Where do you live?

By Park Moo-jong

The word “divide” makes me think of the divided nation first of all — divided into the South and North for 70 years since the 1945 liberation from the 1910-1945 Japanese colonial rule.

This word, yet, has become popular when digital replaced analog and the new term “digital divide” was coined, meaning the gap between those with regular, effective access to digital technologies and those without.

Soon, the term “English divide” was created to describe the gap between those with good English proficiency and those without.

Then, I made myself a “Konglish” term, “address divide,” to explain to foreigners the gap in value between houses in the affluent Gangnam district, south of the Han River, and those in the Gangbuk district, north of the river.

All Koreans know Gangnam, the district featured in the sensational 2012 mega hit “Gangnam Style” by Psy, is a newly-developed affluent region in the capital city, compared with the older district of Gangbuk.

In fact, the prices of land and apartments in Gangnam are much higher than those in Gangbuk, proving the income inequality between the two on the whole.

The idea for the use of “address” divide came from a blind date for marriage I heard about. Two prospective wedding partners met in a downtown hotel through a matchmaker.

Such a blind date, called “sogae-ting,” a compound of “sogae” meaning introduction and “ting” from meeting, usually begins with this question.

“Where do you live?” or “What’s your hobby?”

The man said with a sort of pride that he lives in Apgujeong-dong where a Hyundai apartment unit price averages more than 2 billion won (about $2 million) and he loves playing golf.

The woman replied, “I live in Myeonmok-dong (in northeastern Seoul) and I love listening to music and reading books.”

There was no phone call from the man for a second meeting.

The displeased woman complained to her father, “Dad, why don’t we move to Gangnam?”

The father asked, “Why didn’t you tell him about me?” Actually, the father is a CEO of the nation’s largest conglomerate. She said, “He did not ask me about you.”

This real episode proves the aforementioned “address divide,” showing the typical but somewhat biased income inequality, depending on the citizens’ residential area.

However, the father heaved a sigh of relief. He told his daughter, “Don’t mind. You don’t need to meet such a man who counts money first again. I hope that you meet a guy who really loves you more for you than what you have.”

The question of where you live also has resulted in the bizarre naming of apartments.

Looking at the names of their residences, many Koreans seem to live in the most luxurious places in the world.

There really are many, many places, castles, villas and mansions in Seoul, Busan and elsewhere around the country.

A palace is the official residence of a royal personage, while a villa is the often large, luxurious country house of a well-to-do family. In Korea, villa means a small apartment building with about 10 units.

A castle is without doubt a large fortified building or group of buildings with thick walls usually dominating the surrounding country or a fortified stronghold converted to residential use.

But such great residences for specific people are in abundance here in Korea’s major cities to the detriment of their original meanings, thanks to the apartment builders’ irresponsible “tricks of the trade.”

For instance, the term, “palace,” is one of the most popular names for apartment buildings. “Tower Palace” is a very expensive 66-story residential and commercial complex in Dogog-dong, Gangnam. The complex, built by Samsung Group, may deserve such a luxurious name, but the term is used mostly for small apartments these days, ironically.

At the southern tip of Hannam Bridge in Seoul is an apartment complex named “Lotte Castle” — there are lots of Lotte Castles in Seoul.

What do foreign people think upon hearing that their Korean friends live in Lotte Castle? Wow, do you live in a castle? A dweller of the castle must be successful on his or her blind date.

Twelve years ago, a news report in a sports daily in Seoul testified to the ridiculous naming of living facilities.

The story goes: A 28-year-old Korean student studying at a U.S. university applied for a scholarship. He was qualified to win it. But the school rejected him. He asked the school, “Why?”

He only got a stunning question. “Don’t you think you are too shameless? Scholarships are for students who cannot afford to pay fees. How can a royal family member from Korea apply for a scholarship?”

He is not a member of royalty but is from an ordinary family. He soon found the reason. His address in Korea on the application form was the problem. It was 205, Royal Palace, Bundang, Seongnam City, Gyeonggi Province, the Republic of Korea.

This episode suggests that something is wrong, illuminating Korean vanity and lapsing into empty formalities.

It is sad to face a trend to think that a person’s social status largely depends on what apartment they live in.

The success of a restaurant, for instance, absolutely depends on the quality of the dishes it offers and the service of its staff, not on its name and the size or number of its billboards.

Instead of asking where you live, please ask, “Do you like me or what do you think of marriage?” or “How many children do you want?”

The writer is The Korea Times advisor. He had served as the president-publisher of the paper from 2004 to 2014 after working as a reporter for 31 years since 1974. Contact him at moojong@ktimes.co.kr.