Category Archives: South Korea
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Patbingsu With A Twist
Patbingsu With A Twist
By Nina Choi Zaldivar, age 14, Illinois
“I am a fourteen year old high school freshman living in Chicago, Illinois. Half Korean and half Argentinian, I love connecting to the cuisines of both of my cultures. I wrote the attached piece, Patbingsu, inspired by my desire to explore my cultural identity through food, specifically, delicious desserts!”
During middle school, my cousin Audrey and I figure skated at a suburban North Shore camp where most of the coaches and skaters were white. We slept over at our Korean grandparents’ house for a shorter commute to camp, where our grandparents cherished every moment with us, their lovely granddaughters. My grandmother expressed her love through her Korean cooking: kalguksu (noodles with beef broth), bulgogi(sweetened beef), fishcakes, chapchae (sweet sesame glass noodles), chapssaltteok (rice cake with sweet red bean paste), and my favorite, patbingsu.
Patbingsu, pronounced pot-bing-soo, is a summertime red bean shaved ice dessert. “Pat” means red bean in Korean, and “bingsu” is the shaved ice part. Most bingsusare made with shaved ice, but my grandparents introduced an American touch of lemon-flavored Italian ice, which adds a light, citrusy note. On top of the ice, you layer a sweet, earthy, and creamy red bean paste and a variety of fruits—my favorite are grapes and strawberries, which add a crunchy texture. Finally, you sprinkle soft, chewy mini rainbow mochi among the fruit on top. The harmony of lemon ice melting with the red bean paste turns into a symphony with a bite of strawberry and mochi.
Every morning our grandparents fed us a Korean breakfast and our grandpa drove us to the skating rink, our Korean lunches wrapped securely in our rolling ice skating bags, where we were met by a chilly blast of air. During lunch, our friends pulled out peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with a Capri Sun, while I opened my bulgogialong with rice and gim (dried seaweed).
The pungent smell traveled across the table, the conversation skipping a beat while my friends noticed the difference. I felt humiliated, and then guilty about my embarrassment because I was betraying my Korean-ness. Ashamed of feeling ashamed, I quietly ate my bulgogi and rejoined the conversation about Taylor Swift’s Reputation Tour.
At the end of each day of skating, I’d collapse at my grandparents’ kitchen counter where my grandmother greeted me in her floral blouse with faded pastel slippers, having lovingly prepared chopped fruit for patbingsu. “Muhguh chigoom!” she’d command—Eat now!—as she handed me a clear, square floral bowl full of freshly assembled patbingsu.Relieved to be home, I’d take the cold treat to the backyard where I’d devour the tangy and sweet patbingsu. My devoted grandmother never denied my request for a second serving, even though it was always smaller than the first.
My life consists of two worlds: the traditional Korean world, and the mainstream American one. Whenever I taste patbingsu, I am transported to the summers of my middle school, smelling the sweetness of the breeze in my grandparents’ backyard, enjoying the flavors of the lemon Italian ice melting into the red bean paste. Patbingsu is my place of comfort and security where I can be unconditionally accepted as both Korean and American.
Recipe for Patbingsu with Italian Ice (makes 1-2 servings)
This refreshing patbingsu recipe with lemon italian ice is courtesy of the Choi grandparents. For the fruit, I recommend fruits that are ripe and in season. I prefer using a variety: grapes, strawberries, watermelon, kiwi, and blueberries.
Ingredients:
⅓ cup lemon Italian Ice ¼ cup sweetened red bean paste ¼ cup fresh fruit 1 ½ tablespoon mini mochi (sweet rice cake)
Instructions:
- Add the Italian Ice then red bean paste into a bowl.
- Cut up fresh fruit into bite size cubes then add to the bowl.
- Add the mochi and serve.
Goldilocks Zone and the Three Planets
Goldilocks Zone and the Three Planets
Have you ever heard of the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears? In the story, Goldilocks sneaks into a bear family’s house and comes across three bowls of porridge. She finds that the first one is too hot, the second one too cold, and the third one is just right. Interestingly, there is also a principle called the “Goldilocks zone” in astrobiology. The Goldilocks zone (or habitable zone) is a space shaped like a doughnut around a star, where the temperature is “just right” for water to remain liquid, signaling the potential for life. In our solar system, the Goldilocks zone is a doughnut-shaped area between Venus and Mars’s orbit, with our earth in the middle. The only habitable planet orbiting the Sun is Earth, but there could be thousands of other exoplanets in the universe that have the conditions for liquid water. We can’t be sure yet, but some might even have life.
