Today was a beautiful spring-like day in Korea. The sun was shining, and the weather was so warm, that after lying on the floor watching a couple of episodes of LOST in a row, I decided to get up and pump air into my bicycle tires for the first ride of spring.
It was a great day. I met up with one of my Korean friends for a great chat over coffee, then I met up with two fellow Torontonian ladies for a great dinner at an Italian place. The weather was so nice, that I also wore a non-down jacket for the first time in 2010 - busting out the faux leather bomber once again AND it was also warm enough to justify getting ice cream. So one of the Torontonian ladies and I decided to take our ice cream cones and walk home. This area of Daegu is pretty at night. We pass the river, the lights of downtown, and see flowers emerging.
As we were beginning to walk on the main road near downtown, I noticed that a tall white foreign guy was turning around every so often as he walked. This is common when you hear English in Korea - I often turn to look. Koreans often turn to look. And sometimes you do the expat-to-expat nod or what's up. Note that there are also black-to-black and hispanic-to-hispanic specific nods as well.
Dressed in jeans and baggy sweatshirt, he also had headphones on, and a general sloppy appearance kinda like those disheveled North American travelers/backpackers that give the rest of us a bad reputation for being terrible dressers. I noticed that he was walking at the same pace as us (not possible considering leg length difference when we are 5'3" and he is 6'4") and appeared to be straining to hear our conversation.
Halfway through the walk, my friend decided to pop into a convenience store to pick up a bottle of water. When we came out and stood to wait for the light to change, I noticed that the foreign guy was standing there. This struck me as odd, because in the amount of time we had taken in the store, he should have crossed already. Upon crossing the street I told my friend I had to check my cell so if we could please wait for a second. When he was out of earshot, I explained what I'd noticed, and she said that he was the reason she had suggested buying water. So we crossed the street, and continued walking and chatting.
However, a block later, we noticed that he had crossed the street to join us on the new side. This is when I knew something was wrong. He also looked too attentive - he was definitely not listening to anything on those headphones.
As we crossed the street, I debated on going into a bakery on the corner. As we slowed our pace, the foreign guy looked into the bakery window - he had clearly heard us.
So I did what any self-respecting woman should do. I stepped to the side of the sidewalk, much as I do to get out of the way when doing a cross-body lead, and I brought out my Esplanade roots that made me badder than Drake, and called out to him: "Hey! Do you have a problem!"
He immediately looked up after the "hey", proving that his ipod was off, and got a jumbled look on his face and shrugged a simple, no.
HA.
Somewhere around the time that I learned how to be strong after getting played by a gino in a souped up car, I also learned that I have power, in general. Why shrink into the corner? No one has the right to make you feel uncomfortable. There is one class of weirdo, that is just a lonely or awkward guy who stares because he is into you or wants friends or whatever - but the trick is recognizing that you have power to act in a situation. Obviously, you shouldn't stand up and antagonize a lone potential attacker in a dark alley, but a well-lit street in South Korea with significant pedestrian traffic, gets my approval for safe.
My friend laughed, and said, "there's that latin fire," a comment I hear frequently when I have loud outbursts or display "attitude" and put people in their place. Maybe it is - but call it what you like, it gets the job done.
After that, he picked up the pace and we kept an eye on him - then I got into a cab.
Home sweet home, imnida.
___________________ ~^____________________________
Yesterday we were out filming for an English language news program pilot based on Daegu Pockets magazine. Lucky for me, the pilot had a segment based on an article I wrote last year so we got to visit some cool places.
We started off at the InterBurgo Hotel where there is the Instituto Cervantes-affiliated Centro Cultural Espanol. I met a really lovely Korean professor who had lived in Colombia and we agreed to meet up for coffee sometime. She laughed when she heard me say "chevere" because it reminded her of the good old days in Bogota. We also filmed some of the students. It was really cool for me to see Korean students speaking Spanish. Many of them were pretty shy, but they were very dedicated to their studies - a lot of them came in from out of town just to study on a Saturday. Some of them wanted it for work, to learn a language other than English, or just to travel.
