Happiness

    
   

   It always started with the musics. Loud beats, fast rhythms, with its sound echoing through the mountains. Before I started, I looked down the hill from where I was standing. Mountains in horizon were all I could see. As if I were standing at the edge of a cliff I could not actually see what was down the hill. I stood there, acting like a climber who managed to the top of Mountain Annapurna. After I took a big breath, I let my ski be drifted away by the stiffness of the slope.

   Feeling the wind passing by my ears, I was as free as seagulls. As speed increased, all I could hear was sound of wind along with rhythms. More turns, blanker the mind became. Heavy burdens I was carrying throughout-troubles, homeworks, expectations- seemed to dilute into whiteness of the snow. For a short, fast moment, I was completely free of things that suffocated my adolescence. During skiing, nothing mattered but the speed, the rhythm and the moment.

   Skiing was like a refuge from my life with distractions. Concentrating on the most simple and instinctive things. When the stress overwhelmed me, I went to ski with sudden impulse. There I would shut my eyes for a while and stood up on a low hill. Feeling the 'moment' again, I continued to ski in the way I liked until tangled things in my life unraveled.

   Every time I went to ski, snow greeted me with same still colour. The colour white. It was a colour of dignity. It was always honest, clear and straight forward free from other colours. People drew lines of their own, riding in their own styles. Sprinkling snow every turn, they made smooth drawings of their own.

I loved everything related to skiing. Even songs with ridiculous lyrics became my favourite. I loved the process of preparing to ski, the very sound of it, and even the way it was pronounced. Like a spiritual ceremony, everything involved in the preparation was sacred; tying up my boots, washing thick gloves, driving to ski resort. Even holding heavy ski equipments and walking to the slope was a part I could heartfully enjoy.

   I even appreciated falling down. I fell down frequently. When I fell down, I really did fall down. Making big fancy poses with shame, which over weighed my pain. When there was a crack in a concentration I was building on, the moment was broken and began to falter. A few seconds later, I would find my ski pole flying across the slope, my head placed downward and my legs crossed from side to side. Snow and pieces of ice rushed into my sweater and melted slowly tickling the back. Those stark coldness and sharpness were slaps not only in skiing but also in my dull, repeated life, telling me to wake up. It was a cold and attractive refreshments. With my feet numb-even hurt- and nose red, I thanked shrilly coldness sneaking inside my bones.

   Ski rebooted my over-heated life. By the time I had to leave-by the time I was completely soaked in snow and sweat-I got exhausted. Although my body felt as heavy as ever, things I carried in my head became clear and cool. On my way home and for days, I soaked myself again in the feelings I had during skiing.

 

   No matter how I loved skiing, thinking of it did not help anymore. Promises of next winter did not console me either. Last winter, when I skied at least twice a week, was the happiest winter ever been. I knew too well, though, a winter like that would never come at least in next five or six years.

   My parents had told me one day:

   'Well... I think is about the time you concentrate on studying. Don't you think? Later you will find that you actually don't have enough time for that.'

   I was sixteen. It was an age of changes. I often heard people around telling me that next five or six years were very important ones in my life, that it could change everything. So I needed to think carefully what I wanted to do and pour my 'passion' into it. I also knew too well by 'things I wanted to do', they did not include skiing.

   People told me those things, wishing me the best. The best for them was to be happy in the future. Some really wanted me to take the heartful advises, for they did not want me to regret on the things they had. For brighter and happier life.

   However, bright happy life for me was not something big and fancy. It was rather small bits and pieces of happy moments in present adding up to big things. Nonetheless, I was expected to, and would spend my next five to six years like everyone else around me. Going to mathematics institutions trying to understand vectors and trigonometric, learning how to memorize things effectively, finding out good tips on how to score better at tests. For happier life.

   Some tried to console me by saying that even if the skiing looked like a great deal to me, I would soon forget it once I 'grew up'. I needed to concentrate on things that actually mattered in my life, they said.

