Caveat: “Seu-naeng-naep” Part I – Konglish Challenge Quiz

When the Korean Language borrows words from English, those words undergo very regular and scientifically predictable sound changes (by the "science" of linguistics, specifically the sub-field of phonology).   It is inappropriate (and intellectually lazy) when foreigners (i.e. foreigners in Korea, meaning non-native-Korean speakers) refuse to understand this and make fun of it, or attribute "konglish" pronunciation to laziness or ineptitude on the part of Koreans attempting to use English vocabulary.

But it nevertheless can be challenging to figure out what is meant, or even to realize that one is hearing an English word at all.  I like the example above, "seu-naeng-naep."  I won't write it in Hangeul, because that might give it away to the more savvy and/or to the vaguely bilingual among my readers.  I was only able to figure it out because of the context in which I heard it, combined with above-referenced access to Korean phonological rules.

The Konglish Challenge Quiz question is:  what English word for a product advertised on TV, is being named by the term "seu-naeng-naep" (revised romanization; IPA [sɯnɛŋnɛp])? 

In "Part II" I'll give the answer.

Caveat: 제목: 공룡액자

I don’t know why exactly, but I love this picture that my first-grade student Eun-ji made for me.  She wrote 제목: 공룡액자 in upper left and bottom center.  It means “Title:  Dinosaur Picture,” roughly.  She wrote my name, 왜제렏 (my own prefered transliteration), but then appeared to have second thoughts and crossed it out (or else maybe she experienced the vandalism of one of her peers?), and wrote 선생님께 (to teacher) instead.

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And here is a picture of the sixth grade town-building class.  These are five girls who refuse to leave – the picture was taken 20 minutes after the end of class, and they’re still messing around with arranging things in the town, discussing things they want to do, decorating their houses and businesses, etc.

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Caveat: 음주산행 절대금지

I hiked up to the top of 월출산 (wol-chul-san = Moon Rise Mountain) with my friend Mr Kim. It took 7 hours – about 3 hours longer than we had anticipated – we went very slowly, like ants (우리는 개미처럼 천천히 가고 있었습니다) . We spent a lot of time pausing and trying to communicate with one another, me teaching English, him teaching Korean.

I became frustrated with “faucalized consonants” (or sometimes called “tense” consonants, and mistakenly understood by many as geminates because they are written as “doubles” of the regular series:  ㅅ[s] / ㅆ [s͈]… ㄱ[k] / ㄲ[k͈] … ㅂ[p] / ㅃ[p͈] … ㅈ[t͡ɕ] /ㅉ[t͡ɕ͈] … ㄷ[t] /ㄸ[t͈]). Not even the linguists seem really to understand these sounds. To my English-trained ear, I am simply incapable of hearing how they’re different, but there are many minimal pairs where understanding the distinction is important. I can’t produce the sound consistently either, although I can sometimes make myself understood by pronouncing a geminate or by using the “ejective” series that I worked so hard to master during my phonology classes as a linguistics major: p’, t’, k’, q’, s’ (these ejectives are common in many African Bantu-family languages, like Xhosa, I think).

Memorably, I was trying to say the word “dream”: 꿈 [k͈um] (standard romanization <kkum>), but Mr Kim was simply incapable of figuring out what I was talking about, because he was only hearing me say 굼[kum], which, standing alone, is a nonsense syllable. I was almost in tears when I realized I simply couldn’t express the sound correctly. Will I ever be able to do it? I wish I could meet a Korean-speaker who was also a trained linguist (or, a trained linguist who was also a Korean-speaker would do, too), who could teach me what to do with my vocal tract to make these sounds reliably. Most Koreans, when faced with the idea that the difference is hard to hear for non-native-speakers, will simply pronounce the faucalized versions louder, because that is part of how they’re perceived psychologically, I think.

Anyway… here are some pictures.

Approaching the mountain in the car from Yeongam Town.

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A small temple under construction.  I like the detailed woodwork on the eaves.

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A small purple flower.

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I’m not sure what “shemanism” is (sounds vaguely West Hollywood), but it’s definitely not allowed.

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The Cloud Bridge (구름다리)

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A dragonfly.

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“Hiking while drunk prohibitted.”

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Looking east.

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At the summit.

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A man surfing the internet on his cellphone at the summit (because we’re in South Korea, of course).

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On the way back down:  Six Brothers Rocks.

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Me, trying to look very tired (because I was very tired).

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A waterfall.

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Caveat: Where is your house?

Mr Kim, from last weekend, invited me to go hiking today.   I was thrilled to hear myself attempting to give him directions to my apartment in Korean, yesterday evening, on the phone.   Well, not thrilled.  But it gives me some optimism, when I use the language at all in a successful way, that I may someday "get there" – wherever "there" is: some kind of communicative efficacy, anyway.

"Where is your house?" he asked.  I answered in English, and realized he wasn't understanding.  I tried to explain in Korean, then.  I wasn't even using full sentences.  But he said he understood.  Now, we have a real-life test of that understanding, as I wait for him to show up to pick me up.

Caveat: Män som hatar kvinnor

I watched a movie I’d read about, finally, yesterday. The name it was released under in English is “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo,” but the movie is Swedish, and the Swedish title is “Män som hatar kvinnor” which translates as “Men who hate women.” This latter is a much more appropriate title – the fact is, it’s a very dark, brutal film, on themes like rape and misogyny, and therefore I should picturemake clear at the outset, I don’t recommend this as a “lite” cinema experience: not a family a film.

But the acting and cinematography were pretty good, and the good guys (and girls) win, in the end, so it’s not that depressing.