After filming a segment with the anchors in a rented studio space, we went to a tex-mex restaurant. At this point, our camera man had to go, but lucky for the team, a professional cameraman from a major Korean network was available. He had filmed the magazine's executive team a few weeks before for a news show and they had kept his contact. So I got the chance to work with him, which was very cool. Through interpretation and body language, he gave really good directions. He was an intense perfectionist as well - I walked into the restaurant many times, from many angles, looking in many different directions. He explained when to hold the mic, when to wear it, and little details like - if you are going to take off your jacket, we should film you taking it off.
All that filming I've been doing at work for those ESL videos has really paid off - I stare into the camera like its the foreign guy I told off today.
After that, we filmed at our salsa class. This was funny because I clearly couldn't be like, "hey, here is some blatant self promotion! This is MY salsa class and you should come!" So Susy did a fabulous job as the singular instructor and talked up what we do. We filmed a rueda with our advanced students for b-roll - something I am very anxious to get my hands on, and talked about an ending. We needed some kind of group shot where we yell out something enthusiastically. What could we yell that isn't cheesy?
"I love salsa" was scrapped. But we agreed on turning into a vacila y sienta (basically a turn where girls end up sitting on the guys' knee with arm in the air in a very showy style) and yelled "Yo quiero salsa" which, although cheesy as in "yo quiero taco bell", was decided to be tolerable in terms of allowed levels of cheese.
A successful day, but I was tired as heck, and developed some weird red eye thing that looks like I got punched in the eye or smoked up - two things I avoid. So we ended the night with a drink and some dancing at the ghetto fabulous Old Skool. And boy, is that place ghetto. You feel like you're in a club in the states with all the military presence. And they do all their american dances, including line dances, but once in a while it has its charm. I've got a little bit of a gangster in me, or rather, an alter ego of the girl who wears Baby Phat (or fubu in korea... jajajaja) on the gangster's arm.
But as fab as ghetto can be, I get my fill real fast, and went home at the early hour of 12:30 on a Saturday night, with a role of kimbap (korean sushi) since I realized I forgot to eat.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the weekend.
jEs.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
THE GYM
Ahjummas, trainers, and crappy English
One of my largest pet peeves about Asia, is cutesy-nes. There is no way I will ever find a 30-year-old woman in a fluffy pink dress speaking in a baby voice charming.
So when I go to the gym in the morning, and specifically go to an empty aerobics studio to workout alone, it's because I don't want someone coming up to me and cheerfully having a conversation of pleasantries to practice their English. Which is why I avoid the new fresh-out-of-high school female trainer, who I'll call Trainer 1, because she likes to giggle and talk about shopping and boys, and just generally engages me on a level of cheerfulness that implies everything in life is peppy and super-awesome - not really sure how she helps people more than 100 pounds work out to get strong.
Some of the trainers are great - there is one guy who I'll call Trainer 2, who has actually taught me some really good exercises. And he is open about wanting to practice English - in a nice concise way - ie "give me one sentence to learn today" - which is more economical in terms of time, and is not annoying because he doesn't make me 1-skip my workout because he talks too much or 2-use a baby voice or 3- wear pink chiffon ruffles or weird 80s aerobics outfits.
However, this morning I was stretching in front of a mirror and I thought that me and my MP3 player were the only people on the floor. Trainer 2 literally popped out of nowhere and wished me a happy (Lunar) new year, then he changed the topic.
"Fat."
Huh?
"Body. Fat."
my body? his body? fat gained? fat lost?
I guess I didn't have a very pleased look on my face, because he immediately began talking about how he was training for some body building competition - and he has certainly bulked up in the suspiciously rapid way that makes me think CREATINE and STEROIDS and PROTEIN SHAKES.
But guess who else lacks cutesiness? Ahjummas.
I have developed the theory that the feisty, outspoken, brash ahjumma stereotype is a reaction to the repression that young Korean women suffered back in the day. Starving yourself over lunch with a black coffee or possibly a half a sweet potato? ANGER! Having to act like an innocent weak girl around your boyfriend so he doesn't think you're easy? ANGER! Having to wear pantyhose and "Sunday best" outfits every day complete with heat-styled hair, and having to get up extra early to get ready? ANGER!