Maybe, they were right. Maybe I was too young to foresee the things in the future. Leaving things up to adults' discretion often turned out to be wise and helpful. Maybe I would realise in the future, skiing was not a big deal at all. That it was wise of me to focus on more 'important things'. Later I might as well forget nearly all about it-the freedom, the concentration, sheer nothingness and the rhythm. Along with one happiness forgotten in my life.

Changing. Losing. Regretting.

It's Dirty

   Dirty. It is a term used to describe something impure or indecent, a place kept in unsanitary condition or merely something covered in dirt. According to the most common use of the word 'dirty', you can use the word in the following situations. 

   You are waiting for tube in London subway station in summer and see rats crawling merrily in and out. You can remark that the place is dirty. Or, you notice your friend's white sneakers are covered in mud. Then you may as well let him know his shoes are dirty. When you are walking down the street, you see a chimney cleaner with his face covered in ash. You may think his face is dirty.

   

A bad day

   Generally, the use of the word is to objectively describe unclean things. However, in Korea, you can use the word dirty to describe certain things with your personal emotions implied. For one, dirty can be used in a sense of being 'bad' in specific context. One of the most commonly used one would be-'I feel dirty(although it might contain some misleading meanings in English term, let's forget it for the time being)' or 'I am in a dirty mood'. What you should be cautious about is that there is subtle difference between 'bad' and 'dirty' which sets clear line between two words. 


    Say, you are having an awful day. You were late to school and got detention. Stepped on a puddle with your brand-new shoes. Forgot to bring an essay that you had poured your effort into. For a final touch, your younger brother broke your MP3 player. You call your friend and say, 'Hey, I am in such a bad mood.'. Or you say 'Hey, I feel dirty'. Your friend would probably console you right away without hearing any further explanations in latter case.

   
   In this sense, 'dirty' expresses how you honestly feel from the deepest core of your heart. Combination of the irritation, the offendedness and a slight frustration coming from the situation is molten perfectly in this one single sentence. Ready to explode any minute by a slight poke. You feel dirty.

   Not only a mood but also someone's personality can be called dirty. Perhaps, a hysterical teacher who enjoys throwing harsh sarcasm to his students is someone whose personality people call 'dirty'. Calling one's personality 'dirty' has your own personal feelings attached under the word. If his students say 'His personality is so dirty.' instead of using other adjectives, people may guess the students have had hard time. It implies feeling such as 'What's up with his personality?' or 'Is he especially picking on me?' or sheer annoyance. Unlike just describing it bad or annoying, the word 'dirty' is different in its weight.

   Another commonly used form is 'dirtily'. Meaning, really or very much. In a bad sort of way. Whereas the use of 'dirty' is limited for certain situations, 'dirtily' is not. It fits naturally and beautifully into different sentences if 'dirtily' and 'really' can replace one another. 'I feel dirtily bad', 'This food tastes dirtily disgusting.'. 'They dirtily do not pay attention to class', 'I am dirtily unlucky today', 'This is dirtily hard'. Of course, like 'dirty', the tone changes when using 'dirtily' instead of 'really'. Generally, dirtily implies things are not going as you hoped or would have liked. It makes you irritated, uncomfortable and uneasy. So when you hear someone say 'Things are getting dirtily complicated', you may not want to get on his nerves right then.

Although there are certain limits in using 'dirty', some people these days-especially young people- break the limitation. They simply call things they do not like 'dirty'. Following dialogues are common examples.

-Hey! Did you hear that our summer holidays is only for three weeks?

-Dirty!!!

or

-Guess what? Our final exam is in three days! Did you study for it?

-Oh. It really is dirty.

   Or they simply name things 'dirty' when they disapprove it. Dirty homework, dirty school, dirty form tutor, dirty life, dirty test and so on(depending on situations, it might actually mean the thing is not clean).

Some people may think the word 'dirty' or 'dirtily' used in informal way is a bad slang. That it sounds too rough or impolite as if they were spitted out from mouth. Others may argue linking word dirty to a negative connotation is unfair. Viewing dirty thing as bad is prejudiced. However, 'dirty' is the perfect word in getting your feelings across in simple form.

