Three Years Well Spent

Dear Family,

It’s such a pleasure to have a quiet moment to say hello. I feel like I haven’t written for quite a while…certainly it seems longer than just a month ago.

Three days ago Naomi arrived. It’s so pleasant to have someone to talk to and be with! I’m looking forward to showing her my world. I’m also looking forward to a breather. Some of you know what uphill work this last semester has been for me, in so many ways. These last two weeks, particularly, have been remarkably difficult, as level five bowelled toward an end. But the grueling effort was not wasted: I found out yesterday not only that I passed level five, but also that I aced all my tests. Now that it’s over I feel exhausted, relieved and satisfied. And grateful. God has been faithful, once again.

We studied ‘titles’ in class, just recently. By ‘titles’, I mean the English equivalent of Father, Aunt, Sister, etc. It’s important to know these titles, because Koreans, like Westerners, would never call their parents or grandparents by their given names. But Koreans take it a step further. They call every person they’re related to by a title, which really serves in place of the word ‘you’. This wouldn’t be so bad if aunts and uncles were just aunts and uncles, and nothing more. In English it doesn’t matter that the aunt is my dad’s sister, as opposed to my mom’s sister. She’s still an aunt. But not so in Korea. Here there are different titles, not only for maternal and paternal aunts and uncles, but also for how old they are in relation to your parents, and whether or not they joined the family by marriage.
And, speaking of in-laws, you should understand that one’s older brother’s wife is called by a different title from one’s younger brother’s wife (similarly with brothers-in-law, depending upon the age of the sister), and each are changed again depending upon the sex of the one addressing that unfortunate woman. Every person in a family tree is called by a different title from every other person, depending on where they stand in age or by marriage.
Why stop there, though? If some is good, more is better, right? One’s older friend’s girlfriend is called something different from one’s younger friend’s girlfriend, and (again) this depends upon the sex of the speaker. In the office, each person has his own title, according to rank, and according to whether one is speaking of the individual or to the individual. At the grocery store I’m ‘Sonim,’ at school I’m ‘Haksang,’ to a stranger I’m ‘Agashi,’ and to a friend I’m ‘Onni.’ There’s a title for everyone and everything, and I hope that my Korean fish isn’t offended that I call him by nothing but his name.
Of course, the poor foreigner, who is hopelessly mixed up in such cases, may always revert to the ambiguous ‘you.’ That’s a different ‘you,’ needless to say, according to whether the ‘you’ is a lover, a close friend, someone who deserves a scold, or someone with whom one wants to pick a fight (ironically, the same ‘you’ as the lover’s ‘you’).
So, why am I telling you all this? Because the conclusion makes me laugh:
With my blue eyes and light (relatively) hair, I rather stand out at school. And my school name, Lisa, is easy for people to remember. As a result, a lot of people from other class rooms know who I am, so when we meet in the hall, they bow and greet me,
‘Is Lisa passing time well?’
I nod, and would like to reply in kind, but in nine cases out of ten I’ve no idea what the person’s name is. So I reply,
‘Yes. I’m sorry, though, I’ve forgotten your name.’
But there are so many people, and with such odd names (from all over the world), that no matter how many times I’m told a person’s name, I can’t seem to remember it. And one can only say ‘I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten again…’ so many times. I draw the line at four. After that it begins to sound rude.
Of course, rather than replying ‘Yes, and how about Whangshi?’, I could always just ask, ‘and how about you?’ At least, it seems to me that I should be able to. Surely there must be a ‘you’ with which one addresses an acquaintance. But, of all the odd twists of language, there’s not. How can there be a title for every person and relationship under the sun, save one with which to address the man to whom I’m speaking?!
I asked a Korean friend, and after giving it several moments of very serious thought, he concluded, ‘The best method, is just to memorize all their names.’
Help.

I wanted to write about a few more things, but this email has already taken a week or so to compile. A few sentences here, and a paragraph there, as I get time. I think that now, with Naomi here, if I put it off any longer, it will become outdated before it ever gets sent. The thought I would like to end on is that it occurred to me a few days ago that, if nothing more will have been accomplished by my three years residence in Korea than that I should have learned to trust and love my God, it will have been a three years well spent.

God is good,
Elisabeth