Crossing the Lines

Crossing The Lines

She is standing at the curb shifting her weight back and forth. She has her light blue Kumon bag full of books from the hakwon she just left at 11:00p.m. tightly clutched to her chest covering her white uniform top that is neatly tucked into her grayish black uniform skirt. Her cell phone is somehow squeezed between her fingers ready for whatever calls or text may come. Her eyes are darting back and forth looking up and down the empty street across from the Nunghyup Bank. Her agitation increases with every passing second. The urges are beginning to overpower her, but they are wrong. She has been taught better. The training from her mother and grandmother for the past sixteen years will not be thrown away in a fleeting moment like this. She can’t do it, not now, not tonight. Her mother has already tucked her little brothers and sister into bed and is preparing rice for tomorrow morning. Her father, who just showered after another twelve-hour day on the road selling fruits across town, is trying to relax for a few minutes before crashing for the night without dinner again. They have worked hard to get her in to this hakwon, the best science, math and English academy in Cheonan. She cannot disrespect them like this; it would crush them if they ever found out.

Besides, how will she be able to go to Church on Sunday after such disregard for Korean tradition and values? NO! She will not do it! She lowers her head in shame at the very thought of even attempting to be so reckless.

And then as if she just figured out her clothes were on fire she raisers her head and starts running across the street. I can see her sheer delight at this moment of freedom at being like a real woman who is strong and able. Her eyes are wide-open and bright, cheeks flushed with vibrancy and arms lifted with each stride. She is halfway there ands realizes what she has done, almost comes to a complete stop, begins to lower her head again with a natural twitch but realizes she has come too far, she cannot go back now. She panics and hurriedly looks left and right, then forward and again darts across the street, exhilaration pours out of her like she is an American girl who is out drunk with her friends on a Friday night accepting free drinks from all the boys trying to attract her fancy knowing they will just flirt, tease and go home laughing together at their conquests. She reaches the other side of the road and freezes cold in her tracks. The momentary flash of freedom evaporates and becomes drenched in guilt, shame and humiliation. She wants to hold back the tears but is not able. She drops her cell phone for the first time and bends over to pick it up forgetting she is wearing a skirt and is supposed to lower herself properly like nice girls do. Her book bag slides out from her grasp and the books fall all over the black sidewalk, she is aware she will be noticed now for certain. Someone will tell her mother. There is no way she can now just walk in the door like nothing has happened. They will know even before she runs the final three blocks to their seventieth floor apartment in Highvill 2. She trembles as she gathers her things off the ground and stuffs her cell phone into the bag and takes off running even faster than she crossed the street towards home with tears streaming down her now pale cheeks. How could she be so careless and ungrateful to her family and bring such shame upon them? They did not raise her to be the kind of girl who crosses the street while the light is still red! Nice girls follow the rules even if there are no cars on the road at 11:20 at night. They obey and follow traditions no matter what. Crossing the street while the light was still red; who did she think she was and did she forget where she is and what country she lives in?

Me, I am shocked. I have lived here for ten months and waited patiently to see if during my thirteen months stay I would see one, just one young woman or girl cross on the red. Their moms do it, all teen boys do it and certainly all men do it without even thinking, but young women are trained well here. By well, I mean effectively.

It has been three weeks since I saw that girl cross the street on a red light. Every night when I am walking after dinner I think about her and how hard being obedient must be to those who need to dance and stretch their own limits. What pressure these young girls carry with them day and night to conform to traditions that are so old that there are nobody left to explain why they exist or where they came from. The answer is simple- “It is what we do”.

This is how to do it

This is how to do it

“No, no, no. Michael you don’t use the lettuce to eat grilled beef, that is for pork only.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Grilled pork we eat directly from the grill.”

“Why?’

“I don’t know. It is Korean culture.”

It is those last four words that have been playing through my mind tonight and many nights lately, It is Korean culture.

What does that mean? Really, what does that mean? Stating it is the way it is because that is what we do is not an answer to a question.

Arresting Officer: “Why did you rape those poor defenseless women?”
Perpetrator: “This is what men do”.