   'Dirty world that only remembers the one in first place'

   

   
   It was a popular line among people these day taken from comedy program in Korea. During the show, a drunk man shouts out the sentence with his twisted tongue. In fact, his one single line reflects a dark aspect of our society. Not only in education but also in general work place, people-ranging from adults to students-compete to be better than anybody else. A student who came first in the test. A businessman with number one selling record. A group of people who graduated from well-known scholastic university. People think those are the ones our society remembers in the end. They think the end justifies the means and the end is what matters.

   These are all implied in the comedian's line. 'This dirty world.' People laugh at his funny acting, laugh at the sharp and insightful denouncement of the social norm, and laugh because they can relate to his feeling about the 'dirty' world. In the word 'dirty', there is edged criticism to society, bitterness, frustration and a bit of sadness. Had it been replaced with other words such as 'bad' or 'disgusting' it would not have brought up the same identification from people. The real value is in the fact that 'dirty' manages to deliver complex and condensed emotions in simple and straight forward way.

   
   Dirty. It is a term used to describe something unclean. And, it is a single peculiar word that has different layers of meanings.

Korean Work Ethics: Missing Places Part 2/2

 

   Next missing place was destined for mum. Or everyone in family except mum. Dad was offered a sabbatical leave from his job and he took it. Dad, sister and I left for England for a year and mum stayed behind. It was three of us going to England and our family could not afford to have four of them without no one to earn money for a year. So mum stayed, keeping her post in her job, working. 

   I was a goldfish swimming merrily in a small pond, Wonju. Suddenly, I was transported and dropped into an ocean. In that new environment, mum's absence was as startling as a palace without the middle pillar. No one was to effectively intervene. Though dad tried, he only turned both sister's and my back against him somehow. Mum's missing place was following me everywhere. To bedroom when dad was working late, to streets when I rode bike and saw families together, to Tesco when choosing dinner menu, and to school dormitory among new people.

The only thing that connected me with mum was a two centimetre thick computer screen and a web cam. She was only forty centimetres away yet so far away. Seeing her in her office alone nearly everytime we skyped gave me an ache. Although I was old enough to understand the reason why she had to stay back with brain I liked to ask again the reason why. So I habitually asked sometimes:

   'Mum! Why can't you just come over and live with us? Leaving your work behind for a little while?'

   Then she replied in similar patters 'You know I can't. I have to work. It's all for you three, you know. Who would send you guys money for daily bread if it hadn't been for me? Huh?' in joky manner. Nonetheless, I knew she meant it.

   After returning to Korea, everything went back to regular basis. Continuing on for being a weekend couples for parents. For sister, studying abroad in a university. For me, also studying and being ready to jump into three years of hell in Korea, called high school.

   Our family had worked hard, as our society likes to see. We gained, consequently, things the society values. Parents, high social statues of being professors in Korea, sister, a title of student in one of the highest universities, and I, English test grade and some other grades. Our family does not live in sumptuous palaces but live with no serious problems caused by money. We enjoy things we want to in reasonable extent.

In the exchange, all those--took something. In my memory, there is no such a scene where the whole family, every one of them, gather after work every day at table and have meal after work. No scene where we see one another's face after work. Instead, we were normally greeted by empty house. The things easily observed in other families' were rare and valuable things in our family. And they accumulated for weeks, months, years.

   Our family have hardly lived altogether, always making a room for our old friends, missing places. Mother, father, sister and I all over different places. Things I was too young to understand, now I understand. Everyone have worked hard for good.

   Nonetheless, there sits missing places in different corners of our house, crouching like a ball, stubbornly keeping their original posts as always.

Korean Work Ethics: Missing Places Part 1/2

   Ever since I was very young, there has always been one or two missing places in our house. They are among spoons at the dinner table, cushions in family bedroom, shoes in shelves, laughs in front of a television. They are places that we are too busy in living our own lives to notice often. For me, they are places that have always been sitting there as some unwelcomed parts of our family, protruding like a nail in a wrong place.

   At the moment, both of my parents are ‘good members of society’, an elder sister a hard-working university student and I am a fine (or so it seems) high school student. Pretty normal. Behind the scene, there is a slight difference. My parents are so-called 'weekend-couples' in Korean word, who have jobs in different province. My sister studies abroad alone. We manage to gather at one place for two times a year, during each vacation. After a few weeks or a month, we go back to our own posts.

