Robert Neff has authored and co-authored several books, including Letters from Joseon, Korea Through Western Eyes and Brief Encounters.
Korean kites: carrying away bad luck
The Great Red Arrow Gate (Hongsalmun) in Seoul in the winter of 1883/84 Robert Neff Collection
By Robert Neff
By Robert Neff
While wandering the streets of Seoul in February 1884, Percival Lowell commented about the number of large kites (birds) he encountered near the Red Arrow Gate (Hongsalmun):
“There is one other place that is a great favorite with the birds. It is a certain double gibbet-like structure, painted a bright red; and it stands just off one of the main streets, at the entrance to another narrower thoroughfare. It is a magnificent post of observation for a kite; and I rarely passed under it, and over its ghastly, ghost-like shadow lying there black across the sunlit path, without seeing the silhouette of a bird projecting beyond the shade or the cross-bar; and instinctively turning and looking up, there, on the upper transverse beam, was perched the motionless body of a kite, to all appearance sunk in lazy drowsiness, but whose winking eye nothing escaped.”
These were not the only kites that attracted his attention. He also encountered a large number of paper kites entangled amongst the twigs and branches of the large trees that graced the gardens scattered throughout the city. “The shreds, worn to differing degrees of ghastliness by the weather,” hung like pathetic pendants ― testimony to their having been “left to perish by their former owners.”
He assumed that they were the vanquished combatants of the kite battles but he was most likely wrong. I believe these were the kites released deliberately ― an aerial means of transporting evil and misfortune from the household and unto others.
According to Stewart Culin, who wrote about kites in the 1890s, on the last day of the kite season (the 14th day following the Lunar New Year) it was customary to write wishes upon the kite espousing a desire to be free from the misfortunes of the past year and the possible evils of the coming year.
“Mothers write this for their child, with his name and the date of his birth. The letters are placed along the bamboo frames so that they may not be seen by anyone who might be tempted to pick the kite up. Boys tie a piece of Sulphur paper on the string of such a kite, which they light before sending it up, so that when the kite goes in the air the string will burn through and the kite fall.”
Korean children flying kites in the 1890s Stewart Culin, Korean Games with notes on the corresponding games of China and Japan, 1895
In 1906, Arthur Beck, an American boy living in Seoul, provided his own anecdote.
“[On] the last day of the kite season, the Korean boys write on their kites a wish for a good blessing throughout the coming year, and for the kite to carry away all sickness and bad luck from their entire household.”
He went on to add that if he discovered a kite in his own backyard on the last day of kite season it was okay for him to keep it. However, if he should fly that same kite on the following day, it would be considered an insult to the boy who had owned it previously. The Korean boy believed that by re-flying the kite, Beck had interfered with the kite taking away the evil spirit and doomed the boy's family ― their house would be destroyed and his parents would die from disease or an accident.
These cultural differences could have caused a great deal of trouble. In Suruga (part of Shizuoka Prefecture), Japan, it was said that families, if they were able to afford it, would buy their sons kites. If the kite was lost or misplaced, it was considered very unlucky and even fatal. According to Culin:
“It is related that a boy once lost his kite upon the day of this festival. A few months later, the boy died. It is customary for search parties to follow a lost kite, sometimes for a distance even of [32 kilometers]. Those who bring back such a kite are given an entertainment, and rewarded with presents of sake.”
One can imagine how much trouble a young Japanese boy from Suruga living in Seoul could have gotten into if he had found a kite in the street and tried to return it to its former owner. Cullin added that kite fighting was, to some degree, popular in Japan but not so popular in Suruga where “a secret enemy will sometimes attempt to cut down another's kite, and boys are generally careful not to entangle their kite-strings. When such entanglement happens, they frequently come to blows.”
As with all things, the sentiment around kites has changed over the years. In the late 1950s, Richard Rutt, an Anglican missionary stationed near Pyeongtaek, Gyeonggi Province, lamented how much the Lunar New Year celebrations had changed:
“There were a few kites too, unpretentious white paper-and-bamboo ones giving great joy to the little boys who had flying contests with them. But we no longer cut kites loose to bear away our ills on the first full moon of the year, and even moon-viewing on that day has much declined. Lunar New Year has become a day for gorging and rest, and for the pleasure of the children.”
Simon Whistler, a popular YouTuber, is fond of saying “the past was the worst” but I tend to disagree ― especially as I grow older. It is a shame that so much has been lost with the passage of time ― even the silly superstitions that formed our traditions. Sometimes the past needs to be preserved.
Robert Neff has authored and co-authored several books, including Letters from Joseon, Korea Through Western Eyes and Brief Encounters.