Maeum spacing

Courtesy of rawkkim

By David A. Tizzard

The coffee shop in Seoul is a haven from the chaos of the city outside. A place to take refuge, to pause, to contemplate. To caffeinate and refuel. A human service station where we fill ourselves with the energy to get us through the next leg of our journey.

And like any hubs ― they are full of noise and travelers coming and going in different directions. Young couples sit nervously pushing their straws around their drinks as they grasp for connection and hope to not say the wrong thing. Groups of older women talk completely uninhibitedly, seemingly oblivious to the world around them. Their volume of their conversation rising to almost offensive peaks at times before just as quickly settling back down into a constant monotonous whir of observations about their children, husbands and work.

And then you have the people working. Not the ones behind the counter who scuttle back and forth between the till and the hot steam and ice behind them, collecting cake and handling credit cards. But those sat at tables, their laptop open and a digital screen burning into their eyes. The lucky ones get their early and find the plugs, a long black lead running down past their legs into the socket below. The electricity is free. The WiFi is free. And the atmosphere, the presence of other people, the very nature of being observed pushes them further and further into their tasks. Almost as if propelled by shame.

They are often completely absorbed in their work, lost in their own little worlds. Occasionally, one might look up, gazing out of the window at the passing pedestrians or the busy street outside. They might take a sip of their coffee, lost in thought before returning to their work.

But then amidst this life, this chaos, and this sea of unconnectivity ― a swarm of people all inhabiting the same space but ignorant of each other's names and lives ― something incredibly interesting happens in South Korea. It's something that doesn't have a name. It's not nunchi, han or daeri manjok. But it's just as real. It's something taken for granted in Seoul and the rest of the country but, at the same time, a behavior that is not always immediately obvious in other parts of the world.

With little in the way of fanfare, someone in the coffee shop will stand up and go to the bathroom. This might involve leaving the premises and walking to the next building, punching in a series of stars and numbers to an electronic keypad. They might go across the road and get something from the convenience store, smoke a cigarette on the way back, and then stand idly outside, scrolling through Instagram, switching between their "bukkae" and their "bonkae" accounts.

And while they do this, they will generally never once consider their thousands of dollars of digital equipment inside to be in any danger. They don't assume that someone will swipe it from the table. They are not concerned that their new tablet and webcam will be discreetly whisked away under someone's arm. That just doesn't really happen in Korea.

This is not because Korean people are naturally virtuous. Nor is it suggesting that crime or theft does not happen in the country. However, there certainly is a difference in that convenience stores can be unmanned and people will assume that goods will not be stolen. Shops can leave their merchandise on tables outside and they won't go missing.

In sociology and anthropology, it is explored under the frame of "territoriality." This refers to the social and psychological ownership that people feel over physical spaces, objects, or other resources. Territoriality can vary widely between cultures and social contexts, and can be influenced by factors such as social norms, trust levels, and past experiences. In some cultures, for example, people may feel a strong sense of community ownership over public spaces, leading them to be more trusting and less territorial about personal belongings. Leaving belongings on a coffee shop table without fear of theft is an example of territoriality in action.

In many parts of South Korea, public space is highly valued and often seen as a communal resource to be shared and respected by all. This can lead to a strong sense of territoriality among individuals and communities as people establish a sense of ownership and control over the spaces they inhabit. In many cafes, it is common for people to reserve tables by leaving their belongings on them even if they are not yet ready to sit down and order. This practice is widely accepted and respected, as it is seen as a way for people to establish their ownership over a space, and to signal to others that the table is already claimed. Another example of territoriality in South Korea is the practice of leaving personal items, such as bags or shoes, outside of certain spaces, such as temples or schools. This practice reflects a cultural belief in the importance of maintaining a clear boundary between public and private space.

If there is a Korean name for this phenomenon, I'm yet to learn it. For now, I'll call it "maeum spacing" (heart/mind spacing). Something that reflects the idea that people often feel a connection to the spaces they inhabit, and that this connection shapes their behavior and attitudes towards those spaces. The concept of maeum spacing could be used to explore the complex ways in which Korean individuals and communities establish a sense of ownership and control over their physical and social environments.

That sounds all rather abstract and academic. But I promise you, if you come to Korea, you'll feel it immediately. Particularly in the coffee shops with the couples dating and the ladies nattering away. One day, this might go away of course. We might not realize just how good the country has it: That sense of security. But until then, let's enjoy the maeum spacing while we can.

Dr. David A. Tizzard (datizzard@swu.ac.kr) has a Ph.D. in Korean Studies and lectures at Seoul Women's University and Hanyang University. He is a social/cultural commentator and musician who has lived in Korea for nearly two decades. He is also the host of the Korea Deconstructed podcast, which can be found online. The views expressed in the article are the author's own and do not reflect the editorial direction of The Korea Times.