Breathing down the neck much?
A genuine-question time again – if you accidentally spotted a horrendous case of Facebook’s automatic translation gone wrong, would you
- let the owner of the post know
- ignore and move on
- rate the translation low or even report it to the Facebook Help Centre
Not literally this month, but you know what I mean!
A crowd-powered travel metasearch engine that can help you pick a ticket as per your budget, not destination. 🙂 Comparable, in a sense, to Skyscanner’s ‘Still undecided? Explore our map’ service.
Last Saturday evening, on my way back home from a workshop, this notification popped up on my phone.
How the South Korean language was designed to unify (Ann Babe, BBC Travel, 18 December 2017)
Nothing in this article is new to me, but I still found it entertaining and thought-provoking to read. Perhaps the author’s self-reflection on her ‘in-between’ positionality resonated with me. Moreover, the article, especially the following passage, supports what I have long hypothesised.
There is no clear boundary between the word ‘I’ and the word ‘we’,” Choi writes in her book A Postcolonial Self. “As the usage of the words ‘we’ and ‘I’ are often interchangeable, so too is the identity of the ‘we’ often interchangeable with the identity of the ‘I.’ The meanings of ‘we’ and ‘I’ are negotiable not only in colloquial Korean usage but also in the consciousness and unconsciousness of Korean minds.”
In Korean there is this idiomatic expression of having a wide ojirap. Its literal reference is to the front flap of an upper garment, but what the expression actually means is that the person in question tends to get involved in other people’s affairs, for better or worse.
I am sure that every language on this planet has some sort of equivalent to a ‘busybody’ or a ‘nosy parker’. However, my hypothesis is that the Korean variant has its extra something, which is that the ‘ojirapper‘ genuinely thinks it is their own business when they are meddling in someone else’s, even if that someone else is a total stranger who happens to be in the same carriage of the train. To put it another way, in that momentary context, the boundaries slide, at least in the ojirapper‘s mind.
By the way, ojirap is an established word in the language; ojirapper, on the other hand, is a modern slang born and used principally online, and as you may have guessed already, its connotation is never positive.
A couple of days ago, I had an interview with a US journalist about recent developments on sexual harassment in South Korea. Our version of #metoo, if you like, which took place exactly a year prior to the Harvey Weinstein case. Those developments, often digitally mediated, appear to be empowering, as in “giving a voice to the previously voiceless“, but during the interview I found myself saying, even quite categorically, that speaking up and being heard are two different things and that seeing those courageous “silence breakers” in the US gaining public support and recognition is certainly encouraging but also a little ‘frustrating’ for victims of sexual assaults in South Korea, who had been saying the same thing all this time, if not for longer. I didn’t get to elaborate on this point as we diverged to other related phenomena such as the rise of a men’s rights movement, but by frustration I meant what Langton (2009) calls “perlocutionary frustration“, which may be experienced when one’s utterances are heard but not accepted.
I have been thinking a lot about global parallels in women’s life experience since I started looking into misogyny, online but also more broadly, in 2015, and the interview gave me extra cause for thought. Then, as if someone at SNL were telepathically in sync with me, they put on this delicious satire that summarises all. (My only complaint would be that the video is stingy with Leslie Jones’s dance moves.)
Sandwiches and actor-network theory? I had to click through. The subject is also directly concerned with me as I am a regular contributor to that £8bn-a-year industry. 8 billion!
Speaking of sandwiches, here is another one for my file. Evening Standard printed this article about ten days ago.
I was born too early to be a millennial, but that didn’t stop me from rolling my eyes. Tim Gurner and smashed avocado all over again. Then once again a pearl of wisdom was offered in response on Twitter.
A few age-related articles have flowed into my news feeds lately, including a New Yorker article “Why ageism never gets old“, criticisms against the (promotion of) the “Young Forty” discourse in Korea, and some essays on pedophilia culture such as this and this. They have come from different sources and different time points, so it feels like a coincidence, but is it? Or is this one of those moments where the gods of blogging are nudging me to write something?
All that have sprung to my mind subsequently are feel-good news stories that seemingly defy the natural and social laws of ageing.
- KBG84: Japan’s new ‘girl band’, average age 84 (The Guardian, 10 July 2015)
- RT @AJEnglish By day, this 87-year-old Japanese woman makes dumplings. By night, she’s spinning records in Tokyo’s red-light district. Meet DJ Dumpling (12 April 2017)
- Japan’s ‘golden coder’ making games apps aged 82 (BBC, 7 August 2017)
- This 89-year-old shoots playful self-portraits (PetaPixel, 15 November 2017)
Then it has struck me that these stories form a specific genre of its own. It is always Japanese obaasan. Always.
Watched Kingsman the bank holiday weekend. A few minutes in I immediately realised why I didn’t when it came out three years ago – the same reason that I don’t see any Tarantino films – but I continued on this time.
This post is a side note as I felt that the film added evidence to my long-held theory. I am not sure if you have noticed, but every network owner depicted in Hollywood cinema is evil. You will see a good lawyer every now and then, like Matt Damon, and you will see a few good politicians too. When it comes to network owners, however, every single one is evil. I have watched enough telly in my life, so I can tell you that much.