One example of an exoplanet that suits the Goldilocks principle is Proxima Centauri B. Proxima Centauri is a red dwarf star that is the closest star to our sun by a distance of 4.2 light-years. Although Proxima Centauri B lies in the habitable zone and could have an atmosphere and liquid water, there are obstacles that make it harder for people to settle there. For one, Proxima Centauri B suffers from overwhelming stellar wind pressures from its star. Also, as the planet might be tidally locked to its star, meaning that the same side faces the star at all times, one side might be boiling and the other extremely cold. As of now, we are unsure of whether the planet is rocky, icy, or gaseous. However, because the planet is very close to Earth, it might be the first exoplanet for humans to visit, so we should keep it in mind.
Another example of an exoplanet in the Goldilocks zone is Trappist-1e. Located about 40 light-years from Earth, its star Trappist-1 is a red dwarf star that weighs 0.09 times the Sun’s mass. All of Trappist-1’s seven planets have rocky surfaces like Earth and almost all have water in vapor, liquid, or solid form, which make humans look for opportunities to settle there. Out of these seven planets, Trappist-1e has the best chance of being habitable. Trappist-1e has an ocean and land, and if it has an atmosphere similar to that of Earth, people might be able to live there without gas masks or space suits. One interesting fact is that because Trappist-1 and its planets were formed 3 billion years earlier than our solar system, they might even support life that is more evolved than humans!
The last planet we’ll talk about was recently discovered in January 2020. Orbiting around the star TOI 700, TOI 700 d is the first earth-sized exoplanet discovered in the Goldilocks zone. TOI 700’s other two planets are so close to the star that all their water will boil away, while TOI 700 d luckily sits in the habitable zone with liquid water. Out of all the exoplanets in their star’s habitable zones, there aren’t many with the same size as Earth, which makes TOI 700 d one of the best options for settling. However, the distance of 101 light-years hinders us from visiting in the near future.
All three of these exoplanets have a possibility for harboring life. Even though the possibility that any of them are habitable for humans is very slim, we will continue our discovery of exoplanets. Only about 30 years have passed since we first discovered planets outside our solar system. This is only a start, and we can hope that astronomers will find a new exoplanet with the same conditions as Earth. Who knows? Maybe someday in the far future we will settle on a Goldilocks planet outside our solar system.
By Evan Jee, age 12, grade 6, South Korea. Evan writes: “I am interested in this topic of studying space and planets in school classes. And I usually read science novels or watch movies to understand the detailed aspects. As an international school student, I sometimes have time to discuss with foreign friends as well.”
References and Recommended Resources:
- NASA May Have Found the Goldilocks Planet of Goldilocks Planets: TOI 700d https://time.com/5763768/toi-700-d-goldilocks-planet/
- Earth, our Goldilocks Planet; Datasets from ‘Science on a Sphere’ https://sos.noaa.gov/catalog/datasets/earth-our-goldilocks-planet/
- Goldilocks Meets Desidero by Carl Spetzler, 2011
Art Essay by Jaeyeon Kim
Life is a journey.
“Standing at the many crossroads of life, my decisions would add up, changing my life and being. Fortunately, my friends and family have often been on hand to support and guide me through the toughest decisions and transitions. When it comes to art, I draw upon memories for inspiration and create with a strong sense of appreciation for the significant others and cross-cultural influences in my life. In this sense, my works are a collection of nostalgic thoughts, emotions, and experiences, as I look back on my life and hone in on influential fragments of time and space that have come together to define me as a human being.”
Jaeyeon is a fine artist who works to claim spaces for the public to engage with art without difficulty. Her work often revolves around detailed paintings, installation art and sculptures, which become a place for social engagement and visual communication.
—Jaeyeon Kim, 19, was born in South Korea, and came to the U.S. as an international student at the age of 15. She currently studies at the Parsons School of Design in New York.
1. CrossRoad Korea
Seoul, where I was born, is a big city. There are many cars and people at the crosswalk. When I saw a crosswalk, its ‘X’ shape reminded me of our society. Our community is connected like the shape of ‘X’ and also has a system like a red/green light. Also, everyone has a different destination in life.
2. Subway Korea
In Korea, the subway is the lifeblood of the city, as in other countries. Many people go to the heart of the city by subway, and it is always crowded. Koreans liken these crowds to the appearance of ‘beansprouts’ which have to grow in a dense environment and survive well in it. I capture a scene of the subway and its passengers. People in the subway have various backgrounds–different ages, genders, occupations, attires, and emotions. Most people feel tired but, well, there is a will to live today.
3. Identities
There are many identities within us. Regardless of age, from a girl to a lady, there are various images of women in one person, based on the situation and culture.
—Art and writing by Jaeyeon Kim, 19, was born in South Korea, and came to the U.S. as an international student at the age of 15. She currently studies at the Parsons School of Design in New York.
It was Good to be Back
By Benjamin Kwack, age 9, Illinois.