After you're done your workout in the gym, you head to the sauna and hot tub area. There is one older woman who I see almost every day. When I have been having a conversation in English, she buts in and interrupts- even though she can't speak English. And she laughs at me in a loud brash tone for saying "I don't understand", and repeats my sentence over and over laughing. I get a huge kick out of the three layers of respect present in one instance of greeting:
Me: Anyong haseyo.
Other Lady: Anyongishimnika (other woman, older than me, but younger than her.... most formal greeting)
Ahjumma: Anyong.
Note that anyong is the LEAST formal greeting, and she is allowed to talk to us that way because she is older.
Which means the convo went something like this in English:
Me: Hello
Other Lady: Goodmorning
Ahjumma: Whats up
Every day when I greet her with an "anyonghaseyo" she nods as if she had been waiting for it, then she gives me my "anyong". Like clockwork, and the sky being blue, it's something I can count on to happen every day.
One of my largest pet peeves about Asia, is cutesy-nes. There is no way I will ever find a 30-year-old woman in a fluffy pink dress speaking in a baby voice charming.
So when I go to the gym in the morning, and specifically go to an empty aerobics studio to workout alone, it's because I don't want someone coming up to me and cheerfully having a conversation of pleasantries to practice their English. Which is why I avoid the new fresh-out-of-high school female trainer, who I'll call Trainer 1, because she likes to giggle and talk about shopping and boys, and just generally engages me on a level of cheerfulness that implies everything in life is peppy and super-awesome - not really sure how she helps people more than 100 pounds work out to get strong.
Some of the trainers are great - there is one guy who I'll call Trainer 2, who has actually taught me some really good exercises. And he is open about wanting to practice English - in a nice concise way - ie "give me one sentence to learn today" - which is more economical in terms of time, and is not annoying because he doesn't make me 1-skip my workout because he talks too much or 2-use a baby voice or 3- wear pink chiffon ruffles or weird 80s aerobics outfits.
However, this morning I was stretching in front of a mirror and I thought that me and my MP3 player were the only people on the floor. Trainer 2 literally popped out of nowhere and wished me a happy (Lunar) new year, then he changed the topic.
"Fat."
Huh?
"Body. Fat."
my body? his body? fat gained? fat lost?
I guess I didn't have a very pleased look on my face, because he immediately began talking about how he was training for some body building competition - and he has certainly bulked up in the suspiciously rapid way that makes me think CREATINE and STEROIDS and PROTEIN SHAKES.
But guess who else lacks cutesiness? Ahjummas.
I have developed the theory that the feisty, outspoken, brash ahjumma stereotype is a reaction to the repression that young Korean women suffered back in the day. Starving yourself over lunch with a black coffee or possibly a half a sweet potato? ANGER! Having to act like an innocent weak girl around your boyfriend so he doesn't think you're easy? ANGER! Having to wear pantyhose and "Sunday best" outfits every day complete with heat-styled hair, and having to get up extra early to get ready? ANGER!
After you're done your workout in the gym, you head to the sauna and hot tub area. There is one older woman who I see almost every day. When I have been having a conversation in English, she buts in and interrupts- even though she can't speak English. And she laughs at me in a loud brash tone for saying "I don't understand", and repeats my sentence over and over laughing. I get a huge kick out of the three layers of respect present in one instance of greeting:
Me: Anyong haseyo.
Other Lady: Anyongishimnika (other woman, older than me, but younger than her.... most formal greeting)
Ahjumma: Anyong.
Note that anyong is the LEAST formal greeting, and she is allowed to talk to us that way because she is older.
Which means the convo went something like this in English:
Me: Hello
Other Lady: Goodmorning
Ahjumma: Whats up
Every day when I greet her with an "anyonghaseyo" she nods as if she had been waiting for it, then she gives me my "anyong". Like clockwork, and the sky being blue, it's something I can count on to happen every day.
Cambio de clima
It doesn't exist in North America - where it should - when you go from -30 to 35 celsius every year.
But no - it only exists in countries where, ironically, the weather doesn't change that much from season to season.
Today in Daegu, I have a cold. I was sniffling. And I was also on the phone with a friend from Peru.