My main thought as I was watching the movie, though, was actually linguistic. I’ve never studied Swedish. I did, in fact, study Danish for a short period back when I was “surfing languages” at the University of Minnesota in 87~89 (I had a tendency to attend a few weeks or months of various beginning language classes without even actually enrolling – or enrolling and then dropping before the full refund deadline – as a kind of linguistic sampler, and during that two year period I hit perhaps half a dozen languages that way). Swedish and Danish are closely related. And they’re both close relatives of English.

The consequence of this relatedness (combined with the general insights offered by my having studied linguistics, and those weeks of beginning Danish) is that I found myself depressedly realizing I could understand about the same proportion of the Swedish dialogue as I am able to understand of Korean dialogue in a Korean movie – after having been trying to learn Korean for several years! Not all foreign languages are created equal, in terms of foreignness, I suppose. But it was kind of a strange and frustrating realization.

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Caveat: A Call to Give Up

Last night I stopped in the stationery store to buy some more colored paper for my sixth grade town project, and had an actual conversation with the woman in the store, in Korean.   I was buying some stickers and toys too (thinking of using them as prizes at some point).

It was pretty cool:  Where do you work?  At Hongnong elementary.  The kids like these things.  Yes, they do.  Your Korean is pretty good.  No, I only know a little.  How long have you been here?  I lived in Seoul for 2 years and started living here recently.  Etc.

At the end, the woman complimented my Korean again, but I felt ashamed.  "계속 연습 하고 해요," I said (continuing practice [I should] do).  But it felt like a lie.

Why?  Because I have kind of dropped the ball on actively studying Korean.  My first few months here in Yeonggwang, I'd kept really well to my routine of working on Korean at least an hour a day.  But since the start of summer vacation, I haven't studied at all.  My vocabulary list on my cell phone has reached maximum size of 200 words, so I'm not even saving the words I look up anymore.  I'm not reviewing vocabulary.  I'm not carrying around my "grammar bible" lately.

I thought about this.  I think I was much more deeply wounded than I've been willing to admit, by the alcohol-imbued insults and mockery of my Korean-speaking efforts, that were directed at me during our "staff field trip" three weeks ago.   I took it all very personally.  And I took it as a call to give up on learning Korean.  Certainly, it really wrecked my motivation.

Keep this in mind, the next time you want to laugh at someone's English that isn't so perfect.  There are many English-speakers in Korea who have such an atrocious level of attainment that you want to laugh.  They can sound like buffoons.  But don't laugh.  Be positive.  I've been guilty of it, too – I know.

Learning a language is hard.  This is one of the reasons why I think it should be required for foreigners teaching English here to study Korean.  I think it would increase sensitivity to the emotional/motivational issues involved in language acquisition – they're not trivial.

Caveat: 돈 있죠?

It’s said that when you dream in a language, you’ve “learned” it.   So, what does it mean when you dream in a language, wake up and immediately type the phrase into Google Translate, just to make sure you understood correctly?   That’s sort of what happened this morning.
I dreamed I was talking to a child on a bus.  This is rooted in reality, because when I went to Gwangju on Friday, I’d met two of my Hongnong students: two sisters in 6th and 4th grade – the younger is the girl I call “Miss Sardonica” (in my mind) because of her strange, sardonic-looking grin.  But they’re good kids.  I let them play games on my cell phone during the trip, because they looked bored.  It’s a notable, interesting difference between Korea and the US, that it’s utterly common to run into elementary-age children traveling alone on intercity buses here, for example.
Anyway, the dream:  the child in the dream wasn’t one of these two girls, but some random child – well, not completely random, he looked like one of the first-graders:  a certain extremely mischievous, bright-eyed boy named Ji-hun.  And he seemed a little bit lost.  There was a woman giving the child a hard time, but I didn’t understand what she was saying.  Asking him questions to which he evidently couldn’t offer satisfactory answers.  Not his mom – she was like a bus-company employee, the kind that get on the bus to check your ticket sometimes.  But then the child turned to me and asked, “돈 있죠?” (don it-jyo), and then I woke up.  It wasn’t a very complicated dream.  Just a dream fragment, really.  But it felt significant, because it had ended with a seemingly contextless question, spoken in Korean, that I felt I’d understood.  It felt like a triumphant moment.
I had fallen asleep with the air conditioner on, which normally I avoid because it gives me a sore throat (not to mention it seems an unnatural and expensive way to sleep), so my little apartment was chilly.  I looked out the window, and the sun was bright.  Sky was blue.
I looked at my cell phone, to see what time it was, but it was turned off.  Maybe some spam-text-message had inspired me to turn it off, the night before.  Sometimes, I wake up and have no idea what time it is, I will try to guess.  I looked out the window, noted the angle of sun’s shadows down on the gas station in front of my apartment building, noted the shade of blue of the sky, and said to myself, “hmm, 7:00… no, 6:50.”  A little game I play with myself, right?  I turned on my computer, and the clock read 6:53.  I felt impressed with myself, at that moment.
But suddenly I felt very insecure about whether I’d understood the Korean from the end of the dream.  So I opened up google translate and typed in the phrase, “돈 있죠?”
“Got money?” the google-monster muttered back at me, textually.
Yes, I’d understood.   But now it struck me:  what the hell did it mean?  I mean, in the dream-interpretation sense…  Why was this kid asking me if I had money?
I made some instant coffee and had toast for breakfast.  Good morning.