Divorce Lawyer: “So why did you cheat on your husband of 27 years?”
Woman: “This is what women do when their men don’t pay attention to them.”

NYC Tourist: "Why will nobody help me find the Brooklyn Bridge?”
NYPD: "This is New York. If you don’t like it, get the hell out of here and go back to where you came from.”
NYC Tourist: "Why does nobody care about helping a lost visitor out?”
NYPD: "We’re Americans that’s why.”

Washington Post Reporter: "Mr. President, Why are we attacking the people of Iraq?"
George W. Bush: “Because we are the United States of America."
Washington Post Reporter: “What does that mean Sir?”
George W. Bush: "It means we are Americans. This is what we do.”

I used to live in an intentional community for a few years around the turn of the millennium. It was a vegan, environmentalist community with a small group of radical activists; I was not one of them but lived there and participated in our activities. I was labeled the community Passivist. Not pacifist, Passivist. They said I was the opposite of an activist, therefore, Passivist. But that is another story. One of the community members liked to go into town from our space on the outskirts of Hoosier National Forest on Tuesday nights to go to Tortilla Flats for Taco Tuesday- tacos for $1.00. I could usually be talked into going. I never quite got the point of a taco without cheese, but the meatless part didn’t faze me. One night while seated outside on their terrace with white iron table and chairs, we were talking about why we feel the need to identify as vegan, as opposed to just not eating meat or dairy and when we feel moved to do so, choose to eat it in special situations. She said something to me that felt very profound, “Michael, for me it is easier to just to make the decision to not eat meat or dairy products than to have make the decision before every meal. It is just easier this way. To be vegan, this is how to do it. It solves all the questions.” I think this is how most of us go through life- the this is how to do it system of life.

In Korea, this seems to be more so than most places. Koreans in general seem to embrace the notion of one way to do everything. The say hello all in the same exact tone and cadence. They say goodbye in the exact same tone and cadence. Mood, affect, relationship or environment do not matter, it is always said the same way by pretty much everybody- one tone for men and one tone for women. Done. This is how to do it. When being taught how to say hello my first day and by every single person thereafter, they all demonstrated the exact same tone and cadence for saying hello and made me practice it that exact way. Until less than ten years ago, every boy and girl in Korea had the same haircuts-one for boys and one for girls and each had their own uniforms. This is how to do it if you are a child in Korea. Done.

A friend was aware a few weeks back that it was the anniversary of my mothers passing. She asked, “Are you going to Church tonight?”

“NO. I will light a candle at home and say a prayer.”

“Can I join you?”

“Yes, I would like that. Thank you.”

Around 9:00 that night, she rings my doorbell and I open the door and she is standing there with sad expression holding a large grocery bag. “I brought you some fruit.” She hands me the bag and I look inside and there are oranges, kiwi and strawberries. She knows how much I like fruit.

“WOW. Thank you! Do you want to come in?”

“No. I can’t. It is Korean culture. Sorry.”

“Oh, OK. Well thanks for the fruit and the thought. See you tomorrow.”

“OK, hope you feel Better. See you tomorrow.” And she leaves. At another conversation she explains how she thought she would be able to join me with her sister but her sister could not come. And in Korean culture a woman cannot be in a room alone with a man that is not her husband. Done. This is how to do it. I knew this fact of Korean culture, although more rare today than twenty-five years ago, but did not think that applied to prayer and memorials but hey, it is Korean culture. Done.


Non-Korean: “Why do you not hug or have physical contact with your friends?”

Korean Native: “It is Korean culture. Why do you and your friends hug each other all the time?”

Non-Korean: “It is what we do as humans.”

Korean Native: “Really? Humm. We are human and we do not do this.”


Why do we grip so tightly to this need to have one way to do things? We are we so afraid if living without prescribed rules, mores and laws? Are we that fearful of what we are capable of? If so, do these rules really keep those dark desires and longings from being expressed? Or are they the cause of the outward expression themselves? Do Catholic girls who go away to college get pregnant so quickly because they are sheltered from the knowledge and experiences to deal with their feelings and actions or is it hidden desires that finally are expressed?

Boy: “Why do you spend an hour getting ready every day?”