"Ay Melinda, no te preocupes. Es el cambio de clima no mas."
Brings a smile to my face every time.
But no - it only exists in countries where, ironically, the weather doesn't change that much from season to season.
Today in Daegu, I have a cold. I was sniffling. And I was also on the phone with a friend from Peru.
"Ay Melinda, no te preocupes. Es el cambio de clima no mas."
Brings a smile to my face every time.
Monday, February 15, 2010
How tight is too tight?
el pantalón apretado! a good thing?
Americans are laughing at Canadian snowboarders at this year's Winter Olympics in Vancouver, because their pants are too tight.
I wonder what they'd say about skinny jeans on guys in Korea?
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
A MEXICAN, A GUATEMALAN, A PUERTO RICAN, AND AN ECUADORIAN WALK INTO A BAR
Writing about Seoul's Latin hot spots requires a weekend of partying - it's only responsible!
In a nutshell, me, Dalia, Sergio, and Ivan went to Seoul to eat, party, and work on an article for Daegu Pockets.
Because there were four of us, we were able to book the family seating on the KTX (Korea's bullet train), something I had never done before. We saved about $15 bucks each, and had the luxury of a table. We used this table to eat, and study Korean out loud, much to the amusement of a Korean guy who sent us a sideways glance and tried to mask a smile.
We went to a Brasilian Churrasquería place called Ipanema. Tasty - but shitty for me, because I didn't eat any of the six types of meat served on long metal skewers and sliced onto rustic wooden tablets. Great salad bar, and I charmed my way into the kitchen where I met a Korean chef who lived in Argentina and Brasil, and where Ivan snapped some pictures of the roasting hot coals.
Next up, we went to drop our bags off at our love motel. In Seoul, I usually stay at the classy Seoul Motel, in the heart of Itaewon which is just as great for morning coffee as it is for ending your night out without having to worry about a cab.
We had a lot of eating to do, so we went to La Casera for our first dinner. (what? don't judge) Owned by a bi-ethnic (mi raza) Korean-Ecuadorian from Guayaquil, the menestra, arroz, tortillas, fritada, empanadas and PATACONES are to die for and taste like those $1.50 almuerzos you can by at the beach in Manabí. As far as I know this is Seoul's only Ecuadorian restaurant. And I have a big hispanic network that I trust would have told me if there was another. I found out about this place because a Peruvian friend gave me the business card and told the owners to expect a paisana to be visiting soon. I paid for an empanada de queso y plátanos, but I got a story for free. Our server was from Peru, so, being original, I decided to make a comment about how much I love Peruvian ceviche. She immediately leaned in and looked me in the eye.
"Ceviche is an aphrodisiac. Pero lo más afrodisiaco de todo es el ceviche de concha negra."
I failed to see how feeding your man an aphrodisiac is a bad thing, but she warned me that post-ceviche de concha negra, "Mejor le digas que no!"
~~~~~
After escaping from la cuenta de nunca acabar, we went to a Puerto Rican couple Tino y Glenid's home for a party with two purposes - one, a goodbye party for the man of the house. Two - a chef team was cooking up a storm in preparation for an international competition. Arroz, frijoles, crab, flan, torta de tres leches, torta de tres leches de chocolate, crema de coco, a postre with aguacate that was surprisingly good.... and let's just say if I lived in Seoul I would be really fat.
Their place was packed and I met a lot of good people and laughed hard - my ear is also getting used to the Puerto Rican accent. I have finally gotten over the whole R turns to L thing, mujel, but I couldn't resist the hilariously technical language of my friend the linguist who said, "his syllable-final nasals are velarized."
We went dancing at Caliente, a club with a Latin, as opposed to purely salsero, feel. Tightly packed, you couldn't have crammed more Latinos into a family sleepover after Navidad in a one-bedroom apartment. Spanish! Spanish! Kisses on the cheek! and ambiente! We danced until 3am and I didn't even wear my salsa shoes. But as latino as it was, there were still brown guys who showed up.
-Excuse me. Marrock?
-(me) WHAT?
-Marrock?
-Morroco? Marruecas?
-YES!
-Sorry. E-CUA-DOR-IAN.