Hi. My name is Billy and my family was visiting Seoul which is in Korea and I loved everything about it. As soon as I heard that we were staying here for the entire summer vacation plus three months into the school year, I was so excited. Partially because I was going to not have three months of school. But anyway. I was going to be in Seoul because ever since the Korean war started and the fighting began, America had sided with South Korea. My father, who actually had joined the army 15 years ago, had to stay in South Korea to help, just in case the Northern part of Korea attacked again. I hoped I would enjoy my time, especially on the holidays. In America, holidays were still fun but this was a whole new country with different traditions so I couldn’t wait to be in Seoul.
The first holiday I witnessed was the New Year. Everyone stayed up really late until after midnight and in the wee hours of the morning. I was sleepy but tried to stay awake just to see what happens. I saw a big bell that was right next to a street and people had gathered around, cheering as they jumped out of their houses running to it. The only light was the light from thousands of cellphones, and they glowed brightly in the dark. The night was silent until somebody started talking into the mic. I felt a little nervous. The person with the mic stopped talking as someone rang the gigantic bell with a mallet that was hooked onto a chain. The big shouts of celebration filled the air, and children ran around with big smiles on their faces. I heard noises like, “It’s the New Year already!” and “See you next year!” The bell rang 33 times before it stopped. The sound of the heavy gong filled my head even after it ended but I was too excited, so it actually didn’t really matter.
Finally, everyone went back into their houses and went to sleep. When we woke up in the morning, my mom realized something. She said that we should have gotten a traditional food, called Tteokguk (It is a soup with sliced rice cakes inside it). I walked up to my mom and said that we had to try some of the soup because if this was a tradition, then I wanted to try it. She said, “Of course Billy. Why not?” So that was the reason why we rode to the supermarket in a taxi. The supermarket wasn’t crowded because everyone already had Tteokguk prepared a few days before. Luckily for us, one container of Tteokguk was still there sitting on the shelves. We quickly bought it. The cashier said, “Annyeong.” We said that we didn’t speak Korean so it was kind of difficult talking to the cashier but we finally managed to understand each other.
After we were done, I skipped out of the supermarket, and we rode another taxi home. It was a while for us to get back there but we unloaded the food and started cooking. I drooled. We waited and it was finally cooked thoroughly. The soup had a natural taste that felt rich as I rolled the pieces of sliced rice cakes around in my mouth. The soup warmed me inside and made me feel calm after all the excitement. I was thinking about the New Year. I tried some more, and it felt plain but at the same time, strong. I saved some for later; I didn’t want to eat all the Tteokguk in one meal.
Then, I watched as people came back out onto the streets again. But this time, a lot of older people also walked onto the streets. I followed them with my mom and my dad. The children bowed to their elders saying, “Saehae Bok mani badeuseyo!” and the elders smiled back, and they gave the children a little money. This went on for a while and when the last coins rattled, I held my breath with a little disappointment because I thought everything was done.
It wasn’t. There was one other thing. It must have been really meaningful because everyone went to visit their grandfathers and grandmothers or their ancestors who had passed away by going to their ancestor’s graveyards. Their family members who had lived in other cities also came and joined them. They laid food by the graveside and prayed for them. The family members chatted for a while and ate some of the food together and waved to each other for a long time before finally leaving. I was struck with a little confusion because this was a new thing for me, and I only knew a little of what was happening. That’s why everything made me feel awestruck and amazed. I actually liked the Korean way of celebrating the New Year. It soon became dark, and I went to bed and gazed up at the ceiling smiling waiting for the next holiday.
“What?!!!!!” I yelled waking up the next morning. My dad had announced that he had received an early retirement. It was such an honor to turn it down. Plus, my dad had been wanting to go back to America as soon as possible. I just sat there on my bed and scowled, but there was nothing I could do.
I gloomily walked to the airport with the family, boarded the plane and looked out the window. I had actually begun to like Korea and didn’t want to leave. Helplessly, I just flew back to America and cried to myself.
20 years later…
Billy had been in the army for four years. He had been sent to Korea to serve there. The happy smiles and laughs struck him and he smiled. It was good to be back!
“My name is Benjamin Kwack. I am 9 years old and I really like to draw, to do math and most of all, I like to write. I like to write fantasy, fiction and I really enjoyed reading informational books in class this school year.
In my story, ‘It was Good to be Back ,’ the main character, Billy, is a boy from America and his dad was in the army for 15 years. His dad was sent to South Korea to serve the army. Billy enjoyed the Korean New Year celebration because this was a new country with a new culture and traditions for him.
I wrote most of the story from Billy’s point of view except for the last two lines. I thought that way, it would seem special and more like a real story.”
Our Awareness of Zoom Fatigue
By Ryan Kim, age 16, Seoul, South Korea.
The rampant spread of COVID-19 caught even the experts by surprise. Without even direct contact, by simply being in the same room together, many became helplessly vulnerable to the pandemic. In order to mitigate the spread of the virus, we all had to adapt to a new norm. As the lockdown dragged on, we became more dependent on video conferencing platforms than ever before. Applications such as Zoom have boomed over the last year, providing an alternative solution for activities that once require face-to-face interactions. Many expect that these platforms can replace the traditional interaction where physical presence was once required. Despite all the positive aspects of Zoom and similar platforms, we need to understand that these platforms are viable alternatives we have only in the context of the pandemic. They should not and can not permanently replace the traditional human-to-human interaction.
