Your face will get stuck like that OR A girl named Kim

As a young child, watching Bugs Bunny dig to China, presumably through the center of the Earth, and come out on the “other side”, got my thoughts churning.

I am a bit of a loner. I enjoy sitting alone, thinking to myself, musing about the events around me, watching people. As a child, these observations were budding, my musings simple. 

"What does it mean that Bugs Bunny changed when he came out on the “other side.” Was he still Bugs Bunny?"

Perhaps, it wasn’t actually Bugs Bunny. It is impossible to travel through the center of the Earth. Maybe it was Bugs Bunny’s doppelganger.

If it was, maybe I had a look-alike on the other side of the world, too. A girl named Kim who was exactly like me, the same age, the same interests, the same basic person, only, this Kim had almond-shaped eyes.

Sitting alone, in front of the bathroom mirror, mulling over these ideas, I decided I wanted to have almond-shaped eyes. I thought they would be more beautiful than my round eyes.

Suddenly, an idea popped into my head.

My dad had a way of getting us to stop pouting or throwing a fit, or at least trying to get us to stop.

“Make that face long enough, and your face will get stuck like that.”

Rationally, I may have known this was not entirely true.

The statement should have gotten the same “Daa-aad” response that, “If you stick your lip out far enough, a bird will come sit on it,” did.

But.

Take this concept that a face could get stuck a certain way, and apply it to the idea that I wanted almond-shaped eyes.

The result?

I sat in the bathroom for what amounted to be hours, holding the outer corners of my eyes, trying to get my eyes to “get stuck like that.”

Slowly the realization came that there was no way my face was going to get “stuck”. It became obvious that it was improbable that suddenly I would have almond-shaped eyes just because I wished for them.

Little did I know that in this thought, this wanting to have an eye shape that I did not have, I unknowingly had found the key to what in the future turned out to be “a girl named Kim who was like me.”

Fast forward to my life in Ulsan, South Korea, an industrial city where having cosmetic surgery is the norm and never having had cosmetic surgery makes you an outlier.

Here, I am constantly complimented on my small face and big eyes. Both of these things are thanks to my heritage, and the fact that holding out the corners of your eyes does not change their shape, no matter how determined you are.

In Ulsan, girls are not just holding their faces in a shape hoping their faces will get stuck. In Ulsan, I am surrounded by plastic surgery eyes, by shaved jawlines and “high” noses.

You would think that simply being surrounded by all this plastic would have reminded me of my brief, childhood dream of having almond-shaped eyes, but it wasn’t until winter vacation when a coworker of mine got double eyelid surgery, that I started remembering.

First it was the idea of changing eye shape, and then it looped back to “that girl named Kim who is exactly like me, but she lives on the other side of the world.” If by Kim, I meant a family name, and by exactly like me, I meant wanted to look differently than she did, then I found her. 

In Korea.

As an adult.

Transforming her eyes to look more like mine.

Shopping with my temporary, surrogate mom, the day before Mother’s Day

As the weather warms up here in Ulsan, it remains unpredictable. Like that Katy Perry song, it’s hot then it’s cold, but late spring has brought the desire to go shopping and make some summer clothing purchases. Mostly uneventful and just like shopping anywhere else, barring the crazy club music booming from every other shop and competing for your attention, there was one exception.

Last weekend I successfully purchased my first pair of sunglasses …

Yes. First. In my life.

And yes, I’m 26.

Monday, I purchased a cute pair of sandals from Zara, my go to place for shoes when I get sick of looking at same, same, same.

And Saturday, I went shopping for shorts … again.

For some reason the shorts styles here are nuts. (This is also pretty normal that I don’t like the shorts styles that are popular. What’s wrong with some classics?)

Either, a) they are very Korean style in that they are high-waisted and flared;

OR b) they are huge, baggy cut-offs that are not flattering and look like you took your boyfriend’s holey, worn-out, work jeans and hacked them off.

So, shopping for a pair of shorts has been a chore.

After days, I finally found a pair I liked on the hanger. I grabbed a small and medium because I didn’t know what size to get. Like most shops in Korea, the sales lady hovered right behind me, but didn’t offer me any real opinion on size.

When I walked into the dressing room, I noticed that there was no mirror. I shrugged. No mirror is pretty par for the course in Korean shops. At least there's a dressing room. I put on the size small. They were a bit snug to get on, but they didn’t feel too small. Then, I stepped out of the dressing room to look in the mirror. They looked good. Again, snug, not too short, and cute. Sexy, even. Or so I thought.