-But ...
-NO.
Note: asking me if I am from your country is not a clever pick up strategy. Damn this being mixed and looking ethnically ambiguous! But wait! in a spanish club, how ambiguous is my ethnicity.. really? It's like a big flashing arrow wearing a sombrero is pointed at it for you.
Back in the Seoul Motel, I fell asleep with my head beside Dalia's feet, on an overly hot Korean sleeping pad with an overly hot Korean heat lamp. In the morning, being the early riser that I am, I studied Korean and wrote article notes before Dalia stirred, but she later told me, "I heard you mumbling to yourself while you were reading."
We went for lunch at a spanish restaurant called Mi Madre. (La Tuya!) Delicious tortilla espanola, crisp baby green salad, croquettas, saffron rice that rivals Iran .. and just wait to read my article for a longer description. Rico!
The last task of the day was the most sacred one. Buying plantains.
Option one: 2m by 4m Nigerian black hair care product store. They have one cardboard box of Ecuadorian plantains that has been moved inside for the winter from its usual perch outside the door.
Option two: Call Market, a Filipino run "foreign food mart" where you can get goods from costco and off the black market, i.e. purchased on the US military base and re sold with a mark up.
I cleaned out Call Market's plantain supply, and even sent the lady to get more. But guess what happened while I was paying with my debit card? All I heard was a scream. "Melinda! Apuuuuuuuuuuuurate!" (Thanks to Ivan for immediately writing this down:)
Dalia being the dog person that she is, noticed a dog walk out of a dark bar. It was mid afternoon and sunny. A lady followed, carrying a dog, and saying, "Ugh! Disgusting man! So stress!"
Apparently a man had bought one beer, overstayed his welcome, then asked her, "Can I fuck you?"
In a nutshell, me, Dalia, Sergio, and Ivan went to Seoul to eat, party, and work on an article for Daegu Pockets.
Because there were four of us, we were able to book the family seating on the KTX (Korea's bullet train), something I had never done before. We saved about $15 bucks each, and had the luxury of a table. We used this table to eat, and study Korean out loud, much to the amusement of a Korean guy who sent us a sideways glance and tried to mask a smile.
We went to a Brasilian Churrasquería place called Ipanema. Tasty - but shitty for me, because I didn't eat any of the six types of meat served on long metal skewers and sliced onto rustic wooden tablets. Great salad bar, and I charmed my way into the kitchen where I met a Korean chef who lived in Argentina and Brasil, and where Ivan snapped some pictures of the roasting hot coals.
Next up, we went to drop our bags off at our love motel. In Seoul, I usually stay at the classy Seoul Motel, in the heart of Itaewon which is just as great for morning coffee as it is for ending your night out without having to worry about a cab.
We had a lot of eating to do, so we went to La Casera for our first dinner. (what? don't judge) Owned by a bi-ethnic (mi raza) Korean-Ecuadorian from Guayaquil, the menestra, arroz, tortillas, fritada, empanadas and PATACONES are to die for and taste like those $1.50 almuerzos you can by at the beach in Manabí. As far as I know this is Seoul's only Ecuadorian restaurant. And I have a big hispanic network that I trust would have told me if there was another. I found out about this place because a Peruvian friend gave me the business card and told the owners to expect a paisana to be visiting soon. I paid for an empanada de queso y plátanos, but I got a story for free. Our server was from Peru, so, being original, I decided to make a comment about how much I love Peruvian ceviche. She immediately leaned in and looked me in the eye.
"Ceviche is an aphrodisiac. Pero lo más afrodisiaco de todo es el ceviche de concha negra."
I failed to see how feeding your man an aphrodisiac is a bad thing, but she warned me that post-ceviche de concha negra, "Mejor le digas que no!"
~~~~~
After escaping from la cuenta de nunca acabar, we went to a Puerto Rican couple Tino y Glenid's home for a party with two purposes - one, a goodbye party for the man of the house. Two - a chef team was cooking up a storm in preparation for an international competition. Arroz, frijoles, crab, flan, torta de tres leches, torta de tres leches de chocolate, crema de coco, a postre with aguacate that was surprisingly good.... and let's just say if I lived in Seoul I would be really fat.