Despite the Zoom overload, the term “Zoom fatigue” is not familiar to many. In February of this year, Stanford University researchers uncovered a new phenomenon called “Zoom fatigue.” The unnatural close-ups of the face and the simultaneous view of others and self are unnatural to the human brain causing psychological overload and fatigue. Because of how Zoom became the new normal of our life, we have been inconspicuous of how dominant and fatiguing the effects are to us. Many are unaware of the feelings of exhaustion after repeated exposure to video-conferencing apps.
In this new reality, as students are Zoom’s dominant users, they are the ones that are significantly burdened with Zoom fatigue. In virtual school, every day seems quotidian and senseless, slowly yet rapidly draining the most pivotal time of our lives. The small chatter among friends before class, walking down the hallway in between classes, and even the three-dimensional experience of being surrounded by other peers seem trivial and inconsequential until they are removed. They are a big part of the mental and psychological breaks available to students as we engage in learning.
Institutions expecting students to follow along in the virtual setting with the same effectiveness and focus as the offline is similar to expecting a runner to run the same distance and pace while carrying a weight on his back. In these challenging times, there are no perfect solutions. I am not bashing platforms such as Zoom, nor am I suggesting that we should not have virtual classes. However, we do need to be aware and mindful of the new challenges we face in these alternatives. We must treasure the little things we did not notice until they became no longer available to us. Virtual interactions should not replace physical interactions. And most importantly, Zoom fatigue is not an excuse.
By Ryan Kim, age 16, Seoul, South Korea. He entered this article for the 2021 Youth Honor Awards program.
Work Cited:
University, Stanford. “Four Causes for ‘Zoom Fatigue’ and Their Solutions.” Stanford News, 1 Mar. 2021, news.stanford.edu/2021/02/23/four-causes-zoom-fatigue-solutions/.
Singer, Natasha. “Online Schools Are Here to Stay, Even After the Pandemic.” The New York Times, The New York Times, 11 Apr. 2021, www.nytimes.com/2021/04/11/technology/remote-learning-online-school.html?searchResultPosition=6.
A New Home
James was lying on the back seat of the car with his feet outstretched. He looked at his mother through the rearview mirror to see if she was watching, and then he peeked through the zipper on his bag to check on his phone. The phone was at seven percent–James was pleased that his tactics had worked. He had set his screen brightness to the maximum and turned on his mobile flashlight when he had gotten into the car at school.
“Mom, my phone died already. It was like fifty percent when I got in the car!”
“Give me the phone.” James’ mom snatched it from his hands and inspected it. “How did the battery die so quickly?”
“I don’t know! Why can’t you just buy me a new phone?”
“I bought this for you a week ago and you’re telling me you already need a new one? We’ll deal with this later; for now, let’s just get going.”
“But Mom, I need my phone for school tomorrow and all the Apple shops close at seven.”
“I can always buy you a flip phone or give you your dad’s old one.”
“But Mom, I need…”
“Not now, James.”
Impatiently, James tossed his phone onto the seat beside him. The real reason he wanted a new phone was that it had gotten scratched in his bag, but now he might be stuck with his dad’s old phone.
Instead of turning the car back on, James’ mom pulled the key out of the ignition.
“Why’d we stop?”
“The streets are too narrow. We’ll get out here, travel by foot. The apartment is over there,” she said.
James looked around. Unlike downtown Seoul, the streets were dark and the sidewalks were empty. The usually smooth pavement in the road was severely cracked and gray.
“Mom, why aren’t we going home?” he asked.
“I already told you. Weren’t you listening? We’re going to look at a few homes and hopefully make a deposit on one.”
“We already have a home. Why are we buying a house in this filthy neighborhood?”
James already knew exactly why his mom was trying to buy a house. He was only hoping that she would realize how ridiculous the whole idea sounded. She had explained how Korea’s taxes were unreasonably high but that because of a loophole, families could save a little bit on their taxes by adding a second address and pretending to live separately.
With an irritated sigh, James got out of the car and dragged his feet through the streets. A sudden movement caught him by surprise. On the other side of the tall gate he was passing through, he saw a young boy staring right back at him. James took a few steps back. The boy was wearing sandals and two t-shirts in the middle of a cold winter afternoon.
“Hello,” said the boy quietly. He awkwardly scratched his left ear and continued staring.
James had never engaged in a conversation with someone so poor. He was unsure what to say, so he remained silent. After a few seconds, James turned away and ran to catch up with his mom.
Entering the building, the first thing he noticed was the lack of an elevator. Wasn’t this apartment supposed to be on the third floor? As he pulled himself up the stairs with a scowl on his face, James could smell a different odor on every floor. A strong smell of cats on one floor, then burnt plastics on the next.
