Korea and Innocence

I was roaming the backstreets of Seoul alone, not too long ago. They were crowded, noisy, bustling, bewildering, mazy, sweaty, and everything else you would expect from Seoul's shopping underbelly. I didn't come to shop, only to observe lazily, to absorb some atmosphere, to eat some streetfood (delicious).

I came to observe local culture, but found a disquieting lack of it. Everything felt the same: the malls, the brands, the shoppers, the street hawkers. There was nothing distinctly Korean. I came across an interesting shop called UCLA, which really stands for University of California, Los Angeles. I was quite astonished. Coming from UCSD, I recognize immediately that because of the prestige associated with the UC's, they automatically become brands in California. I thought it was a local phenomenon; I did not expect to see this in Seoul.

Seoul, the land of Paris Baguette, UCLA, megamalls, skyscrapers and homogenized theme parks. Ugly Seoul. I really cannot see the point of it all. Rampant urbanization and absorption of western cultures seem to take away the soul of a country, and replace it with cheap ideals and superficial standards. It's the Lexus and the olive tree once again, only this is the first time I'm not reading about it, and I'm actually experiencing it. As a tourist! Ha! I came to find the olive tree; I got the Lexus, to my dismay.

I am reminded of the extrinsic attractiveness and intrinsic values of different national cultures. It is strange that transmission of culture between any two countries is dangerously skewed towards the superficial. For the most parts, only certain cultural elements that are extrinsically very attractive, but often have little (or negative) intrinsic value, bridge the gap. When East meets West (forgive me my crude and very broad generalization), the former giveth away Bruce Lee, kungfu, and exotic imagery, while the latter giveth away diamond rings, MacDonalds and ipods. There's always this continuous cycle of emission and exchange, influx and counter-flux, rigid rejection and rapid acceptance. Once the cycle has started, it gains a momentum derived from public acceptance and hunger. But people never know when to stop, because few like to think of the big picture. Give a farmer in China the choice between his bicycle and a spanking new car, and you know what his choice will be. If every farmer in China were to get his wish, 'the whole world will go to shit'. After all, materialism is so physically attractive, but ultimately devoid of any meaning. Materialistic desires are amoral; some people will even say they're immoral. But there is no question in my mind that materialism has filled the void of ambition in many people, who may spend the rest of their natural lives doing absolutely nothing.

The cultural elements that actually have value are harder or nigh impossible to assimilate, because they are extrinsically less attractive. These are the deep-rooted beliefs (less nationalism, that oldest of lies) that define a nation, the common philosophy (or as common as common can be) that runs through a people and makes them unique. It is so easy to reject a different philosophy, and pretend that it should not exist, that a different way of thinking encroaches and threatens. However, I believe that these cultural elements define a people's humanity. By rejecting a people's deep-rooted beliefs and common philosophy, by calling these people ignorant (even evil), we cannot help but look on them as less than human. Unknowingly, we have uprooted the platform from which we view fellow human beings as equals and hidden from ourselves the common humanity that exists in all of us. We forget that to be human is to be different. Once we have crossed this precarious line, there is no end to the atrocities that we can perpetrate on one another.

I left the backstreets of Seoul, avoided malls conscientiously, and I was walking. Just walking. I followed a road that ran over a bridge, and, remembering the barest sliver of a snippet of conversation about rivers in Seoul (my tour-guide only spoke in Mandarin, and I barely understood two words from her), I walked down a flight of stairs that took me under the bridge. I found my quiet spot, and I was happy.

Rapid urbanization has not taken away the Koreans' love affair with their rivers. Well-maintained walkways stretched alongside the river for as far as my eyes could see. Children tucked up pants and skirts to wade in the clear water and play with the fish, while parents sat down and looked contented. Couples sat dreamily on smoothened rocks under the shadow of the bridge, lost in their private world. Old, wizened security guards, who were stationed along the river, would regularly cast lazy eyes upon the children, and occasionally mumble some unintelligible words into their walkie-talkies. A nearby fountain located under the river spouted six tall columns of water into the air, attracting much attention.

The water was shallow enough that it was possible to cross it by jumping across several large strategically-positioned stones. A group of teenagers, with flashy wardrobe and the brashness of adolescent youth, attempted to do just that. Predictably, the boys jumped fearlessly across first and taunted the girls for their hesitancy and doubt. The girls fretted about their heels, and their expensive outfits. I was greatly amused, because I understood all of these, and I do not even know their language. It seems to me that the global language of teenage inter-gender interactions will always be an intimate part of my vocabulary. Now, I look back on that incident and I think the boys were remarkably naive. After all, there are much more effective ways to impress a girl, and crossing a river together with one can be an act that is more than literal. Soon, they will learn. Or not.

I sat near the fountain and watched, soaking in the warm, communal atmosphere (I like to do that). Memories of the coldly impersonal city melted away; I felt that the river, more than any artificial construct I've seen yet, had the effect of binding the community together and to nature. Laughter, serene calm, romance, the sloshing sound of flowing water, the infinitesimal buzz of city life so far away, the comforting spray of the fountain and a million other sensations that are less definable swirled around me, washed over me, through me.

I noticed a very young girl with a spotted dress and a blue cap arrive with her mother. It was her first time at the fountain. This I deduced from the wonder and awe in her face when she saw the fountain. (Actually, it is not even a large fountain by my standards, but of course, I have been jaded by experience. Oh, to be young again!) Fear crept into her expression and the nervous tension in her body was evident, as she tentatively crept towards the fountain, one tiny step at a time. The poor child was afraid of it! She looked back, to see the encouraging smile of her mother, and pushed on resolutely. The girl (I never knew her name) nearly wavered when the spray of the fountain slapped her with a tangible physical force, and inwardly I was thinking: Don't stop. Not now.

A look of such determination settled on her young face, and she took her final step to the edge of the platform and leaned sideways towards the fountain, pressing her left cheek against the indomitable spray. Her eyes were closed, her hands clasped together as if in prayer, and on her face there lit this beatific, incandescent smile that can only come from obtaining one's heart's desire, if only for a few precious moments.

I was moved, by this little stranger at the fountain. When I left Korea, I left with the image of her nestled comfortably in my mind. I checked my watch, almost reluctantly. It was time to go.