Their place was packed and I met a lot of good people and laughed hard - my ear is also getting used to the Puerto Rican accent. I have finally gotten over the whole R turns to L thing, mujel, but I couldn't resist the hilariously technical language of my friend the linguist who said, "his syllable-final nasals are velarized."
We went dancing at Caliente, a club with a Latin, as opposed to purely salsero, feel. Tightly packed, you couldn't have crammed more Latinos into a family sleepover after Navidad in a one-bedroom apartment. Spanish! Spanish! Kisses on the cheek! and ambiente! We danced until 3am and I didn't even wear my salsa shoes. But as latino as it was, there were still brown guys who showed up.
-Excuse me. Marrock?
-(me) WHAT?
-Marrock?
-Morroco? Marruecas?
-YES!
-Sorry. E-CUA-DOR-IAN.
-But ...
-NO.
Note: asking me if I am from your country is not a clever pick up strategy. Damn this being mixed and looking ethnically ambiguous! But wait! in a spanish club, how ambiguous is my ethnicity.. really? It's like a big flashing arrow wearing a sombrero is pointed at it for you.
Back in the Seoul Motel, I fell asleep with my head beside Dalia's feet, on an overly hot Korean sleeping pad with an overly hot Korean heat lamp. In the morning, being the early riser that I am, I studied Korean and wrote article notes before Dalia stirred, but she later told me, "I heard you mumbling to yourself while you were reading."
We went for lunch at a spanish restaurant called Mi Madre. (La Tuya!) Delicious tortilla espanola, crisp baby green salad, croquettas, saffron rice that rivals Iran .. and just wait to read my article for a longer description. Rico!
The last task of the day was the most sacred one. Buying plantains.
Option one: 2m by 4m Nigerian black hair care product store. They have one cardboard box of Ecuadorian plantains that has been moved inside for the winter from its usual perch outside the door.
Option two: Call Market, a Filipino run "foreign food mart" where you can get goods from costco and off the black market, i.e. purchased on the US military base and re sold with a mark up.
I cleaned out Call Market's plantain supply, and even sent the lady to get more. But guess what happened while I was paying with my debit card? All I heard was a scream. "Melinda! Apuuuuuuuuuuuurate!" (Thanks to Ivan for immediately writing this down:)
Dalia being the dog person that she is, noticed a dog walk out of a dark bar. It was mid afternoon and sunny. A lady followed, carrying a dog, and saying, "Ugh! Disgusting man! So stress!"
Apparently a man had bought one beer, overstayed his welcome, then asked her, "Can I fuck you?"
The lady was extremely offended, and appealed to Dalia's sympathy as a woman, as she talked to her as if she was the man.
"I’m not a hooker! Do I look like a hooker? I say you look like a hooker fucker!"
Dalia asked about the dog she was carrying, but the woman ignored her and continued her rant.
Then we went back to Daegu. Great weekend in Seoul.
ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ
Thursday, February 4, 2010
borrowing spanish to talk about love
Spanish as a way to articulate strong emotions.
During scenes where strong and passionate emotions relating to love and sex are exhibited, symbols of Latin-ness pop up, from music playing, to Spanish itself being spoken. Why? Because of the damn latin lover craze that is the story of my life. This means that Spanish is borrowed by decidedly non-Spanish/Latino/-a people in moments of pasión as a way of articulating these emotions, or maybe even as a fun role to step in to as they toy with being sexy following the lead of the world-class masters themselves.
Don't ask why I was watching an Afghan singer - it's a long story. Anyways regresando al tema, as I was listening to afghan singer Valy sing about Setara-jaan, my ears perked up when the Dari lyrics were suddenly interrupted by a low female voice. "Hola mi amor" followed by the obviously spanish (and I mean SPAIN when I say Spanish) "te echo de menos."