The stairs opened directly onto the roof. All there was to see up here were a few empty flower pots and a greasy grill.
“Why are we on the roof? Where’s the third floor?”
“This is it. This is our home.”
“The roof? The roof is our home?”
“There it is over there. Isn’t it cute?”
James looked doubtfully at his mom’s face, checking to see if she was cracking a joke, but she seemed to be completely serious. Was she delusional? Then James noticed the small shack in the center of the roof. He walked over to it and cranked open the rusty door that had drooped and embedded itself into the floor. Inside, there was barely enough room for a mattress and a sink. Behind it was a separate, even tinier room with a toilet and a showerhead attached above.
“How do you expect anyone to live here?”
“Well, we won’t really be living here. We’re just here to see what we’re buying.”
Right as James was about to exit the shack, he accidentally kicked a can of cola. The can was nearly empty and only a few drops spilled out.
“Do people live here?” he asked.
“This has been a home to many people. The most recent people living here were a couple, and they were fine.”
James tried to imagine how people in his neighborhood could endure living in such a small and wretched home. He remembered the foul smells coming from the floors below and wondered what the conditions were like on those levels. The buildings to the right and left–an entire landscape of old, deteriorating apartments–were all homes to people without the chance to enjoy anything that he had.
After not even four minutes in their new home, James and his mom decided to stroll back to the car. After all, there wasn’t much to look at. When he reached the car, he paused and looked over his shoulder. He had hoped the boy from earlier would still be there, but he seemed to have gone back inside to avoid the cold weather. After taking off his goose-fur jacket, James gently hung it over the boy’s fence.
James’ mom was focused on her phone screen. “Hurry, Apple stores close at seven!” she said.
“What?”
“Didn’t you say you needed a new phone?”
“No, my phone’s working again,” James said as he shivered and stepped back into the car.
By Ace Yeom, age 15, Seoul, South Korea. This was selected as one of the Noteworthy Entries in our 2021 Youth Honor Awards program.
Haenyeo, the Sea Women of Korea
By Fanny Wong, New York.
Orange pumpkin-like buoys bob in the water off the island of Jeju, 55 miles off the tip of the South Korea peninsula. Baskets attached to them wait for their owners. The sea women, in groups of ten or more rise to the surface and make a distinctive whistle…“Hoowi, hoowi!” It’s an ancient technique to expel carbon dioxide from their lungs and to alert one another of their presence. They’ve been under water for 30 seconds or longer. It’s time to breathe. Everyone is accounted for. No accidental death today.
The women wade ashore or climb onto a waiting boat, hauling their baskets of the day’s underwater harvest. They take off their old-fashioned headlight-shaped scuba masks to reveal lined and weathered faces. These women are old! Who are they? What do they do underwater?
For hundreds of years, the sea women, known as the haenyeo, dive as deep as forty feet to harvest seaweed, sea urchins, sea cucumbers, octopus, shellfish and abalone from the ocean floor. They free dive without an oxygen tank, equipped only with fins, gloves, and a belt of lead weights to assist diving. They use different simple tools; such as a small harpoon for piercing fish, a sickle for collecting seaweed, a long hoe for prying abalone of rocks.
Jeju is a 700 square miles island of volcanic rock and soil, off the southwestern coast of southwest Korea. It has a beautiful coastline and is listed on UNESCO’s World Nature Heritage. Windy and rocky, there isn’t much land for productive farming, except for mandarin orange farms. But the sea provides an alternative farm.
Life of the haenyeo is hard. They harvest from five to seven hours a day, about 18 days per month, depending on the weather and tide conditions. It was only in the 1970s that the government subsidized wetsuits, which protect them from the cold water. The women used to dive in loose cotton clothing and could stay in the water up to an hour during the winter months. They had to sit by a fire to dry off before jumping back into the water. Wearing wet suits, now they can earn more by staying longer in the water, and to dive into old age.
Underwater is a dangerous place to make a living. The divers must be careful not to push too far for that prized abalone. Deprived of oxygen, a diver can suffer a heart attack. She must know when to have enough breath to come up slowly, and perhaps give up a precious find stuck under a rock. One side effect of longer dives is decompression sickness. They also contend with dangers, such as jellyfish, poor weather, big fish and even an occasional shark.
Most of the divers are old, with the oldest in their eighties, and even nineties. The average age is seventy. These elderly women learn from a young age to understand water pressure, oxygen level in their lungs and resurfacing distance. The girls as young as eleven start to learn to dive in shallow water, then in more challenging depths. Some women have dived all through pregnancy and given birth on a boat! This job used to be handed down from mother to daughter, but now, the young women prefer a more comfortable life in the island’s two cities or on the mainland. From more than 14,000 in the 1970s, there are fewer than 2500 haenyeo today. Some women abandoned the dangerous sea diving in old age. They and the ones who died were not replaced.