Caveat: 좋은 놈, 나쁜 놈, 이상한 놈

picture“좋은 놈, 나쁜 놈, 이상한 놈” is the title of a Korean western. Yes, western, as in western genre movie. It takes place in 1930’s Manchuria, which was a bit of a wild land at the time, with the Japanese trying to exert imperial control, while the Chinese, British, Germans and Russians tried to regain spheres of influence, and with disgruntled and outlaw-ish Korean freedom fighters and Mongolian tribesmen thrown into the mix.

The title is an homage to Eastwood’s classic American western “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly” – it translates as “the Good, the Bad and the Weird.” The title itself tells you there will be some interesting post-modern things going on. It’s over-the-top in terms of violence, but worth seeing.

I love how it includes all these seemingly out-of-sync cultural objects and references – 1920’s big-band dance music, Japanese soldiers, Korean merchants or black-marketeers, Mongolian tribesmen sitting on horses on hilltops looking like Native Americans…  but I would imagine it might not be that far off vis-a-vis what Manchuria must have been like in that era. Of course, everything is exaggerated and re-imagined, just in the way American westerns re-imagine North American history, too.

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Caveat: Sulk. Sulk.

One of the things about the Thursday-Friday school staff fieldtrip that got me really depressed was the fact that I didn’t receive a lot of positive encouragement in my efforts to speak or understand Korean. I felt frequently ridiculed and mocked.

I’ve indicated before, on this blog, that right now, in my life, trying to get better at Korean is near the top of my list of priorities. Call that quixotic, or peculiar, or pointless. But it’s true.

So to the extent that the fieldtrip, and my interactions with some of my coworkers, squashed my optimism and enjoyment of trying to learn the language, it was was a real downer. And so… what have I done, today, in the wake of this?

I felt crappy. I didn’t go off to Seoul, as I’d planned – I lacked motivation. I had zero interest in going out into the Korean-speaking world. I sulked. This is bad behavior. I know.

Here are some pictures taken during the better part of the trip, done with my cell phone, so they have rather poor resolution. We were climbing the mountain Daedun.

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And here are the principal and vice principal, plotting some new humiliation – or maybe (more likely) just being clueless and cold-hearted, in a good-natured and paternalistic way.

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Caveat: The Hongnong Alcohol Blacklist

I have just returned from the worst 24 hours I’ve ever spent in Korea. Well, maybe there were a few 24 hour periods back when I was a soldier in the US Army stationed at Camp Edwards, up in Paju, (DMZ/Munsan/Ilsan) that were worse. But I’m just sayin.

My biggest mistake was that I’ve recently been relaxing my formerly teetotaller approach to alcohol – since my trip to Japan, when I made the breakthrough realization (or recollection – call it “personal historical revisionism”) that one of the reasons I managed to learn Spanish effectively in the 1980’s was because I wasn’t adverse to falling under the influence. It lowers inhibitions, which is a big issue with language-learning.

But this school that I work for – well, they’re a tribe of “college-frat-party”-worthy binge alcoholics. And that’s not my thing. Never has been my thing – even when I was doing my own share of binge-drinking myself, back in college.

Maybe I’ll give a detailed breakdown, later.

Let’s just say, I was witness to manifold unkindnesses, and became depressed, despondent and angry. I was in tears when I got home to my tiny Yeonggwang apartment. I haven’t been there, in quite a while – in tears, I mean.

I hold it all in: the anger, the tears. Bottled up. And then it comes out, when I can finally get alone, even though the drunk moment has passed. Alcohol sucks. And I’ve always been a weepy, grumpy, judgmental drunk – I know this about myself.

Hell. I know I can never renew at this school – alcohol reveals depths and truths about people, and although there are many kind and wonderful people working at Hongnong Elementary, none of those kind and wonderful types are the ones running things – the manager-types showed their true selves pretty effectively, as far as I’m concerned. And not in their own favor, frankly.

I will survive this contract. I can avoid the management types, mostly. But they are cruel, unkind people, who furthermore insist on excusing their cruelty as “tradition” and “Korean culture.” Fine. I know, confidently, that there are other types of Korean culture: types that don’t require cajoling people to get drunk, that don’t require laughing at (not with) underlings, that don’t require groping female employees.

Mr Kim (remember him? – the PE teacher) was actually among those who were pretty kind to me. He seemed a bit disgusted with how out of control the alcohol games got, too. He explained to me, mostly in Korean (with a dictionary in hand), that we should make a Hongnong Alcohol Blacklist, and that the first three members included certain highly placed individuals in the school’s administrative staff. I laughed at that, and he was sullenly pleased that he’d managed to make a joke across the cultural and linguistic divide.

Okay. That’s enough.

Looking out the window of the bus, coming home, I saw a cloud with a silver lining. Literally. Korea is a beautiful country. And there were enough “off to the side” kindnesses shown to me in my sadness, today, that I know better than to give up on the humanity of Koreans. Generalization and stereotyping are almost always really bad ideas.


Here’s a mountain or two, that I saw.

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Caveat: 티처 좀 외계인처럼

A student said this to me today:  티처 좀 외계인처럼 [ti-cheo jom weh-gye-in-cheo-reom = teacher a little like an alien].  She was talking about me.  I was flattered.
Sometimes I’m definitely an alien.  Or among aliens.  Or something like that.   This seemed very true when I walked down the hall to the 4-1 classroom, where teachers were seated on the floor playing Korean percussion instruments:  사물놀이 [sa-mul-nor-i].  They were practicing for the school concert that was later this evening (I attended, and may post some video from that, later).
I really like 사물놀이.  Here’s some video.

