. I’m trying to discover what makes the Japanese/Koreans the way they are. And so, to learn why they stare, I stare. I realized that there is nothing wrong with staring. To stare is not to be rude but curious. Staring is not childish but childlike.
Born in culturally homogeneous Eastern Europe, I too grew up with minimal exposure to other races. I too find myself fascinated by being surrounded by non-white people. I too want to stare. And so I do.
Yesterday, I went to the bathhouse next to my house. I got undressed, left my stuff in a locker, took a shower, and entered the pool area. The old Korean man ardently washing himself stopped his bodily cleanup and starred at me – head to toes, toes to head. I stared back – checking his strange eyelids and spiky Asian hair. He looked into my eyes and I looked into his. I was young and white; he was old and Asian. We started staring at each other because of our differences only to learn that we weren’t that different after all.
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