The haenyeo culture relies on cooperation and hierarchy. The beginners and the older women belong to the bottom level of divers, the hagun. The middle level junggun diver can hold her breath between 40 seconds to a minute. The top-level sangun diver can work the most difficult areas, dive deepest and may be able to hold her breath up to two minutes. The more experienced offer their guidance to the less experienced. It can take a new diver five years to be fully competent.
The women generally sell their catch through a fishery cooperative in each village. There are about 100 cooperatives. Each cooperative has its own regulations about the boundary of the fishing ground, qualification and catching methods. When a problem arises, the haenyeo get together in a form of town hall meeting to make decisions everyone understands and accepts. The community spirit is strong. Before and after a day’s work, they change their cloths in the traditional bulteok, an open-air circle marked by a 4 feet high stones wall, with a fire in the center. Recently built bulteoks are cement buildings with showers and heated dressing rooms. They chat about personal matters and issues related to work. The conversation is affectionate and warm.
A diver earns about the equivalent U.S. $12,500 a year. That’s not a lot of money for their hard work. A second job farming on small plots of land supplement their income. But they are proud to be their families’ providers. With no education, the women had little choice but follow their mothers’ footsteps. Now, they want their children and grandchildren to get a good education, even to go to a university.
Where are then men? Some elderly husbands wait on shore for their wives to return. They help lug the heavy loads onto land, help weigh and sort the catch. It wasn’t always this way. Men from Jeju harvested shellfish as far back as 1460, as mentioned in a court document. Why the change? One explanation is that in the 17th century, the men were taken away to fight Korea’s foreign wars. Another explanation is that women’s body fat enabled them to endure the cold water better. Diving for seafood became exclusively female and remains so today.
There is some stigma attached to their work. In modern South Korea, women are generally prized for being delicate. The divers are anything but delicate. They have grit, physical and mental stamina. They talk loudly on land because the build-up of air pressure in their ears means that noises are muffled. Not lady-like at all!
But, the haenyeo has gained respect in their efforts to protect the marine ecosystem. They are marine specialist by experience. Knowing the cycle of marine life, they do not over harvest. For example, abalone and conch are caught from October to June, sea urchins from May to July and sea slugs during the winter season. They don’t take anything under-sized. Even different seaweeds are harvested at specific times of the year. They are lauded for their eco-friendly methods and community involvement in managing their practices.
Normally in South Korea, men dominate, but not in Jeju. For centuries, they had high status and independence in their community. They are the breadwinners, take care of the children and make household decisions. In the male-dominated culture, they were modern before their time. Even today, when many elderly South Koreans over 65 are poor, these elderly women’s financial independence is remarkable.
The haenyeo’s legacy is not just economic. It’s social. It’s cultural. Every February in the lunar calendar, the haenyeo hold a ceremony in honor of the God of the wind, Yeongdeung. He visits Jeju Island on the first day of February. In mid-February, they send a small straw boat loaded with offerings out to sea to accompany him as he departs Jeju for the year. The women pray to the God, believing that he helps them hold their breath underwater and to keep them safe. They also pray at shrines.
Interest in the haenyeo has grown. In 2006, the Haenyeo Museum opened. It explains the history and culture through models of their traditional homes; displays boats, tools, masks and diving wear. Underwater photographers published books about them. In 2015, the Jeju government began to help pay for their accident and medical insurance. In 2016, UNESCO awarded the divers a Cultural Heritage of Humanity designation, recognition they long deserved.
But the haenyeo themselves are pessimistic about the future. Tourism is increasing and generates more revenue than the diving catch. With few young women willing to go into the profession, the culture will eventually die out. Moreover, they witness the effect of climate change in the ocean. Pollution is reducing the amount of and quality of edible sea life.
How can the haenyeo tradition be preserved in the age of modernity? Modifications can make life of the haenyeo easier and more attractive to the next generation, just as the wetsuits made a lot of difference. Perhaps something mechanical can help them lug the heavy baskets of wet seaweed and algae onto shore. A full basket of seaweed can weigh as much as 65 pounds. Better medical intervention can prevent and lessen the physical toil to their bodies. Some of the ailments include headaches, tinnitus, digestive problems and increased risk of strokes.
Meanwhile these tough women who ride motorcycles to get around remain graceful underwater ballerinas in the silence of the deep. They continue to be Jeju’s most valued treasures.
By Fanny Wong, Asian American author, New York.
A Journey Behind the Walls
Venus by Eileen Kim, age 17, South Korea 
Eileen Kim, age 17, Seoul, South Korea
A Journey Behind Walls
In recent years, the search for graffiti has taken up a big portion of my time. Within the monotony of my school routine, finding tags and art hidden in building corners or behind walls was akin to a treasure hunt. I have often taken pictures of the latest artworks I found and saved them in my photo album as if they were pieces of a collection. As an artist, I feel inspired to create my own signature style and to learn more about the interesting world of graffiti.