Caveat: Very Important Subject

My morning carpool (riding with two Korean teachers who happen to live in Yeonggwang, most mornings) is sort of an impromptu Korean Language lesson, many times.  But yesterday morning I was unable to grasp on to what they were talking about, and I just sort of zoned out.

As we pulled off the expressway and slowed at the traffic light in Beopseongpo, Cheorho (whose English is pretty good) turned to me and asked, "Do you understand what we've been talking about?"

"No, sorry," I answer, truthfully.

"Alcohol.  술," he explained.  "Beer and soju, which is better."

I respond, laughing slightly, "I think that's a very common topic in Korea."

"Very important subject," he nodded, gravely.

"네," chimed in Hyeongyeon.

Caveat: 쭈쭈!

I’m sorry if that title offends anyone.  Learning a language is fraught with difficulties – and one of them is that people are reluctant to talk about “bad words,” but somehow we must nevertheless learn them.
I had an unfortunate day, today.  Specifically, my afterschool first grade class (difficult to manage even on regular days), was just too wild.  I had one kid throwing things.  I mean, REALLY throwing things.  He nailed me on the head with rather hefty crayon – THWACK!
So I took him aside and yelled at him a bit.  These are little kids.  How do you manage this, when you don’t have a co-teacher who can speak Korean, nearby?  My Korean Language skill isn’t adequate to express my feelings about this kind of behavior in a convincing way to the kids.
And then there was the kid drawing pornography.  I mean, seriously… he’s what, seven (or at most 8 or 9, if you want to count in the Korean style which gives people extra years)?  I suppose kids will be be kids, and draw weird stuff, sometimes.  But he was drawing anatomically correct, adult-looking women and even coloring between the lines!
And that wasn’t enough.  The clincher is that he was then running around the room, yelling “쭈쭈!  쭈쭈!”   And all the kids thought this was hilarious.
This gem of vocabulary isn’t in any dictionary, nor online.  And it’s not something I could figure out by typing “쭈쭈 meaning english” into google, either.  Nevertheless, somewhat eerily, Korean language spellcheckers don’t flag it as wrong, either.  It’s a “secret” word?
My best guess, based on the child’s illustrations, combined with some weird dance moves two of the other boys started doing, is that it means “tits.”  Charming.  If any of my better-at-Korean-than-I readers want to provide me with some reassurance that my reading isn’t too far off, I’d appreciate it, but I realize it may be a bit awkward.
I couldn’t find a Korean teacher anywhere in my wing, when I finally got fed up and decided to try to find someone to talk to the boy in Korean.  I ended up hauling him down to the staff room, but that was a bit awkward, since I walked in saying “쭈쭈” myself, among other things, but I found the principal and vice principal in there, in some kind of high-level-looking meeting.   Ah well, I left the boy with my colleague.  Hopefully things will sort out on Monday.

Caveat: 또 심심해?

Yesterday at lunchtime, after I finished eating at the cafeteria, I was sitting in my classroom doing some last-minute changes to my lesson plans for my afternoon classes (which I teach on my own). Normally, a tribe of sixth-grade girls comes in and watch music videos on the computer during this stretch of time, but since I was monopolizing the computer, they quickly found something else to do and somewhere else to be, except for the two girls who were formally tasked with lunch-period cleanup duty for my classroom.

Then a first-grade girl appeared beside my desk. It was the same girl who had spent a good 30 minutes loitering in my classroom last Friday – she’s one of the enrollees in my first-grade afterschool class, but since the first-graders get out after lunch (they have no fifth period), these kids often have nothing to do while they wait for fifth period to end so their class can start.

Anyway, this girl has ZERO English. She doesn’t even know the alphabet thoroughly. But she’s clearly quite smart, in my opinion, and very earnest, too. I appreciate that she’s managed to figure out that I actually am able to understand her, if she takes the time to slow down her Korean and repeat herself to me with patience. That’s rare (or nigh impossible) to find in even adult Koreans, to be honest.

She appeared beside my desk.

[The following reported Korean is from memory, and any errors in the grammar or vocabulary on the girl’s part are the result of my poor Korean Language skills combined with my bad memory, rather than things the girl might have said in that way. On the other hand, reported poor Korean Language on my part is probably exactly what I said.]

The student: “뭐이예?” Staring intently at my screen, and hopping up and down slightly.

Jared: “Lesson plan.”

The student: “이멜?”

Jared: “No. Work.”

The student: “오오…” Heavy, dramatic sigh. “또 심심할 것 같아…”

Jared: “Bored, again?” She made wide eyes, so I added, “오늘 다시 심심해?” She had complained of boredom on Friday, too.

The student, giggling: “예. 또 심심해.”

Jared: “Don’t be bored! 심심하기금지!”

The student frowned.

Jared: “뭘 하기 좋겠어?”

The student shrugged. She looks around the classroom speculatively.

Jared, realizing he needs to print something in the staff room: “C’mon. Let’s go.”

The student says something I don’t understand, looking puzzled as I pop out my USB drive from the computer and move out the classroom door. So I add, “가자,” and gesture her to follow me.

The student: “어디 [something something]?”

Jared: “Office. Printer.” She doesn’t understand. Emphasizing the slightly different Korean pronunciation of “printer,” I add, “프린터 피료해.”

The student: “아아… 교실에서 프린터 없으니까…”

Jared: “예, 마자. You’re my assistant.”

The student looked very pleased.

We arrived at the office, and I inserted my USB drive and printed my two pages. I point her to the printer, and she went over and collected them. She carried them right in front of her, looking down at them proudly as if they were her own achievement. She walked all the way back to my classroom that way, as if carrying a religious chalice.

