I spent four months in Korea in 2005 during which no-one called me anything except ‘Davey’, ‘Sir’ or ‘Professor Davey’. This time around, two weeks into my three-month residency, I have a real Korean name: Bek-ho (백호), or ‘White Tiger’.
I’ve promptly forgotten it; asked someone else to translate its meaning for me; remembered it again; and now, finally, re-met the person who gave it to me originally. And I couldn’t be happier.
The thing about Korean names
The thing about Korean names is that you can get a whole bunch of them. But please note that my knowledge on this subject is about as extensive as Chris de Burgh’s punk collection.
There’s the ‘temporary’ name you get at birth, something along the lines of ‘bubba’ or ‘baby’.
Then within about two months you get your Chinese ‘birth’ name. Your astrological sign, plus a complex combination of the significance of your day and time of birth, determine this one.
Then of course, there’s your actual Korean name. Your grandparents usually choose this one (although not always). The name you receive may also depend on the names of older cousins and other relatives.
Finally (I hope), there’s your Anglicised or English name, which for Catholics is often your confirmation name. But it might also be based on names perceived as being popular in the West.
White Tiger (Bek-ho)
This would explain why many of my former students used names like ‘Brandon’ and ‘Priscilla’. But it doesn’t help me explain why I an now called Bek-ho (백호), or ‘White Tiger’.
For a start, I was born in the Year of the Rat. So my name should be ‘White Rat’, which doesn’t have such a majestic ring to it. Furthermore, obviously, I’m not Korean. I doubt that any of my grandparents had much of an interest in giving me a Korean name when I was born.
However, I did apparently have the unofficial nickname of ‘Buddha’ when I was a very young (and extremely plump) child. So that has to count for something. And as I already have an English name, I’m one step ahead of the competition there.
But what led that young Korean gentleman to give me the name of White Tiger? Why were we sitting outside the classically-named ‘Mania Street’ bar last Friday night? And what led me to forget the name almost as soon as he had bestowed it upon me?
Bek-ho and non-Bek-ho
Alcohol obviously plays a part in this kind of story. But the process of gaining a powerful name should also involve a period of rejection of said name. Otherwise there would be no point sticking with one name at all.
I mean, I’ve received all kinds of names over the years. Some more or less savoury, more or less anatomically-accurate. I haven’t ever just turned around and said, ‘You’re right, and I accept this name.’
But I don’t think even my parents ever pondered the question of what my name should be. Not for a full two minutes.
On all of those previous occasions, the name came immediately to mind due to some hilarious (or not) situation. Then it either stuck or else I forgot it.
An image of a white tiger. O-or, is it an image of me, Bek-ho? Heh heh.
White Tiger: How I got my Korean name (twice)
On this occasion, as I have already intimated, I both immediately accepted and forgot Bek-ho. I don’t really know what was going through the guy’s mind as he sized me up. But I presume it was something along the lines of the following.
Hmmm, powerful paws and considerable girth; shining stripey pelt and faintly pale stripe colour; intimidating roar and penchant for meat …
Well, you get the idea. Although I’ve never heard of a tiger that drinks beer until 5am waiting for someone to decide on its name.
The fact that I forgot my own name led to my being in a state of limbo for several days. Then I happened to be out with a couple of friends. One speaks passable Korean, and was able to communicate with a very tattooed barman. He then wrote down the hangul characters for Bek-ho.
As soon as I heard the words ‘Bek-ho’ I experienced a transformation. From a state of limbo to a new awareness.
I am White Tiger. Hear me roar.
Ever since I have been saying my new name to anyone who will listen. Invariably I get a laugh or two. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t also receive more than my fair share of odd looks.
Even the guy who gave this name to me had to laugh when we met for a second time. Maybe it was because I triumphantly introduced myself as ‘Bek-ho’. I could see him thinking: Do I know you? This so-called Hoju White Tiger is, hmmm, just a little weird.
My friends may well ask: what’s new? To which I would respond: not much, but call me Bek-ho, please, from now on.
I am White Tiger. Hear me roar.
