Ego

  Being in South Korea is a traumatic experience for the ego. These are, as one philosopher put it, times that try your soul. And I mean that in the most shallow way possible. But you would understand that statement if you'd been here longer than a few months: in a culture that's so focused on the outer appearance; where plastic surgery might mean the very real possibility of a promotion at work; and where words have hidden meanings, there will be a certain amount of doubt about your own presentation to the world.

  For example, on the night of my arrival, I was taken to the hagwon to meet my director, where her first words to me were, "Oh Ingrid, you're so pretty. And you are so healthy-looking!" In my jet-lagged state, and in my confusion, I simply smiled and accepted her words at face-value. It wasn't until my second month in that I understood her meaning, and the patronizing smile on my co-worker's face when I asked her about it. My friend Adam told me, did I know that when women lose weight, they become forty times more beautiful than before, and that I would be twenty-seven times more beautiful than I am now if I continued to become slimmer?

  There are times when I feel that I am, in fact, beautiful. I hear the compliment often enough, even though I look different enough to understand the fascination behind the word, in this small town where so many people have not met many foreigners; but also from my co-workers, so I don't doubt the sincerity of their opinion. Just a few days ago, after waiting for the director to finish speaking with some businessmen, then politely saying hello and goodbye to them, I was surprised when they stopped us on our way out to give her a gift. When I asked her why, she said that the gift was given because I had been so kind to them. She went on, "In Korea, we have a saying: A beautiful woman's face is like a weapon. And it can open many opportunities for you. These men were complimenting your looks."

  Lest I become conceited about my looks, there are always people to put me in my place, snickering at me for being too clumsy and for having a thick tongue when it comes to speaking their language. I do bump into things an awful lot, I can't help it. Anyways, being here has certainly set me back a few years-- I feel the way I should have felt when I was in high school, except that I never really worried much about my looks until now. I miss relaxed standards of beauty. I don't like thinking about my looks so much, although I do understand better now the advantages and disadvantages of attracting attention. I used to think that men were kind just because they were (and I'm not discounting their goodness), but I am also finding that they are willing to be a little more kind to a good-looking woman. It's an unsettling feeling, strange, but not bad, like wearing dainty, pretty shoes when what you've been used to your whole life were cool, sporty sneakers. Or in this California girl's case, cool sporty flip-flops.

Picnic at the park