And this guy doesn't even respond to her in Spanish - he replies in English, which suggests he doesn't speak any Spanish (same goes for her with that accent), underscoring the fact that "spanish-ness" is just being borrowed. But why? Well the girl is lying down, and suggestively toying with a pearl necklace [Her hand obscuring part of the necklace makes it either an ambiguous tasbeh, or rosary (am I the only person who turns rosaries into a sexual symbol?)], and clearly spelling out that she is there to represent sexiness - punto. And what comes out of this symbol of sexiness? Spanish! The rest of the video is him dancing about alone. Spanish only enters the scene in an intimate moment between lovers. He is alone in his (souped up) car, she is lying down seductively. When the lovers conversation stops, so does the Spanish.
I was thinking about this when I watched Korean drama Coffee Prince. There's a scene when Eun Sae (protagonist Go Eun Chan's sister) is outside with the sexy and unfortunately dead (que descanse en paz) Lee Eon. As he goes crazy with love for her, he starts running up and down an alley. As he begins this frenzied display of emotion, what else starts to play, but Latin music.
And what about Sex and the City? Samantha's lesbian lover María is from Brasil, but she talks like a vata loca from Compton and addresses her ambiguously pan-latin friends as chica. When they get into a lovers quarrel, María displays her fiery Latin passion by throwing plates. To what? You guessed it. A soundtrack of Latin music.
What surprises me is the extent to which Latin-ness has penetrated the world as the best code through which to act out sexiness and love. I even notice Koreans letting themselves go more than usual in a salsa environment - Latin dance is a safe, and appropriate realm to be sexy - well, so is comedy.
This is one of my favourite subjects to discuss, so expect more on the matter.
La Bendita.
During scenes where strong and passionate emotions relating to love and sex are exhibited, symbols of Latin-ness pop up, from music playing, to Spanish itself being spoken. Why? Because of the damn latin lover craze that is the story of my life. This means that Spanish is borrowed by decidedly non-Spanish/Latino/-a people in moments of pasión as a way of articulating these emotions, or maybe even as a fun role to step in to as they toy with being sexy following the lead of the world-class masters themselves.
Don't ask why I was watching an Afghan singer - it's a long story. Anyways regresando al tema, as I was listening to afghan singer Valy sing about Setara-jaan, my ears perked up when the Dari lyrics were suddenly interrupted by a low female voice. "Hola mi amor" followed by the obviously spanish (and I mean SPAIN when I say Spanish) "te echo de menos."
And this guy doesn't even respond to her in Spanish - he replies in English, which suggests he doesn't speak any Spanish (same goes for her with that accent), underscoring the fact that "spanish-ness" is just being borrowed. But why? Well the girl is lying down, and suggestively toying with a pearl necklace [Her hand obscuring part of the necklace makes it either an ambiguous tasbeh, or rosary (am I the only person who turns rosaries into a sexual symbol?)], and clearly spelling out that she is there to represent sexiness - punto. And what comes out of this symbol of sexiness? Spanish! The rest of the video is him dancing about alone. Spanish only enters the scene in an intimate moment between lovers. He is alone in his (souped up) car, she is lying down seductively. When the lovers conversation stops, so does the Spanish.
I was thinking about this when I watched Korean drama Coffee Prince. There's a scene when Eun Sae (protagonist Go Eun Chan's sister) is outside with the sexy and unfortunately dead (que descanse en paz) Lee Eon. As he goes crazy with love for her, he starts running up and down an alley. As he begins this frenzied display of emotion, what else starts to play, but Latin music.
And what about Sex and the City? Samantha's lesbian lover María is from Brasil, but she talks like a vata loca from Compton and addresses her ambiguously pan-latin friends as chica. When they get into a lovers quarrel, María displays her fiery Latin passion by throwing plates. To what? You guessed it. A soundtrack of Latin music.
What surprises me is the extent to which Latin-ness has penetrated the world as the best code through which to act out sexiness and love. I even notice Koreans letting themselves go more than usual in a salsa environment - Latin dance is a safe, and appropriate realm to be sexy - well, so is comedy.
This is one of my favourite subjects to discuss, so expect more on the matter.
La Bendita.
Monday, February 1, 2010
UNA QUEJA
Nativohablante de quefffff
Estoy harta de que me digan que tengo un acento hispano. Claro que hablo español. Pero soy canadiense y a lo mejor tengo acento canadiense al hablar español. Pues tengo un montón de ejemplos de cómo la gente ven mi ciudadanía mexicana (soy ecuatoriana) pero hoy voy a enfocar un una de las incidencias que me parece más interesante por su naturaleza sutil.
