Sitting in Korean class is very much like sitting in front of a oncoming tank in protest. Confident that the driver’s subscription to westernised human rights will stop them dead in their tracks, you Sellotape yourself comprehensively to the ground, moments before realising that the commando is fluorescent green, doesn’t speak a word of English and optimistically infers that you desire immediate euthanatizing. You can’t help but feel a little out of place.
Sympathetic to the class’s bamboozlement, teacher raises her index finger in a vertical motion so as to signal the arrival of an idea. Beckoning forth YouTube, she summons a video that loads up exactly 41.768^10 times faster than on the internet back home. And then, to the noise of ghoulishly plasticised dolls clapping their gooey little hands like hysterical penguins, it begins. The Arariiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii Shooooooooooooow!
The screen swoops across a mountain-range, smiting down an almighty stork, before returning to Korea…where host Arari commits such mayhem as leading merry westerners into speeding Korean vehicles. One jolly woman stumbles onto a Korean bus, only to be launched missile-like through the back-window as the bus-driver engages hyper drive. One hypertensive fellow even embarks on a quest to eat as much Korean food as possible, before exploding in a shower of bibimpap and soju. But that is only strongly implied. And only if your use your imagination real hard.
About me
I'm Jack. Sometimes my hair is untidy, riddled with goblins and smurfs. When I scream into the Grand Canyon, it inspires pained howling in wild dogs and wily coyotes, and compels all leaf-eating mammals to scuttle for higher ground in wait of the great flood. I think Goku is an existential paragon. My life's trajectory is adjusted towards becoming a hermit and dying alone somewhere on top of a golden mountain at sunset. Which is a jolly good innings, all told.
