Dramatically Korean

"It is such a secret place, the land of tears." - Antoine de Saint-Exupery

 

Disclaimer: This post is in no way out to offend any Koreans or disrespect the country in whole. Sorry if I have offended anyone. I was only out to compliment. Plus, this post contains spoilers for past episodes of Lost. It is also a sad, sad entry. Proceed with caution.

 

I suspect it is the Korean's nature to be so damn heart wrenching in everything they do. There is this sadness. There is this depression. There is this morbidity. They wear it like a damp trenchcoat on a freezing winter night. What they have been through in those war torn days, tragic and heartbreak so deep and vivid, it has somehow seeped into their blood streams and genetics. Thus, blessing their generations to come with a curse they can never run away from.

They will be haunted forever.

Like every Saturday in my life here in Brisbane, I sleep in till as late as I can muster just to wake up to a freshly brewed cup of tea and piles of readings to do. This weekend for my Creative Non-Fiction class, I read about travel writing. I hesitated this article by a Korean-American woman on her trip back home to North Korea. Why? Because it is fucking long, that is why. But I was innocent, I was not out to benefit from it. At merely the third paragraph, this faceless writer managed to somehow tear open my body, reach into my heart and ow, twist it. Just like that, I was hooked. And I have to switch my mini-critique from writing about an extreme ski trip in Siberia to a country still trapped in the depressing war days.

As I read through the article, I can feel this heavy cloud of solemnity weighing down on me. I can see the pathetic state North Korea is in as I hear the writer's timid voice whisper next to my ear. Her speech tainted with a vague Korean twang. Maybe it is something fortunate that I do not know how she looks like. She may turn out to be those with sadness gleaming in their almond-shaped eyes. Her thin lips chapped and only pretty when they are crying. She made me cry. Narrating about her grandmother's woes against the 38th Parallel.

I have only seen bits of North Korea on television. Ian Wright on his lonesome journey for Globetrekker and the fast pace couples for The Amazing Race. Even though they were only tiny pieces and short glances restricted by the squareness that is the camera, I can fucking feel North Korea sitting on the couch. Geez.

So I admire their ability to just make people feel, be sad and cry. I have watched some Korean drama series before. I fail to remember the titles. The one title I will always remember is the one series that I have not gotten to watch. Winter Sonata. Yeah, even you know it, don't you? That series pioneered and spun out of control, giving the Japanese and Taiwanese drama series a run for their money. Granted, I cry easy watching dramatic shows. But I remember this Korean series about a pair of fucked up identical twins I decided to watch past midnights. I was hugging the cushion with tears flowing like a bursting water tap. A box of tissue sat on the coffee table in front of me. Balls and balls of tissues soaked with my tears and mucus ambushed the emptying box. I think I emptied the box. I think I was heaving so seriously from bawling. No, it was not a leaking water tap. It was Niagara Falls. And you wonder why I make myself go through such emotion.

My favourite Korean couple in my favourite television show Lost. Best known as the award winning ABC drama series. Season one was fucking phenomenon only to swirl down the drain of boredom on the second. But. It has become a habit to watch it every Thursday. I used to download the episodes and watch them on my computer. To pay closer attention, I plug on earphones. Sometimes the episodes are whacked with distorted pictures and delayed dialogues. My chair is not exactly the most comfortable thing to sit on either. But season one was a religion. And like all religion, you eventually grow out of its enthusiasm. I half-heartedly sailed through the first few episodes of season two. I used to rush home from college and download every episode punctually, hoping to watch it before bedtime on Thursday nights. Depending really on the torrents speed. I found myself holding back for a few days before downloading season two episodes without withdrawals. I can now watch Lost on television here in Australia. About five episodes slower but ah well. Malaysia is not that far behind anyway.

Jin and Sun. Such a pair of misunderstood couple. Back in those earlier episodes when they were still strangers to me, I assumed Jin was one of those bastard-y Asian husband and Sun is the damsel wife you want to squeeze the hand of and go "there, there." Then, the wonders of JJ Abrams open our eyes and introduce more and more of them and by the fifteenth episode (...In Translation) you found yourself curled up in a ball in front of your computer screen crying for the man you used to consider an asshole.

You can bet your money on me that I cried in the Jin and Sun centered episodes. House of the Rising Sun, ...In Translation and ...And Found. When Sun screamed in some ChinChongChong language for Jin to stop hitting Michael out of the blue. When Jin decided to visit the father he has been so ashamed of. When Sun lost her wedding ring. When Jin and Sun met. When Jin and Sun reunited after the raft was fucked and he found his long way home to where he first wanted to leave so badly. I can go on and on.

But I guess the episode that really got me was the fifteenth. It was such an emotional episode. I remembered commenting on my friend's weekly review that I cried the hardest in that episode since Lost started. I cried as if one of my family members died. Tears were flowing peacefully as the episode proceeded. But when Damien Rice started singing at the back, bah there goes the rain.

Damien Rice is just plain suicidal on the wrong days.

Maybe it is buried in their mother tongue. The twang and sound of it laces sadness. Maybe it is how easily they faces cringe into those of crying babies. The staking pain that stabs your heart till it bleeds. Maybe it is the veil of sadness that covers their complexion. The pulled eyebrows, the pursed lips, the glistening eyes, the tear-stained cheeks. Maybe, just maybe. Under all of these physiques, is this curse blessed unto them. By birth. By blood.

It will be forever. Knowing the heartache your grandmother has gone through as she suffers through the last days of her life, waiting for a son parted from her because of a bloody war. This dying heart struggling on till the last breath hoping to see a glint of hope. Only to see none.

Article mentioned: A Visit to North Korea by Suki Kim; The New York Review of Books.
Pictures credit: Lost-Media.com