The Murderer Who Taught English in Korea

As much as Koreans hate Japan,

TK, you really ought to qualify your statements here — just b/c you have been brainwashed by the Korean government all your life to hate Japan, doesn’t mean all Koreans do.

Thank God that silly anti-Japanese propaganda sprouted by the Korean government to cover-up its own genocide against the Korean people hasn’t crossed the ocean to ruin relations between KAs and Japanese Americans here in the U.S.

And the most telling sign so far is that the number of marriages between KAs and Japanese Americans, particularly in the Chicago area, have been on the up and up for the past couple of decades. (To hell with hate-filled, mindless Korean propaganda and up with people!)

P.S.: To show how ridiculously brainwashed the current generation of Koreans are, and to show you the extent to how they’ve been brainwashed by the Korean government vis-a-vis government-controlled curriculum to hate Japan, just ask the older generation of Koreans born in Korea from 1910-1930, a.k.a. the “Japanese Generation”, if they share such antipathy toward the Japanese. Not surprisingly, they don’t, and if they’re anything like my late grandfather who was born to dirt poor farmers in South Hamgyeong province, and only got a shot at an education because he studied his ass off to get into a competitive high school in Japan and then into Tokyo Imperial University, he had absolutely no hate whatsoever toward the Japanese. So TK, why don’t you get off your hate bandwagon and feel the love?

So I don’t think TK is brainwashed.

Well golly gee, if the great-great-great grandson of 유관순 said it, it must be true! NOT!

and so are you. Embrace it.

You were born and raised in Korea, so you are from Korea. You are correct in saying that you are gyopo, b/c you literally came overseas to come to the U.S.

On the other hand, I was born in Chicago, was raised there, and have lived and worked in the U.S. all my adult life. I, therefore, am not from Korea, and am therefore, in my own country, not an overseas Korean.

Get it?

And for the last time, you don’t know me; you can’t tell me who I am or how I choose to identify myself. We are totally different in background and origin. You go ahead and call yourself a gyopo b/c YOU ARE FROM KOREA, whereas I am NOT.

That link to the fight at the 국회 is hilarious! It also reminds me of one of my earliest lessons of my youth, which is to NEVER get mouthy or start a fight with the fobs, b/c you’ll regret it. This is how I learned my lesson…
A TRUE STORY…
One Sunday many years ago, when I was like 11-years-old, I was hanging out my homies at our local K.A. church in the Chicago suburbs, and I noticed that number of kids in our youth service had practically doubled in size from the week before.

(This was the late 70′s and just the beginning of the second or third wave of Korean immigration to the Chicago area, which meant that most of the KA kids I hung out with — like me and my sisters — were born and raised in the U.S.)

So after service, we followed a couple of the new fobs into the bathroom, — and I don’t know why we gave them such a hard time, b/c they were Korean kids our age, who seemed normal except for the fact that they were wearing funny clothes. So, like kids, we started asking them a bunch of rapid-fire questions: “Where ya’ from, what school d’ya go to, where d’ya live, what sports d’ya play, etc.

Immediately, it became apparent that none of them spoke English, as they both smiled impishly and looked at the ground. The smaller of the two just giggled and darted out the door without saying a thing. The larger of the two, however, — who was tall (taller than me anyway), skinny and seemed to be more tanned than the average Korean I thought — just stood his ground without saying a word and without smiling either.

So my friend and I kept pestering him with stuff like, “What’s wrong, can’t you speak English?”, all the long backing him into a corner. The more stoic he became, the more aggressive we got, and as he became increasingly sullen, we got more provocative, this time, poking him with our fingers, and making fun of his fobby clothing.

The next thing that happened — IIRC– is that suddenly, the lights went out and I saw blue sparks flash across my optical nerves, and I was down for the count on the back gasping for breath. My friend got pummeled too by the fob, and when I was finally able to look up, he was sitting on his ass moaning. By that time, of course, the fob was gone, and all the church ajoshis and jipsanims were looking at me and saying, “aigu! Mohanungoya?”

but you sure told him who he is — NOT a descendent of Yoo Gwan-Soon.

Oh please TK, I’m not going to get into this with you AGAIN! Obviously you are a more superior hangeul scholar than I am, but that doesn’t prove that I care to be called a “gyopo” or “ethnic Korean” by you or anyone, does it?

I already told you that I am a Korean American, or KA, but you don’t get it. Cast not pearls before swine I say…

But what I’m more concerned about is that for however long that you’ve been in the U.S., you still DON’T understand “NOT” jokes. This is disturbing to me, so for your viewing pleasure, I have provided you this link, courtesy of Borat Sagadiyev of Kazahkhstan, which I highly recommend you study carefully:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-tR91q59gFo&feature=related