Girl: "This is what girls do. Why do you play sports every day?"

Boy: "Because this is what boys do."


White Person: "Why do you talk like that?"

Black Person: "Why do you talk like that?"


Person from Culture A: “Why do you eat the skin on the apple?”

Person from Culture B: “It is where all the vitamins are and it tastes good.”

Person from Culture A: “No, the skin is bad for you, you shouldn’t eat it.


French Chef: “Why do you serve the vegetable salad after the meal?”

Italian Chef: “To help you digest your meal. Why do you serve it before the meal?”

French Chef: “To help you digest the meal.”


If there is one thing that will push me towards definitely making the decision to not renew my contract and stay another year, it is the exact phrase, It is Korean culture. It is not that the social rules or mores themselves are that troublesome for me, it is the blind obedience to living a certain way for no reason other than it is what we do. I ache every time I hear this phrase. It is what is wrong with every ‘developed’ society, this need to set life up to be a certain way with no or little room for personal or spiritual growth, guidance or direction. Love and Compassion lose out to this is how we do it. God takes a back seat to social programming and acceptance. Have we completely lost touch with our primal sense of being?

Michael: “Why do you keep giving different versions of the same example?”

Michael: “Because this is what I do. It is how I do it.” Done. This must be how to do it.

Not with the Door Open Young Man

I was having a conversation with a female Korean friend over lunch the yesterday. We shared some brown rice that I over steamed, Kuk (light soup) and several Panchan (side dishes). I thought this an excellent opportunity to dig into some social questions I had in my ‘whenever I get a chance’ section of the brain waiting for a willing informant on Korean culture. I was ready to seize the moment like the shark I can be at times.

But first we had some business to discuss. I was meeting a mutual person few know for language exchange later on that evening and needed to work out the details since she does translating via phone for us sometimes. Like most folks learning a foreign language, my exchange partner does better in person with understanding me where she can utilize facial expressions, energy, hand signals and lip reading to aid her comprehension of words and phrases. My friend asked, “Where do you want to meet her tonight, that same coffee shop you went to before you went to Malaysia again? You both liked it there.” We did, but caffeine at night is not something that is supportive of positive circadian rhythms for folks like me. So, with ignorance and naiveté as my guides I asked what I thought to be a reasonable question, “What about my apartment? I do not have a good table for us to work on but the floor would be fine.”

“No michael, she cannot do that.”

Wanting more information and an explanation, Curious George became my next guide into ignorance, “Why not?” Simple, direct and to the point.

“Michael, in Korean culture, a woman cannot be in a man’s apartment or room unless they are married or there is another woman present.”

Stunned and a little embarrassed, I proceeded with clarification to make certain I didn’t get things lost in translation, “You mean that you or her can never come to my place for dinner, to watch TV or drink tea without the other one present?” I was hopeful there was a communication problem.

“No. The only way is if we leave the door completely open so that your neighbors can see in.”

“You are kidding right?” Still hopeful but starting to fade.

“No, I am not kidding Michael! Korean women cannot go to a man’s room or he cannot come into ours until we are married.”

“So your boyfriend has never been to your room?” Reaching now, knowing they have been best friends for seven years and a couple for the last year.

“No.” I gulp and try not to let the Kimchi in my mouth choke me. I succeeded at that endeavor but am struggling to swallow with the deeper one.

“Really?” I had nothing else.

“Michael. We can’t be seen with a man on the floor of his room or on the couch without another woman present unless we leave the door open. People will think something is happening. And it is also for the girl’s safety too. Bad things happen to girls when they are left alone with guys with the door shut.” She hesitates reflectively, “Do women do this in America?”

I am able to answer without laughing at her, Koreans or American values and boundaries or the lack of them. I silently reflect on how many different women’s couches and assorted other sleeping arrangements I have been offered and accepted through The CouchSurfing Project in the last year. “Yes, all the time. It is very common now for men and women to even share apartments together as friends. We hang out together at each other’s places all the time and it is not a big thing for a guy or girl to just crash at the friend’s home if they are too tired to go home or something. It is very normal in America. I know that some married women will not be alone with a man that is not their husband down South but I think that is even becoming rare these days.”