*trudges slowly back inside fake cave within cramped zoo enclosure*
& later I realised I was halfway through my journey
waiting for a phone call (but I couldn't remember
my own name. waking up to the sound of drilling
wearing a t-shirt backwards I heard the dogs bark
outside (artists drank soju & looked at leaves as if
they were maps & the traffic was silent & to meet
travellers who might be gone by nightfall, oh! wash-
ing piling up in my room without seeing stars when
I didn't need a candle without a breeze from the sea
& showering under a cold hose. passing the ajumma
out the front of her seafood restaurant (that took my
breath away smiling at the girls holding hands at the
markets. green revenue stamps from the immigration
department layered like a thinking plate of kim chi &
about my faraway family (or an overwhelming grief as
humid as bowls of bubbling soup. then the phone call
made it all different. where old men sit in the park
on newspapers listening to the trills of old ladies at
sweet stalls. in which season is it now on the verge of
turning. when my wallet bulged in my pocket, staring at
holes in the bottom of empty soju glasses, watching as
Koreans dreamed on the subways or standing in line.
catching pigeons with a net I eat dinner alone in a city
where everyone eats together, pore over hangul script
crossing roads & counting seconds as the lights change
wasted checking emails with a mosquito and a ceiling
fan buzzing in my ears fished for hope in streams step-
ping over puddles of spittle in the street. I no longer
recall Australian radio stations. those were really days
drinking coffee cold from a can land of caffeine calm
By this time tomorrow I’ll be winging my way to South Korea via Helsinki, touching down at Seoul’s Incheon International Airport and hoping that the BBC’s weather forecast for Friday—fine and sunny, 30C—turns out to be accurate and long-lasting.
Otherwise, I’m afraid that my hoju body will not be able to cope with the stifling humidity, sheets of bucketing rain and all-out urban mayhem that is Seoul in late summer.
Sure, the typhoon season’s just about over but something tells me I’ll be in for a wild summer storm or two before the weather starts to settle down in September.
By then I’ll hopefully be well settled down myself. I’ve already secured an apartment for my three month residency, and it’s in a good location (I hope) in Banpo-dong on the south side of the Han River.
It’s very close to Gangnam and the KLTI (or, as I’ll refer to it from now on, ‘The Institute’) in Samseung.
While I’m still not exactly sure what I’ll be doing at The Institute, I’m certain it will involve lots of reading, even more writing and a healthy dose of conversation.
I’m really looking forward to returning to Seoul. The four months I spent there in 2005 were really beneficial in terms of the amount of writing I got done, as well as the rewarding (if challenging) experience I gained while teaching in the Korean educational system.
This time around I’ll be doing something completely different, namely assisting the KLTI with the editing of English translations of Korean texts. And if that sounds like a bit of a tongue twister, you’re probably saying it right. I mean doin ir rong.
The KLTI is located in Gangnam, on the other side of the Han from Sogang University and Insadong, the touristic part of Seoul where I lived in a hostel for the duration of my stay in 2005. I’m hoping this time around to find somewhere in Hongdae or even closer to Gangnam itself …
The Seoul metro system, which I caught every day to and from Sogang University, is fast, cheap and reliable. It’s a great buzz to ride the metro at peak hour, and to see the fantastic cross-section of Korean society travelling together, slowly waking up. In that sense it doesn’t really matter where I’m staying anyway.
Seoul is of course a networked city in several other important respects. The city boasts one of the highest rates of broadband internet usage in the world; while at street level this excess of connectivity flows through the PC Bangs and via roaming mobile broadband networks. The flow of people and ideas.
In 2005 I spent a lot of my time in PC Bangs, probably too much time. I’m not sure whether I want to spend up to four or five hours each day writing in these places like I did then. I wrote about thirty poems (a selection of which were later published as Morgenland) and forty prose poems in PC Bangs.
I also took a lot of photos of PC Bangs signage and logos, of which the example above is possibly the most exuberant.
Since then a few of the poems, and several of the prose ‘Imaginary Cities’ have been published in variousjournals. In another respect however, these pieces now seem more like first drafts than anything else – dense, over-expressive, abstracted, occasionally unintelligible.
I’m looking forward to finding ways of building upon the ideas expressed in these early pieces, and it might be fun to see how many of the original PC Bangs I can re-discover – just as long as there’s a cold beer waiting for me in some shady beerhof afterwards.