When we got back to the classroom, she raced to my desk and placed them squarely on the corner, ceremoniously, and looked up at me grinning.

Jared: “My assistant. Good job! Thank you.”

Sixth-grade girls, in unison: “Oh. Cute!

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Caveat: Knowing Korean (or not)

Some people seem to be under the mistaken impression that I've learned Korean.  Not hardly at all.  I'm making an effort to post here at least once a week in Korean, but it's just a way to give myself some struture and discipline in my efforts.

You'll notice that what I post is quite short.  My last Korean post was exactly 1 sentence, with a title.  And it took me 15 minutes to write, using both a dictionary and a reference grammar.  And I ran it through google translate just to be sure (although frankly that program has a lot to be desired – quality machine translation is still a long ways off).

I still feel no sense of fluency, and when I went out to dinner spontaneously with co-workers this evening, I was pretty depressed at how little of their conversation I still understood.  My vice principal gave me a little speech, of which all I understood was something to the effect of "if you have a problem, talk to someone" but there was a lot more to it than that.  All I could do was nod stupidly.

The problem boils down to:  vocabulary, vocabulary and vocabulary.  I'm just no good, it seems, at memorizing vocabulary.  Why wasn't Spanish or Russian this hard?  Is it really that much about cognates?

Caveat: 말이 많으면 쓸말이 적다

There are some workmen doing work on the “staff” bathrooms that I had been in the habit of using.  Actually I have no idea if they’re officially “staff” bathrooms, but they’re across from the Principal’s office so I that what I think of them as.  Anyway, because of that, I started using the bathroom across the little courtyard to the west of my classroom.  Why am I telling you this, you might be wondering?
In this bathroom, someone has posted little Korean aphorisms and proverbs over each urinal.  So while I use the urinal, I get a Korean language lesson – if I can sort out the vocabulary.  I try to choose different urinals, to get some variety.
The above aphorism (말이 많으면 쓸말이 적다 = mal-i manh-eu-myeon sseul-mal-i jeok-da) seemed to make sense – the only word that puzzled me was “쓸” but I guessed it meant “wise,” which would give the meaning of the phrase as “there are many words but few wise ones” which makes sense.  But it turns out (according to my coteacher) that it means “will-be-used” (roughly).  That gives “there are many words but few that will be used.”  I don’t understand this quite as well, but it’s not impossible.
Yesterday, I had a sudden “aha!” moment in thinking about serial verbs in Korean.   Serial verbs are where several different verbs get strung together, each with a finite ending, with only the last bearing all the extra endings (marking politeness, etc.).  A simple example would be “공부해 봤어요” (gong-bu-hae bwass-eo-yo = I tried to study).  I suddenly thought that maybe these serial verbs are the Korean language analogue of periphrastic verbs in English (periphrastics are also sometimes called two-part verbs, like “get up” “get down” “get in” “get out” etc.), not syntactically (obviously), but definitely in terms of what you might term “semantic pragmatics”  – they’re what the language turns to when it needs a new meaning.  I’ll think about this.
In other news:  I am learning a lot from my coteachers.  Ms Ryu, with whom I teach the 3rd graders, is a very patient and kind teacher, and she has an amazing focus on positivity and the kids behave amazingly well for her.  I need to learn to emulate her tricks and style.  She spends a lot of time explaining to the kids what will happen.  This is not a trick I can use effectively, given I’m supposed to be speaking English and that my Korean is so bad that I doubt I could get my ideas across very well anyway.  But it does underscore the importance of being consistent and predictable, which is something I CAN do, and which helps the kids to know what will happen.  She always writes what the lesson objective will be, on the board, and sometimes even has the students read it.  I could do this, in English, too.  [e.g. “Students learn to say:  I like __ / I don’t like __”]
My other coteacher (the “main” one), Ms Lee, with whom I teach the fourth graders, is generally quite focused on keeping things “fun,” and she is a more kid-centered, western-style teacher.  The consequence, with Korean kids, is that there are more moments when the classroom seems out of control, but I think if you can tolerate this state of affairs, it can be good for learning, too.  It’s a fine line between “seems out of control” and “really is out of control.”

Caveat: 예…

Every day I have scrupulously greeted the cleaning lady at my new school – slight bow, “안녕하십니까?” [annyeonghasimnikka]  Mostly, I’ve gotten just a gruff “예..” [ye] in response. But then yesterday on the stairs, as I’m dodging her diligent mop, she stops me and says I’m a “good teacher” (in Korean, I didn’t understand perfectly, but something in the vein of “…선생님…좋은데…” [seonsaengnim…joheunde…] so I caught the drift of it. I felt really happy.
In other news, yesterday evening I managed to get my new cellphone (well, actually it’s a new number with a month-to-month contract, on my old handset).  It was a very proud moment – I negotiated the whole thing, by myself, at the “SHOW” store in Yeonggwang, in Korean! It was very bad Korean. But still… ^_^

Caveat: 미국, 고무로 닭인형 달리기 대회

I saw the above headline on the television news last night.   It’s pretty hilarious, but it was meaningful to me because it was one of those exciting, rather rare moments when I saw Korean text and immediately parsed and understood what it was about – it was a moment of “native” understanding, which makes it sound like I’m really good at Korean, and I’m not.  But it was nice to have just an instant when I wasn’t puzzling out vocabulary items with a dictionary or trying to sort out weird grammatical constructs in my brain.  I suppose the visual cues on the screen might have helped a little – I’ll leave it as an exercise for the readers to determine what those visual cues might have been.
So… what does it mean?  미국, 고무로 닭인형 달리기 대회 = miguk, gomu-ro dalkinhyeong dalligi daehoe = USA: rubber chicken throwing contest.
Now that’s news worth knowing!