But, growing up in South Korea has reminded me of the impermanence of the culture here. I’ve often observed buildings being demolished and supplanted by newer, shinier structures. Stores I would visit frequently would suddenly close down, and the art that I once cherished would no longer exist. It’s unfortunate that we are so busy moving forward at a fast pace that we can’t appreciate the creations around us. Society doesn’t provide ideal conditions for graffiti in terms of conservation.
On top of the ever-changing nature of Korean street art, COVID-19 has made it even more challenging to explore as frequently as I had in the past. However, last month, I found the perfect opportunity to revisit the childlike wonder I have felt while observing graffiti. While browsing the internet, I came across tickets for URBAN BREAK Art Asia, a three-day fair showcasing street artists.
At the fair, it was almost as if time suspended, and the pandemic didn’t exist. I was surprised to see that people from all walks of life came to see the show, from teenagers donning denim bucket hats to older professionals in their weekend attire. Despite everyone wearing masks, the individuality was compelling and echoed Korean life exactly as it is—one of constant sounds, smells, and colors intermingling. The exhibit echoed the cacophony that citizens experience in their daily routine. I distinctly remember one artist playing the piano in his booth, surrounded by paintings of traditional Korean houses. Meanwhile, an underground rapper signed autographs for his fans a few booths down.
There were numerous exhilarating artists that caught my attention, but the one who stood out the most to me, personally, was a female artist named Junkhouse. Toward the end of the show, I recognized a familiar artwork hers that I’ve seen numerous times on a building during my walks home from school. Luckily, I was able to contact Junkhouse after the show, and she was more than happy to share her thought processes with me.
As Junkhouse compared graffiti in Korea to that in foreign countries, she confirmed that South Korea’s tendency of getting rid of old buildings rapidly prevents street artists from experimenting with their artwork and freely using the city as their own sketchbooks. Furthermore, with the law being strict in terms of interfering with property, young artists move further away from the traditional street art culture. Younger generation artists would rather choose social media as a way of presenting their work and connecting to the greater public.
As she spoke of her free-spirited artistic process, where she draws organic shapes onto existing structures, my mind kept going back to a recurring thought: there is always room for freedom within constraint. There exists a certain, and often justified, stereotype of Korean art as being highly elite and institutionalized. Proprietary gallery owners are often part of a closeted establishment that promote lucrative art forms, such as porcelain from the Goryeo Dynasty or paintings by artists within their inner circles. But unlike traditional art galleries holding the key to the next generation of artists, some people are ready to break the mold and directly communicate with the audience themselves—even teenagers like me.
As I reflected on my own conversation with Junkhouse and on the vibrancy of the works at the art fair, I felt encouraged to challenge my own perceptions. In a rapidly modernizing country like Korea, what would finally allow graffiti art to soar to its highest potential? As for me, what are some preconceived notions and existing barriers that prevent me from reaching my maximum potential?
The answers to both questions are yet to be found, but I am slowly on my way to discovering them. In the meantime, I have added forty new pieces of art to my virtual graffiti collection, which I can browse freely from home. These pieces serve as a reminder to seek freedom even amidst the busy days that lie ahead.
By Eileen Kim, age 17, high school junior in Seoul, South Korea. She adds:
“I am an active artist and writer who enjoys learning about the intersection of culture and the environment. Born in the United States but raised in Korea, I am a bilingual Korean and English speaker with the privilege of examining different perspectives. My interest in environmental conservation, particularly in reducing the use of plastic, has led me on many exciting journeys. Recently, using my art skills, knowledge, and love for the environment, I designed environmentally friendly, reusable masks. My ultimate goal is to create a sustainable system for the future in populated cities, such as Seoul and New York.
As an artist, I am also highly invested in the emergence of street art. In search of works from creative peers my age, I came across your magazine and felt the courage to submit some of my works. “A Journey Behind the Walls” details the street art culture in South Korea and how our strict society has led to a creative underground movement. Though street art is forced to take on a more limited form in Korea compared to other cities like New York or London, it is surprisingly pervasive and thought provoking.
I have also attached my original artworks, “Bird,” “City,’ “Cheetah,” and “Venus.” The recurring theme of these works is the impact of the climate crisis on the ecosystem, from animals and humans to the environment itself. My essay and art attempts to relate to the universal longing of community, freedom and change.”
Blindfolded
By Doeun (Jessica) Kim, 14, Manila, Philippines.