I looked away from the mirror and up at the shop assistant. She had continued to hover, and in her loosely fitting, conservative, Korean style clothes, the look on her face told me she disapproved. I knew it. Even before she said, “Maybe you should try ‘M’.”

I looked at her in shock. Then looked back at the mirror and thought, “Yeah, I guess the sitting down test might strain the seams, and while they look good while I’m standing … hmm.”

So, reminded of what it was like shopping with my mother (when I was 9), I tried on the medium. After how hot the small made me feel, I was overall unimpressed with the medium. They really didn’t look bad, and yes, they would be more comfortable overall. But they weren’t hot.

The shop assistant, my mom in a Korean disguise, approved.

My mom’s words rang in my head, “Are they comfortable? Can you sit in them?”

Trying to brush these practical notions all aside, I went back in the dressing room and tried on the small again. Yes, they would be snug when I sat down. They might not be the most comfortable shorts, but I like them!

I got dressed in my clothes again.

I walked back to the rack where the shorts hung.

The color I wanted wasn’t in small.

I was stuck.

Do I insist on a small when the shop lady disapproves? She will have to go find them for me, and then, she might just lie.

Or should I just buy a medium?

I struggled, debating with myself and possibly muttering under my breath.

Then, indecisive, I left the store without making a purchase, pissed that it felt like I was shopping with someone who wanted to be my mom, but wasn’t, and knowing damn well that my actual mom would let me make my own decision because I’m 26 for crying out loud!

I wandered around a bit more.

I called a friend.

Then, I found the same style and “brand” of shorts at another shop. The sizes were a bit different … the small was much too small. The medium fit very nicely, but they didn’t have the color I wanted.

Frustrated with my search for shorts that had lasted more than a week, I gave in. I knew I wouldn’t find anything better for the same price, and I didn’t want to look anymore.

So before meeting some friends for lunch, I went back to the store with my mom in mind (the practical shopper) and bought the medium. I have yet to wear the shorts in public, but I plan on trying them out today.

I’m sure the medium will suit me just fine.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom! Thanks for always helping me to second guess my purchases ;) and also, thank you for not being like an overbearing Korean mother!

a crowd of women < one man

A bus stop in old downtown, Ulsan, South Korea around 7 o’clock in the evening.

The curtain opens to a young foreign woman running to try and catch a bus. She soon gives up, takes out her iPod, puts her ear buds in, and shuffles through music while looking down the street for another bus. The following scene takes place with muffled dialog, clouded by Tom Petty.

As she waits for a bus, older Korean women join her at the bus stop. Most women unintentionally keep their distance from her. She is not phased.

Some time passes. There are nearly 15 women at the stop, mostly older than her, but some younger.

Suddenly a short, rounded, stumbling drunk Korean man with a shit-eating grin wanders up to the group. He exudes a wanton air. The group visibly tenses. The man says something he thinks is clever, and the women, not wanting to be rude, half smile, but back away from him. They have forgotten about the foreigner.

Despite his smile, the man’s presence puts all the women on edge. Each woman senses danger and worries she will be the target of the inevitable, crude comments, but he has picked his target: a stylish ajuma (the Korean word for older woman) wearing black and a lovely silk scarf. He compliments her and while she half smiles because of flattery, she politely gestures for him to back off. He doesn’t. Instead, he gently grabs her arm. She twists and strains in reaction, but he continues his proposition. She shakes off his grasp and flat out refuses, probably telling him to go away, and attempts to back into the crowd, but he refuses to give up his pursuit.

The other women, there are even more now, do not interfere. They stand by and watch, shrinking into the safety of the crowd. The man attempts to get closer to the woman, who is practically in the street by now. A backless bench separates him from the woman, and in an attempt to hurdle the bench, he falls. The woman makes her escape to the other side of a telephone pole. The crowd of women watch. No one stoops to help him. No one gives him a lecture or shakes her finger. It feels as if no one has the power. It’s a crowd. Maybe someone else will step in.

The drunken man rolls a bit on the ground and then raises himself just enough to sit on the bench. He is drunkenly brushing dirt off his trousers. The group of women watch, waiting to see what will happen next.

A few minutes pass, and another, taller, more authoritative man walks up, with a woman on his arm. He says something condescending and the drunk laughs. The group of women suddenly relaxes, and a bus arrives. The women all scurry past the drunk, hoping to avoid incident, and get on the bus.

The curtain closes.