CULTURE SHOCK

I've had quite an intense, turn your head upside down, want to scream (and jump on a plane back home..just for two days though..) couple of days.  Culture shock at it's finest!

It all started two days ago.  It was Children's Day so there was no school and we had a holiday.  I went to a butterfly festival in Hampyeong with some Korean co-teachers of mine and had a lovely time.  By the end of the day, I was ready to come home, collapse, and relax for the remainder of the holiday.  When I came home to my little corner of the world on the 4th floor of Little America, the site of where the school used to be and has since moved, I discovered that all of my personal belongings were gone.  Majority of everything that I owned in this world was gone.  Taken from my safe haven. 

Now, to be fair, the things that were taken were in a different apartment.  Backstory--There are 3 apartments on the 4th floor of Little America.  I am currently the only person living there right now.  I am also currently in the middle of moving all of my belongings into the apartment next door, where the heating is more efficient and the water pressure more effective.  Thus, most of my things were in one apartment that wasn't yet officially "mine". 

So, when I came home to discover that this empty apartment had been swiped clean of virtually everything, years worth of foreigners living in it and leaving behind books, stereos, towels, dishes, everything was gone.  Including all of my books, my important documents, my shoes, my plants, everything I owned in this world, besides for my clothes, were gone. 

Personal Violation!  Is all I could think!  Who had done this?  I started to panic and called my boss.  They came over and didn't quite know how to react to little old me, crying my eyes out, speaking too fast for them to understand, confused why my stuff was in this empty apartment anyway. 

It turns out they had a repair man come and this man cleaned the apartment, top to bottom, and took all of my things, which he thought, presumably, to be belongings left by past, long gone, teachers. Ah, but it's ok because, don't you worry, most of your things are still here, locked away on a different floor. 

As I'm going through trash bags, pulling out my belongings that I have somehow become very attached to, my boss tells me in a "oh, and by the way" manner that I can't stay at my apartment tonight or the next few nights due to major repairs they were going to be doing over the next several days.  Sure, I thought, alright, yes, ok.  I also think, and when were they going to tell me this?  If it hadn't taken this very traumatic event of losing all of my belongings for me to call my boss, they wouldn't have told me, and I would have been woken up in the very early morning to repair men telling me to get out of bed and leave my apartment for a few days. 

Fine, alright, it's OK.  Repairs are good.  I can stay at Danielle's apartment.  It's fine.  Thanks for letting me know...

But after this episode, I continued to feel very shaken up about the whole thing.  I came to work the next day with some feelings of distrust that I couldn't seem to get rid of.  There were a few more scuffles between my boss and I, regarding issues of keys to the apartment.  I was reluctant to give up my key and this created tension.

I walked away from work, heading towards the weekend, with many questions swarming through my head.  Why was I so shaken up about this?  Why did I react to emotionally?  Why don't they seem to understand why I'm upset?  Do they care about me and my own personal life?  Why did there seem to be such a huge misunderstanding between us?

What this comes down to, I concluded, is a major cultural difference.

A large component of Korean culture seems to lie in respect for your elders, people of higher ranking than you, and for each other.  This respect is manifested in many ways, such as the constant bowing of the head and the language that seems to take three times longer to speak due to added phrases to show your respect. 

When it comes to work culture, the boss is the boss.  You don't question their authority or their judgment.  They tell you to do something and you do it, no questions asked.  You respectfully bow your head and keep all comments to yourself, always. 

Which may not sound that unusual to you.  But when you really start to think about things in the American context, it's not always so cut and dry.  There is a lot of space allocated for communication.  If you have a problem, you may respectfully visit your boss in their office, voice your concerns and talk about them.  Whether or not they take your thoughts into consideration is one thing, but in most cases, I think, you're not reprimanded for having an opinion. 

In Korea, there is no alternate option.  What the boss says is what happens.

Now, my boss is also my landlord.  When I came and discovered that what I considered to be my personal space had been taken right up from underneath me without any signs, I felt personally violated.  In my culture, I would have expected there to be a heads up.  Some communication between my boss and I.  Perhaps a phone call to alert me that there were going to be repair men up in the apartments and that I should get my things in order.  This is what I expect. 

But the expectations I have for my boss are very different from the expectations my boss has from me as an employee. 

They don't understand why they should tell me these things.  They are my bosses, after all.  I do as they say.  They don't need communication with me.  I should have no problem with what they decide to do.   It's the same situation for the short notice for leaving my apartment and the tension with the key.  They need to do repairs on the room.  So I leave.  They need the key.  So I give it to them.  No questions asked.

It's a fundamental difference in thoughts.

It's one that I struggle with.  At work, I'm fine with this.  I can do whatever it is that needs to be done.  But then, this follows into my home.  When I discover that the one place I have in this country, where I can go home to, be safe and be me, isn't actually mine, it gives me a great sense of discomfort.

It is an interesting difference.  One of the first phrases I learned in Korean was 빨리빨리 (ppalli, ppalli) which means "hurry, hurry!"  This is also a very prominent aspect about Korean culture.  When Koreans do things, they do them fast.  I saw a sign on an empty lot saying that there will be a Starbucks in this location.  NINE days later, lo and behold, there was a Starbucks, with girls serving coffee in green aprons against a backdrop of a soft jazz soundtrack, low to the ground chairs to relax in, and discounted coffee mugs to celebrate the grand opening.  


Whether this concept is manifested in a mob of Koreans pushing each other to get onto a bus or in the reality of a country being torn apart by war, literally set to flames, and becoming one of the world's largest economies in a mere 50 years, the truth is that when Koreans decide to do something, they do it, and they do it quickly.


I'm wondering if this 빨리빨리 mindset affects boss-employee expectations.  Certainly, if my bosses would have taken the time to call me and to explain to me the situation, I would have had some questions and may have offered my own opinions on the matter.  However, opinions and explanations take time.  


If you are a boss and you set out to accomplish something, whatever it may be, you want to get it done.  Allowing communication into the mix slows down the process.  


Perhaps the hurry, hurry mentality and the cut and dry demands of an employer is exactly what has allowed this geographically small country to become such a strong and technologically advanced force in so little of time.


But what must be given up for the speed and efficiency of development?  If by eliminating communication, you become more efficient of a worker, of a boss, of an economy, of a nation, then certain aspects of humanity seem to be sacrificed. 


Why is it that I value human communication so highly?  Is it very American of me to consider respect to be shown in some manner of equal planed, open communication?  I think so.

I suppose everything is a give and take sort of balancing act.  You can never have the best of all of the worlds.  And being objective is sometimes a difficult task to accomplish.  When things affect me so deeply and when I see what makes me feel so warm and welcome versus what makes me feel alienated and violated, I can't help but compare the two things and try to come to some larger explanation.