“Really?” Her face looked like she just saw a ghost, maybe two.

“Is this about rumors and gossip?”

“Yes, a lot if it is about rumors and gossip. If people say the wrong things about a girl she may not be able to get married.” My turn to wear the ‘I just saw a ghost or two look’.

We finished lunch with more digestible topics like children, English, Hangeul and Kimchi. But is stuck with me all day! At night, after our language exchange session at the coffee shop, I asked my language partner who does not command the English language as well at this point about this conversation. It took nearly five tries to communicate the content enough for her to understand. Her reply put this whole thing to bed for me, errr, maybe not a good choice of words. “No Michael. A woman cannot do that Michael. I do not know why but it is never allowed.”

“So you or her will never be able to come to my place across the street from both of you and eat dinner or watch a movie with me and talk? Ever?”

“No Michael. I am sorry but we cannot do that. It is Korean culture. I do not know why but it is this way Michael.”

I shared with her the part of my earlier discussion about safety and gossip. “Yes, that must be why Michael.”

“This makes me sad.” I stopped there.

I am still sad a day later. Partially since I cannot hang out with my friends individually and I for the most part, do not like crowds larger than two people. That is the self-centered sadness. The greater ache is that of social norms that prevent love, friendship and relationships based on gossip and perceived or potential safety hazards. Have we not gotten past some of this yet? How can a college professor still not be able to keep male friendships and maintain her social and professional status? AAAHHHHHHH!

I am sad, very sad. I was happier standing in my cultural bliss of ignorance less than thirty-six hours ago.

sarcasm enters stage left and right

Like the South Beach Diet for those who think “thin is in”, the low-casm diet, sarcasm that is, has stripped off pounds of negativity so quickly I forgot what I looked like with the extra weight. But like all fad diets, the low-casm diet imploded when faced with a free crème Berlet or Coffee Heath Bar Crunch ice cream from Michael’s Frozen Custard in Wisconsin. In this case, the desert of choice was keeping company with those who value sarcasm above all other forms of communication- English-speaking white people.

This weekend I was visiting a friend in Busan, South Korea during the national holiday Chusak. It is the Korean version of Thanksgiving that includes visiting and honoring ancestors passed. This weekend, I certainly honored ghosts of sarcasm passed when giving the opportunity. I was amazed at just how effortlessly it flowed out of mouth like waffles and vanilla ice cream dripping out the corners on an eighty-degree night in Seaside Heights, New Jersey. Yes, sarcasm is back.

I had no idea how foolish I was in believing the progress in letting go of the darkest form of humor had nothing to do with me or any miraculous leap in spiritual development. It was simply a case of not having accessible anyone who speaks enough English to understand sarcasm if I chose to express it. No growth, no step up in commitment, no crossing of the Threshold- just no vehicle to harness the hidden and suppressed hate, anger and resentment in disguise known as sarcasm. If you are trying to shed sarcasm from your daily diet; I can offer the quickest low-casm diet on the market- move to a country where no one speaks your language and it will fall away like The Atkins Diet with the same results until the source of the problem returns; then every inch of unnecessary cellulite regrows itself and looks less appealing than it did when it was part of your natural disposition. I now know what I look like without sarcasm; warm, soft, gentle, open; and putting on the same old tattered coat will never feel as comfortable or acceptable again.

It is time to let go of these extra pounds of weight that I no longer need to survive or navigate my way through the world. Goodbye sarcasm, I bid you farewell. I am sure when I am not paying attention, I will embrace you like an old friend who still owes me the six hundred dollars he borrowed from in 1989 when his father died and I helped pay his family’s mortgage so they would not have to find a new home.

Hello warmth and vulnerability. I want to introduce myself; my name is Michael and I have looked forward to meeting you for many years. I hope we become close friends.

7,800 Miles?

Dunkin Donuts, KFC, MacDonalds, Apple Mall, Starbucks, Krispy Kreme, Cafe Latte, suburban clones, OMG, etc.
Isn't this what i left home to get away from?

Augsut 7, 2008- Seoul (Bandung), South Korea