David Tizzard is a professor at Seoul Women’s University, holds a PhD in Korean Studies, and hosts the Korea Deconstructed podcast. He has lived and worked in Seoul for more than two decades. Reach him at datizzard@swu.ac.kr.
I am Groot
By David Tizzard
By David A. Tizzard
I've long been a fan of examining the various neologisms that arise here and what they tell us about the lives, loves, and loathings of Korean people ― whether it's the country itself, social stratification, perceived driving abilities of women, status of men, or economic activities.
A particular favorite, and one of great recent importance I felt, was sa-ba-sa. The nascent idea that things do actually differ from person to person.
The fact that this actually required a term to be created demonstrated not only the traditional strength of the collective and holistic mindset Koreans are said to possess, it also confirmed that society was changing and individuality was finally and decisively finding its voice.
It was no longer simply a world of uri ― whether a bank, a band member, or a sekk-i. Now the country had variety.
But with this added variety, the country was also suggesting who might be able to voice such things. At a recent meeting on Korean society, it was put forward that while locals were allowed to use “Hell Joseon” to describe the oppressive living conditions felt by the citizens here, it would not be appropriate for foreigners to use such as an expression.
There is an ownership to such terms ― they define a generation. A people. A mindset. Previously it was concepts such as jeong and han. The latter, while understood as part of the Jungian collective unconsciousness, appeared during the Japanese colonization period and accurately described the feelings of resentment, spite, and sorrow that would later be so brutally depicted in Park Chan-wook's movies.
To date, one of the best descriptions in English one has of han comes not from Anthony Bourdain's conversations in the Noryangjin fish market, but instead from Martin Sheen in his portrayal of Josiah Bartlet in The West Wing:
“There is no literal English translation. It's a state of mind. Of soul, really. A sadness. A sadness so deep no tears will come. And yet, still, there's hope."
Now those oft-repeated hanja characters have been replaced with internet speak and contractions that puzzle the elderly and render them, according to the seemingly now defunct Korea Expose, “denture-clacking vermin”.
A recent piece in Foreign Policy by Jeongmin Kim looked at “shibal biyong”. Nota bene, I can probably get away with that Romanization here but do be careful saying it out loud around Korean people.
Essentially it is a (relatively) new Korean way of saying, “I don't have any money, but sod it I'm going to buy it anyway because I need some form of pleasure in my life.” I say relatively because, in fact, it's already a bit 'no-jam' to many.
'Shibal biyong' encourages people to take taxis, eat take-out, or even order a chauffeur service in the morning following a night on the domestic beer and soju ― because drinking Japanese beer, despite it being 4 for 10,000 won at the convenience store, would be unpatriotic with the latest trade battle between the two neighbouring states.
It has also been interesting to note that many of the evening news reports have not included the initial reason for Japan's latest economic actions ― but Korea-Japan relations is a topic for an upcoming article so we'll leave that one there for now and I'll make sure to write my will before filing that particular column.
Regardless, implementation of new rules that crackdown on even 0.03 percent of alcohol in a person's blood has seen a jump of over 100% in the Kakao Mobility service usage as workers wisely seek to pay an omnipresent yellow-coloured transport app rather than the police.
There are now also reports which suggest authorities will be clamping down on drinking at tables outside convenience stores. The tables and chairs installed outside the shops provide a great place to relax with friends in the summer evenings, but with increasing complaints about noise, mess, and smoke from nearby residents, these days ― or nights, or dawns ― may soon be numbered and limited to a 12 a.m. curfew.
This might encourage the students to better adhere to a su-la-bal (a balance between study and life) or might see them once again retreating to the internet and complaining of the ggon-dae-gareung-song ― the people in their 30s and 40s who speak wistfully of how things used to be in the past and then take their frustrations out on the youth of today.
Such frustrations first led to the rise of the hon-culture ― which saw terms such as hon-bap, hon-sul, and hon-kong permeate the minds and language of the people. And, once fermented, there then arose the 1-conomy: the economy of the individual.
Thus, while in 2017 people were certainly talking about the aforementioned expense carried out in recklessness, in 2019 it has given way to ssul-ssul-bi-yong: paying money for things driven by sadness and ennui.
And with that also comes tang-jim-jam. Pleasure that comes from actually wasting money ― a sign, surely, that nihilism (or perhaps capitalism?) has finally taken root here.
In general, the words that we use in our daily life are not our own. They are signs and concepts created long ago: the codes of our ancestors.
But neologisms signal a transition. A change.
In 2019, Korean people have a linguistic culture that is completely alien to those of the past. Even to the 386 generation.
And to ignore it would be to forget to pay heed to the evolution of a collective language, mindset, and people.
Whether you're a corporate professional trying to fit in with your cohorts, a visiting scholar looking to understand things beyond Dokdo and BTS, or an E-2 forever ridiculed in the Edgy Memes Facebook group, knowing a few of these terms will not only gain you a few online chuckles and restaurant-based kudos points, it will also help you better see the world as it is seen by Koreans of today.
And, if that doesn't get you very far, you can always go and investigate what the title of this article means in current Korean parlance.
David Tizzard (datizzard@swu.ac.kr) is an assistant professor at Seoul Women's University.