Caveat: Sucky Rosetta Sudoku

I don't like sudoku.  Nor do I like crosswords, chess, "brain-teaser" puzzles, etc.  I feel like this fact about myself is somehow a serious violation (nay, betrayal) of my nerdly origins, that I'm like this.  But, I've always lacked enthusiasm for these types of mental recreations.  One memorable example:  I remember when Rubic's Cube first came out, and everyone was obsessively trying to solve it.  I managed to solve it – it wasn't easy, but I managed – but  I genuinely recall my efforts to do so as a profoundly unpleasant experience.  I never picked it up again.  Even today, when I see a Rubik's Cube, I have a sort of visceral reaction of strong distaste, similar to how I react to seeing bananas (to which – it has been verified – I am allergic).

My theory is that this gut reaction is because my perfectionism is stronger, and receives higher priority, than my intellectual curiosity.  That doesn't sound like a very good reflection on my personality.  And… it's not.  But I'm trying to be honest about things, here.

Anyway, that's not what I meant to write about.  I had a major insight, yesterday. 

I'd decided to dedicate some more time to working through the Rosetta Stone software I'd splurged on last fall.  I've been pretty unhappy with it, and so it's hard for me to motivate to use it.  I have only managed to work up to around the middle of the Level 1 Korean package.

So I was slogging through it… I see the value in it, in building some automaticity with respect to grammar points and  vocabulary.  My core criticisms remain the same:  it's not very linguistically sophisticated in its presentation of material (especially of phonological issues and grammar); the speaking sections' "listener/analyzer/scorer" is majorly wonky (I sometimes get so frustrated I just start cussing at it, which tends to lower my score); the grammar points covered sometimes don't match the way actual Koreans around me actually speak, in my experience.

But I found a new reason why I don't like Rosetta Stone, and I found it in a surprising way.  I was reading a recent issue of the Atlantic magazine, and there was an ad for Rosetta Stone.  And the ad said something to the gist of:  "if you like sudoku, you'll love learning a language with Rosetta Stone."

You can see where this is going, right?  Rosetta's software is deliberately designed to activate the same mental processes and reward centers that puzzle-games like sudoku do.  And therefore it's suddenly obvious why I spend most of my time when trying to use the software feeling frustrated and pissed-off.  It's the same reason I feel constantly frustrated and pissed-off when I try to solve sudoku puzzles, or play chess, or other things like that.  I just don't enjoy that type of intellectual challenge.

But this insight also forces me to temper my criticism of Rosetta Stone substantially, in one respect:  it means that it's just my idiosyncrasy, in part,  that causes me not to like it, and to regret having bought it.  If you're like most reasonably intellectual people, and enjoy killing some time solving sudoku or playing chess or the like, then, probably, Rosetta Stone is a great tool for learning a language.  You'll probably think it's really fun.

Sigh.

So… there.

Caveat: 이가방이 무거워요…

I have arrived in Gwangju.
Everyone knows I struggle with memorizing vocabulary.  “Heavy” is a word that I’ve looked up the Korean equivalent for at least 15 or 20 times, and it never has managed to stick with me.  But, as of today, I think I can confidently say I’ve got it well and truly stuck in my brain, finally.
Context is everything, in language learning.  I have some very heavy luggage, today, as I tote my most important worldly possessions down to Gwangju.  Hefting the bag into the taxi, and again, getting help from the assistant at the bus terminal, I had occasion to hear and use “무거워요” (mu-geo-weo-yo = it’s heavy).  And now I know that I know that word.
Travel costs are so reasonable, in Korea, after having been in Japan.  The bus ticket, express “special” (우등) from Suwon to Gwangju was only 21,000 won.  That’s less that 20 bucks, to take me basically across the whole country, north to south.  Admittedly, that “across-the-country” bus trip was exactly 3 hours and 5 minutes long.  Once out of metro Seoul, the expressways are wide, well-engineered and convenient.
I don’t remember when I was last in Gwangju.  I do know I haven’t ever spent much time here – it’s Korea’s 4th or 5th largest metropolis (depending on whom you ask), but possibly it’s the country’s least “international” of the major cities.  Regardless, it’s an important city for the history of modern democratic South Korea, and it’s pretty successful, as cities go, from what I’ve read.
I’m going to look around a bit.  More later.