The streets of Gwangjin-gu (South Korea) rush past the bus window, the sun making Heejin’s eyes squint. The bus flits through the usual route of convenience stores and cafes while she plugs in her earphones, their tangled wires hanging against her chest. Classical music lingers while kids wander along the pavements, dragging themselves to after-school academies. The Ajummas Manning Street food carts with warm fish cake sticks dunked in broth as they count the crinkled bills, sweat creeping down their foreheads. A man in a suit sits beside her. His head leaning back and his eyes are shut. Teenage girls giggle in the back of the bus, their bangs twisted into hair rollers. They purse their bright red lips while taking selfies but Heejin ignores them because she thinks those were the kids who wouldn’t succeed. It’s her stop as she leaves the bus to her math academy.
Heejin leaves the doors of her last cram-school of the day, stretching after hours of studying. She walks home, taking out a packet of red ginseng from her backpack. She drinks it and cringes from the bitter taste. Her grandmother gave her a box of this ginseng extract for Christmas. It will help you with your studying, she said.
“Heejin-ah! Come sit, I cooked salmon,” Heejin’s mother says. She is holding a rosary, whispering prayers. Heejin drops her backpack onto her desk then sits down. Her fingers lift the metal chopsticks as she takes a piece of salmon.
“Eat a lot, it’ll help you study better.” Heejin always ate as fast as she could so she had more time to study for her exams. She leaves to her room while still chewing her food. Organizing her textbooks across her desk, she sits down as she takes out a pencil and an eraser which corners have been flattened out. She takes notes for hours, typing and deleting on her computer, the inner corners of her eyes begin to crust. The sound of the keyboard and the scratches from her pencils repeats for days and nights, until she doesn’t know how long it’s been.
It was all for Seoul National University. It would help Heejin with her future, allow her to have leisure for the rest of her life, at least that’s what her mother said.
“Endless studying would all be worth it, right? Just wait for SNU, and it will be fine”. She falls asleep and wakes up to these thoughts.
Heejin shuffles through the hallways to get to her next block. Her eyes feel heavy after the all-nighter she spent as she enters class. People’s heads are buried underneath their arms and some are sitting on their desks, complaining to their friends about their tests. Heejin sits on her desk, putting in an earbud. Behind her sits Eunjung, her pencil barely tracing on the lines of her notebook. The two were close friends since their childhood, until the rankings of the finals in junior year were posted outside the teacher’s office.
They locked arms, looking for their names on the poster. Heejin’s name was written in second place, and Eunjung’s glimmered above hers. There had been small tensions between them before, but it was the first time Eunjung had placed higher than Heejin. Heejin let go of Eunjung’s arm and said, “Maybe it’s just another sacrifice for both of us, and our future.”
After that, Heejin began to skip Saturday family reunions and church on Sundays. Instead, she always sits down and studies, letting only her classical music flow through her ears. She still goes through social media, seeing the pictures of her old friends laughing, singing karaoke and her cousins in family lunches.
It’s the night when SNU’s acceptance letters come out. Heejin’s mother and grandmother sit behind her, each squeezing her shoulders as she powers up her computer. Her fingers hovering above her keyboard, taking a deep breath before she goes through her mail. Heejin clicks on the letter from SNU as her breath pauses while she scrolls to the bottom of the letter. She only hears the shrill of cicadas from outside as she reads the words, ‘congratulations and informing you of your acceptance to SNU.’
Her mother hugs her, “you made it my Heejin, you made it.” Heejin stays still in her mother’s embrace, her eyes staring at the letter.
“Did I?” Maybe it was too good to be true. She fell silent while her mother organized a celebration dinner with the whole family.
Heejin enters the snack bar.
“Immo, can I get a coffee milk please,” she asks, placing coins onto the counter. She pops the seal of the carton with her straw, then sees Eunjung scrolling through her phone next to the tables. Heejin is about to ignore her and leave, like usual, until Eunjung asks, “I heard you got into SNU. Was everything worth it?” Heejin stops. She didn’t know.
She went to the school rooftop, walking up the steps with the unfamiliar feeling of skipping class. The door opens into the vicinity of Seoul, its hazy sky looming above the city. She sits on the ledge surrounding the rooftop. Her fingertips rest on the cement. They tap towards the end, her flesh pressing onto the ridge while Heejin stares at the door. Her fingers continue to move away from her, until they reach the edge, barely touching the ledge now. She feels a warm gust of wind passing through her palm as she stares back. Buildings leaning and pedestrians walking across the streets while staring at their phones. Where was the life here? The sun scorches the people as they complain while walking to work, parents forcing their children to study for the whole day. Heejin feels blindfolded, as if she spent her four years working for something that she didn’t want to do. She stands up and closes the door behind her. She rushes down the stairs and she promises herself to ignore the feelings that came up in the rooftop.
By Doeun Kim, age 14, Philippines. “As a young writer living in the Philippines, I am grateful for the opportunity to be able to send out works. I am a fourteen year old, born in South Korea and currently studying at the International School of Manila. Despite being Korean, English is my first language, before Korean. Attending an international school has opened my eyes towards the distinct culture every person brings. I hope that through my writing, I am able to inspire others to embrace their culture.”