I had mixed feelings about ajumma in Korea, until the day I understood their true power.
It’s a cold morning in the deepest part of winter. February in Seoul is my least favorite time of year. It’s when Bali and Thailand are looking especially inviting.
It snowed last night. And snow in Seoul is beautiful until it melts. The ground is now a muddy slick of ice.
I’m waiting for the bus to take me an hour across town from Mapo to Gangnam where I’ll work from 9am to 10pm.
As I’m leaning against a building, near the entrance of a small alley, I notice a figure on the edge of my vision. It’s large and looking at me. In a city of 10 million people, you learn to tune things out, or you get overwhelmed. But this isn’t the passing curiosity I normally get. I’m being sized up. I can feel intent as it moves closer, shifting further into my blind spot.
I turn to face it. To my surprise, it’s a fearsome looking man. His frame is thick. I can’t see the street past him. He’s wearing some kind of linen outfit caked with dirt. Most people wear suits and designer coats in this neighborhood.
He charges me. Before he can get too close, my hands come up in a defensive posture, conditioned from years of wrestling. But he’s too heavy and in motion. He’s at 11 while I’m still waking up. He lunges towards me with his arms extended, aimed at my throat. I stumble backwards into the alley while deflecting his hands with a parrying motion.
I slip on the ice, and am about to go down. If I fall here, no one on the street can see me. I shudder to think what will happen with this frantic man on top of me. The smell of soju is filling the alley, some from him and some from me.
I regain my footing to his surprise. That allows me a moment to slide past him onto the main street.
I lean against a building to stay balanced, bracing myself for another attack. It doesn’t come. Instead, the man begins swearing at me. The air is still. I half listen while focusing on his movements. I’m more concerned about his hands than his words.
“I don’t understand you.” I lie. I do understand him. His curses come across clearly in the cold of winter. He’s speaking some of the first words I learned in Korean.
I’m in a daze, not just from the confrontation. In nearly a decade of living in Seoul, this is the first time something like this has happened. It feels like we’re the only two people on the street. I realize he’s trying to goad me into a fight. A feeling of dread creeps over me.
Not because I’m afraid of him. He doesn’t want to hurt me. At least not more than I hurt him. The law works differently in Korea. If I hit him, I have to pay thousands of dollars, even if he started it. Self-defense isn’t a valid excuse.
My bus is pulling up. They don’t wait around in this city. The angry man is still there, cursing up a storm while blocking my exit route. I don’t want to be late for work. The thought of waiting around for the next bus while this guy threatens me isn’t appealing.
I also don’t want to get near the man, because I really do want to punch him, in the face. Years in Seoul have given me sharp corners from being constantly hungover and sleep deprived.
I’m working up a way to get around him when a scream pierces the chill, silencing the man.
“YAH!”
It’s a woman’s voice. And from the sound if it, she’s sick of it all.
“What are you doing over there!?” she barks, knowing the answer. “Leave him alone!” The intonation is of a mother scolding her eldest son for being too rough with her youngest.
The man transforms from a menacing boogeyman to an ashamed toddler in an instant. She continues her tirade while walking towards him. She’s five feet of fury, while he’s well over 6 feet tall. He shrinks away from the voice, head lowered. If he had a tail, it would be tucked between his legs. The ajumma barely gives me a glance, and the man is already retreating halfway down the block.
I jump on the bus before it leaves and look out the window. The ajumma goes about her business like nothing happened.
I didn’t have a chance to thank her, but I feel like she didn’t need it. She’s the eldest and it’s her duty to lay down the law. And every younger man is her son. She did what’s natural.
I’m impressed. She resolved a conflict without violence, and made my day a lot easier.
I’ve had mixed feelings about ajumma. I’m often on the receiving end of their ire. Like when I put the wrong kind of plastic in the recycling bin (there are 7 different bins and it gets confusing). I’ve been jabbed by sharp elbows while trying to get on the subway. Once, I was yelled at by the owner of a pojangmacha (covered street food stall) for standing in the rain instead of coming inside for a drink (she treated me really well once I entered).
The truth is, I never really gave much thought as to why they’re like this. Everyone knows about the Korean War. But it was no picnic after. The country was run by military dictatorships until the 90s. South Korea industrialized at light speed, while people were ground into economic growth. These women were there for it all.
After that day, I appreciate their toughness. They get things done. They’re the first to put things in check when others are hesitant to speak up.
I get it now. They’re just over it all. And they’re alright in my book.