Caveat: 금도끼와 은도끼

금도끼와 은도끼

옛날 어느 마을에 가난한 나무꾼이 살고 있었습니다.  그는 어머니를 모시고 살았는데, 부지런해서 늘 아침 일찍 산으로 가서 나무를 했습니다.
어느 날 산 속에서 연못 옆에 있는 큰 나무를 발견하고 도끼로 세게 찍기 시작했습니다.  그런데 손에 힘이 없어져서 도끼를 연못에 빠뜨렸습니다.  하나밖에 없는 도끼를 빠뜨린 나무꾼은 연못을 보면서 한숨을 쉬었습니다.  그 때 갑자기 연못의 물이 움직이면서 하얀 연기와 함께 산신령님이 나타나셨습니다.  산신령님은 금으로 만든 도끼를 내밀면서 말했습니다.
“이 금도끼가 당신이 빠뜨린 것입니까?”
“아닙니다.”
“그럼 이 은도끼가 당신의 도끼입니까?”
“그것도 제 것이 아닙니다.”
“그럼 이것입니까?”라고 하면서 그가 빠뜨린 쇠도끼를 내밀었습니다.
“네, 바로 그것이 제 도끼입니다.”
산신령님은 “당신은 정직하기 때문에 이 도끼들을 모두 당신에게 줄 테니까 가져가십시오.”라고 말하고 도끼 세 개를 준 후에 다시 연못 속으로 사라졌습니다.
그래서 그 나무꾼은 부자가 되었고 그 후에 결혼을 해서 행복하게 살았습니다.
No… I didn’t write this story.  It’s an old Korean fairy tale.  I like the story.
The version here is copied from my Korean Language textbook, at the end of the book.  It’s provided as a kind of culmination of all the material covered.  Note especially all the various constructions using the many possible meanings of “~(으)로.”
But the translation of the story, provided in the appendix, is truly terrible – it manages to be bad English, while at the same time failing to be a close, phrase-for-phrase translation of the Korean, which is what would be useful in a language textbook.  So you can’t really use the translation to figure out confusing grammar points, on the one hand, but it’s not a very clear version of the story, on the other.
So, being the strange person that I am, I decided to attempt my own translation, which follows.  I’m trying to stay very close to the Korean, trying to ensure that each Korean phrase and grammatical element has a match to its closest English equivalent, that I can figure out – but at the same time I’m trying to make sure it’s at least passable English, meaning no glaring grammatical or idiomatic errors.
If there are mistakes in the Korean above, blame my poor Korean typing skills, not my Korean textbook – it’s probably just a typo, since I copied the text of the story from my textbook manually.

The gold axe and the silver axe

In olden days a poor woodcutter was living in some village.  That man lived with his mother, and since he was industrious, every morning he went to the mountain and cut wood.
One day, being at the mountain near a pond, he found a big tree and be began to cut it with his axe.  But then his hand became weak and he dropped the axe in the pond.  The woodcutter, having but the one axe, looked in the pond and sighed.  At that moment suddenly the pond’s waters stirred and, along with some white smoke, a mountain spirit appeared.  The mountain spirit held out a gold axe, and spoke.
“Did you drop this gold axe?”
“No, sir.”
“Then is this silver axe your axe?”
“That isn’t mine either.”
“Then is this yours?” he said, and held out the dropped iron axe.
“Yes, that’s definitely my axe.”
The mountain spirit said, “Because you are honest I will give you all these axes, so take them,” and with that he gave the three axes and disappeared again into the pond.
And so the woodcutter became rich, and after that he got married and lived happily.
 

Caveat: Easy Japan

I won’t say that I like Japan more than Korea. But in a lot of ways, I find Japan easier to like than Korea. I spent a long time yesterday trying to figure out why that is. It might be something as simple as the fact that the Japanese character includes a level of cultural self-confidence that is comforting after constantly coping with the myriad minor insecurities embedded in contemporary South Korean cultural discourse: the petty nationalisms, the linguistic deference … these things are mostly absent in my interactions with random Japanese and in my observations of cultural output, here.

Maybe if I spent more time in Japan, these perceptions would become more nuanced. But superficial impressions count for a lot. Still, there remain many reasons why I’m sticking with Korea, despite my fascination with (and liking for) Japan.

A picture.

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Caveat: 꿈도꾸지마

“꿈도꾸지마” means “stop dreaming” – it’s a negative command form.  It was cool to hear this on TV only a few days after having managed to finally acquire the relevant grammar and vocabulary.  Mostly I learn things and I’m left wondering, when do they really use that? … or else I hear things and I wonder, when am I going to learn about that?  
I’m frustrated with my current Korean teacher, still.  She seems less pedagogically able than the one I had last month.  The insight I had last night:  the one I had last month always dedicated a minimum 10~20 minutes in each class talking with each of us in the class about our lives.  Where we lived, what we were doing, etc., in Korean.  And often, successfully using whatever vocabulary or grammar items we were currently learning.  Whereas my current teacher always only follows the lesson, which at best represents fictional situations or roleplays and more often is just rote substitutions of various kinds.  
It’s so much easier to learn a new bit of language when you’re using it for something relevant to your life.

Caveat: 다시 차를 마셨어요.

I went with Mr Choi again to meet his tea-making friend, and provide some informal English practice to him and his acquaintances and various children, too.  And then we went out for “Chinese.”  Going out for Chinese food in Korea is a bit like going out to Chinese in the U.S., in the sense that what you end up eating isn’t actually Chinese cuisine, but rather an American interpretation of Chinese cuisine.  So it’s basically a special type of Korean food, that they conventionally call “Chinese.”
It was interesting, and maybe helped to keep my mind off my frustrations with learning, at least while it was happening.  Afterward, of course, I could nothing but meditate on how ineffective and stupid my various efforts at using the language were.
It’s obvious I’m feeling very frustrated, lately.  This is, from a language-learning standpoint, entirely to-be-expected.  But knowing that it’s part of the process doesn’t make it any more pleasant.  And my feelings of discouragement tend to rebound against other aspects of my life:  feeling like I should be trying harder to find a job; feeling like I should be working on other things, like my writing; feeling lonely.
Of course, there’s the approaching solstice.  I always feel like I have some weird seasonal-affective thing going on, around solstices.  My mood starts to seem very volatile and shifts around.  Not sure what that means, either.

Caveat: 전 오늘 절망한 기분이에요.

I’m feeling very discouraged.  I can’t seem to understand anything my new teacher says.  Partly, it’s my “level-up” that I’ve just done, skipping a level.  Mostly, though, it’s because she’s got a different teaching style that I simply haven’t figured out yet – I can understand whatever grammar point / vocabulary we’re covering at any given moment fairly well, but I find her “meta-instruction” (i.e. what she expects us to be doing, her instructions to us, her explanations) incoherent.  I’m just not used to it, maybe.
Anway.  Sigh.

