They really do all look alike...on TV anyway.
Korean TV is surgery-obsessed: I have seen eyes made so
alarmingly wide that it would put anime characters to shame. It does not make
for confidence building. Everyone gets their eyelids done. Now, even the
men.
So put away your sunglasses. Only people with something to
hide wear shades on the street. Maybe I just want to block out the sun and
stares? Alternately, old lady ojimas love to wear Terminator-sized visors with
skin-colored bib masks on their daily walks and cyclists wrap their entire
bodies in Spandex and bandanna anything exposed beneath their sunglasses. Nobody
really bicycle-commutes.
Think you’re a well-adjusted independent woman of the world?
No one cares if you’ve made a life for yourself and are earning truckloads of
cash. Mothers all over would really prefer it if you just permed your hair and
found a husband.
In the suburb of Buchon, the city finally got around to
planting some trees fifteen years ago, but birds are still scarce since the
city is want to blast DEET or PEET or whatever it is down these streets. Even as
the trucks roll pass, mothers will stand idly by as their children play, the
spray navigating through their midst.
But in Seoul, the fish are back in the Han’s tributaries and
gobbled up by ducks and egrets alike. Dragonflies swarm the riverside, magpies
squawk in the trees. Cosmos sweep across coastlines and mountain valleys. Cars
do not honk whether you’re holding up traffic on a slow hill-climbing bicycle,
or crossing the street on cane at the burning end of a red light. That courtesy
is shared by pedestrians who wait fully on the sidewalk on even traffic-less
streets for the light to change. For the most part.
Wifi networks have boring names like MyNet_82 or
HelloWirelessA769. Nobody uses email; app-messaging rules the land. TVs can
swivel by remote. Every commercial features a pretty lady making a pouty face. Variety
shows OD on after effects.
Places are navigated by villages: my sister didn’t even know
what cross streets she lived on after six years in the same apartment. Cars
come standard with GPS that scolds you in a cute child’s voice if you’re
driving over the speed limit. Yuke ship, yuke ship, yuke ship! Sixty, sixty,
sixty! Alternately, making the correct turn makes you a winner — ding ding
ding! Streets might dead end without notice, but at least apartment complexes
have their names emblazoned on their pastel exteriors. Keypads have replaced
key entry.
Fashion runs all over the place. None of it indicative of
any ties to specific cultural niches or age groups. Tie dye skirts and leopard
print leggings for ojimas, hiking gear for the fit, sneakers and sports sandals
go with any outfit.
The prevailing furniture style hews heavily toward 17th c. European with a shoehorn of eighties modern. Rhinestones have replaced old-timey
mother-of-pearl inlays, multi-sectioned sofas offer extra, extra, extra oomph.
In the artist village of Haeiri, an Ikea is opening among bourgie, wood
slatterned minimalist homes.
Recently another Northener defected. North Korea may have as
many as twenty more infiltration tunnels aimed toward Seoul. A baby was born.
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