   

   It has always been this way. Since I was three, I was used to waiting for dad on every Friday night. He came accompanied with scent of the big city, Seoul, and tiredness that clung at the edge of his trousers all the way along. Cuddling myself with arms around my legs, I sat at the dark empty entrance and tried to gaze bravely at the door which licked out coldness. I waited. Not knowing whether or not he was having his 'very important conference' with 'very important professional people' even after the dinner hour or was too tired to come.

   

   At some point, I noticed things were not always like how it was in my family to others. The kind of dad they had was 'week dad', not 'weekend dad'. On Mondays, our weekend dad went back to work wearing a suit and a professional face. As I was only elementary school kid, it was too difficult for me to understand. I sometimes screamed and cried, telling him not to go. Putting myself and his work in a scale, I childishly asked him to weigh us. However, in the end, he inevitably and sorrily chose the work.

 

   But it was only the beginning in our dynamic family history. Another big separation was yet to come and make a chapter itself. It started off with my elder sister's simple announcement: 'I am going to live with dad in Seoul'.

   Wonju, a city where we were leaving in, was a small town in the mountainous province inhabited with not a lot of people from different regions. As I had heard it since I was in elementary school, the chances were about two people in one class in high school would manage to go to universities in Seoul. Only six percent. Meaning, the other ninety four would not be able to get into a 'good' university. What did that mean to them? No chance of getting into good companies that only valued graduation certificates from in-Seoul universities(hey, who is going to employ you when you only wasted your four years in unknown rural universities even if you did a good job?). So the students had to be outstanding, outrunning, and outreaching. My sister had a clear notion of that. She wanted an environment that gave her higher chances for 'good' highschool and 'good' universities. She packed her things after elementary school graduation and left. From then on, father and sister together and mum and I together.

   It was a weird sensation at first. No one to fight over puddings at dinner table. No one to argue with in bed. No one to guard against for my clothes.

 

   I was feeling the freedom that crept from the toe to the neck like tickles, a thrill. It tolled like 'bell of freedom' that figurative rang in 1963. All those sufferings, paid back in full. But linger to the past no more, as there settled a peace at last.

   My sister was a person I tenderly adored from the core of my heart or disliked madly at the same time. There had never been an 'in between' for us. A place without her was a paradise without natural enemy. Wind of peace prevailed. At least, that was how I felt. Weirdly, I had to admit I did not get too excited about the event for more than a week. And I found myself thinking about her unlike myself. Mum went on being busy and came in late. House was too quiet. Along with the so-it-seemed freedom and peace, what I saw again, was one more of that familiar missing place sitting in the corner. 

   Mum and I went to Seoul once a week to see them. At first, it seemed like a fun and a special thing that our family gathered only once a week. A new experience. Then it turned out to be a new experience indeed, quite soon enough. It was when our family was unnoticeably categorized into two groups. 

   At first, we started to use the words 'Seoul/Wonju family' or 'Seoul/Wonju house' to indicate each other's house. They seemed like handy words for grouping. I could say things like; 'Are we going to Seoul family's this weekend?', 'Seoul house is too hot in summer.' However, the use of the word change slightly. They came as a way to draw a tacit line between the two 'family'. I began to see them differently. 'I want to go back to Wonju house! I hate being in Seoul house!', 'I do not understand Seoul family. I don't know why they act like that.' Out of sight, out of mind. I had thought it would not be applied to me. 

   Even some parts of my unfailed love for dad had changed slightly. The relationship between he and I had changed. He looked different from the dad I remembered in the childhood. It seemed okay to live, seeing him only once a week. I not only got used to it but started to feel it had better be the way it was. He seemed to have nothing so special he wanted to talk about and neither did I. I once told my mum;

'Mum, I don't know why but recently, dad seems like a guest or something.'

'Oh, don't be like that! He will be so disappointed if he hears that. When you were young, he was only too sorry that he could not take you to many places with you.' 

She replied.

And now?

I mumbled the question at my throat.