Caveat: Parachute

I was recently exposed to the term "낙하산 인사" (nak-ha-san in-sa) in one of the dramas I've been watching.  Literally it means "parachute personnel managment," roughly, but it refers to the way that Korean business and government organizations will "drop" someone into a given department or branch office from "above" (somewhere up the hierarchy) for either political or nepotistic reasons.

Anyway, I used the word "낙하산" (parachute) yesterday in class, to describe my situation.  The teacher laughed, so I must have used the word more-or-less appropriately.  What situation?  Well, I moved up a level in my Korean Language class, but found out yesterday that, because I was the only one enrolled at that level, that my class was cancelled for the term.  My instant solution?  I asked the hagwon manager (in English – my Korean's hardly that good, yet) if I could just jump up to the next level.  I'd have to work hard, obviously.  But she said, sure, give it a try – she hardly wants to lose a paying customer, right?

Actually, this may be a great development.  It will push me extra hard in my learning efforts, because now I have 16 chapters worth of grammar and vocab that I need to "catch up" on.  It will push me hard, preventing me from taking this "full-time-student" thing in too leisurely a way.

I have an ambition to put together a special web page that will be an index of Korean "endings."  I may have mentioned or undertaken this before, but without much success.   One of the difficulties with Korean is that given its highly agglutinative (this is the formal linguistic term) nature, it has a plethora of endings, for nouns and especially for verbs.  I even found a verb ending in my reference grammar that allegedly exists for the sole purpose of talking to oneself!  [-{ㄴ/는}담 … I have no idea how widely used this is, but the fact it's mentioned in a reference grammar highlights some of the fascinating aspects of the language.]

The problem, of course, is that it's hard to look up endings.  The online and cellphone based dictionaries I use are useless for this task.  If I put all the endings into a document or webpage, and ensure that it's consistently formatted and laid out, it will be easily searchable through the use of the simple "find" function, and I can look up endings.  And the fact of making it might help me remember things better, too.

The drawback is that, in fact, endings are not my particular area of difficulty.  I know far more, already, than I "should" given my level, at least from a recognition standpoint.  Grammar, in general, has always come easily for me.  My weakness is vocabulary.  So maybe this "endings" project is just my special way of procrastinating on what is, for me, the painful part.

Caveat: 89

Because I’m continuing at my Korean Language hagwon, I took an end-of-level test today. There were listening, speaking, and grammar/reading sections. My overall score was 89.

That’s not bad, I guess. I was surprised that my lowest score was on the grammar/reading part, since that’s really my strength, but I had made some careless mistakes, on the one hand, while on the listening section, which was the hardest, the teacher gave all the dialogs and questions twice, which may have been stretching the intent of the test, a bit, making it easier, so that my score on that part was 94.

What else can I do to get more out of my language study? I need to spend more time reviewing and memorizing vocabulary. I have some excellent tools that I’m not making much use of, for example that Rosetta Stone software, as well as the spreadsheets I’m maintaining with list of words I’ve looked up. I could stand to spend more time with each of those.

I had a weird conversation with a short-term guest at my guesthouse, the other night. He was Australian. I told him I was studying Korean, and his comment kind of sums up some preconceptions and prejudices that exist out there, with respect to my endeavor. He said (roughly), “Wow, I never met someone studying Korean before who didn’t have a girlfriend or boyfriend helping them.” I just laughed. I had no comeback, at the moment, but I thought later, I should have said, “Yeh, I guess so. I’m in love with the language, directly, instead. It’s a frustrating relationship.”

I have so far to go. Will I become tired of it, at some point? Will I become disillusioned, over time, as the difficulty of this “relationship” emerges in all its permutations and complexities? I have been infatuated with the Korean Language since we did a unit on Korean in my undergrad syntax class at the University of Minnesota in 1988. But I didn’t really pursue that infatuation, for a very long time. Then, a little over 3 years ago, as I was shopping around for “what to do next with my life,” once I’d decided to quit the computer thing, I decided: “Find your passion, and chase it down.”

Then, over the following two years, I became side-tracked by the sheer volume of work related to teaching (or trying to teach) English to kids. And that was VERY rewarding. No denying that. It taught me new things about myself, and gave me new tools to cope with life’s challenges. But I didn’t pursue this passion, this linguistic avocation, very aggressively. I dropped the ball. Now, I’m trying to pick it up again.

When I was really trying to learn Spanish, first starting out, in 1986, living and working in Mexico City, I remember many times thinking, “wow, this is exhausting!” Learning Spanish, trying to become essentially fluent, is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Harder than basic training in the Army. Harder than grad school (although that was, in fact, part of learning Spanish, too, at a much more advanced level). Maybe even harder than that messy fall of 1998, when things fell apart with Michelle and I had to make the difficult decision that existing in the world was worthwhile.

And now, I’m trying again. I will learn Korean. Because if I succeed, it will be such a magical, amazing accomplishment. Unconventional, and, in the greater, grander scheme of things, pointless… yet, for all that, utterly worth doing.

There, I’ve laid my cards on the table. I always feel uncomfortable declaring goals, for fear that when/if I fail to achieve them, I have to then bear the secondary humiliation of everyone knowing that I’ve failed. But… by declaring my goals, I am also giving myself extra motivation, extra impetus.

So, friends… hold me to it. If I stumble, or pause, or fall down, or wander off in frustration or distraction, please gently remind me: “Jared, what about your goal? How are you doing with the Korean?”
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