Hace más de un año empecé a ser una de los rockstars de los videos que mi compañía usa para las tareas que los niños usan en el Internet. Hice mi audición y de una me contrataron y filmaba casi todos los días un par de meses. Pero un día me dijeron “no estás en el Schedule para la otra semana.” La semana siguiente pasé por el estudio de film para recoger el Schedule para la semana siguiente. Otra vez el gerente del equipo de film hizo una mueca y me dijo que no iba a estar en el Schedule de la semana que venía pero seguro para la próxima. Ya estaba acostumbrada a la forma de hablar super indirecta de algunos países de habla hispano y reconocía el rechazo… pues seguía con la grabación de voz que estaba haciendo pero no volví a hacer video.
Pues unos meses después me topé con la mera mera, la gran jefa coreana de la oficina quien es pariente de nuestro CEO, en la coffee room de la oficina principal donde trabajo ahora. Platicamos un rato, y muy amable me preguntó por qué no estaba haciendo filming. Le dije que no tenía idea pero que siempre me gustaba hacerlo. Algunas horas después me llamaron para venir el día siguiente. Como solían hacer me dieron el guión para leer de antemano. Era muy corto para una sesión de 1.5 horas, lo normal de la oficina. Cuando llegue el día siguiente mi partner de filming me preguntó si estaba lista para mi audición. Audición? Pues ya lo había hecho antes, para que una audición. Después de terminar la sesión, llegó una de las gerentes para ver el video. Lo vio y después de 5 minutos lo aprobó y me pusieron en el Schedule de nuevo empezando la semana después.
Por qué me quejo? Sigue leyendo.
Durante la fiesta de navidad del trabajo el año pasado, platicaba con un amigo de la compañía con quien actuaba en los videos. Me dijo en confidencia, y por eso escribo en español, que me habían cortado de la lista de actores porque alguien, al redactar uno de los videos, escuchó mi acento hispano.
Acento hispano? Pues nací en Canadá y crecí hablando mucho más inglés que español, especialmente con mi mama, quien es 100% menonita, gringa, canadiense, blanca. Como estudiante de lingüística, esto me ofendía no por sugerir que soy aún más latina – de eso soy super orgullosa – pero me ofendía el intelecto porque es imposible. Los nativohablantes desarrollan sus acentos de niño y aunque nadie sabe 100%, mucho estudios sugieren que la edad crítica para aprender un nuevo idioma y hablarlo como nativohablante es 12 o 13 años. Pero olvidando eso, como así un acento ecuatoriano de haber nacido y crecido en Canadá?
La mera mera, después de encontrarse conmigo en la coffee room, se había dirigido a mi amigo quien tenía muchos amigos latinos en Canadá, y le preguntó si yo tuviera un acento hispano. Le dijo que no, y la jefa se puso a ver videos de mi para llegar a conclusión que no tenía acento hispano y quedaron con la idea de hacer una nueva audición.
Pero me quedé pensando en como podía haberles dejado con la impresión que no hablo mi idioma materno como… idioma materno.
Pues la única cosa que pudiera haber hecho aparecer un fantasma de acento es mi aspecto físico. Mis facciones latinas. O sea, una suposición de cómo soy basada en mi apariencia. Esto no se llama estereotipo o racismo?
Soy Latina. Eso es mi identidad. Me identifico como una persona de color. Y diría que hay un acento “urban” que los que no son blancos usan en Norteamérica para hablar inglés. Por eso se puede decir “you talk white” en el barrio – se escucha una diferencia. Tal vez hablaba con mi acento “urban” por un rato y lo grabaron? Tal vez hacía uno de mis chistes con un acento hispano un ratito y grabaron eso? (jes)
Pero no creo. Cuando tienes un “eerie feeling” que algo podría ser basado en el racismo sutil, usualmente estás correcto.
Hablamos de una forma entre amigos, entre amantes, en la oficina, con la familia, cuando queremos que alguien nos haga un favor. Hablamos de otra forma cuando somos de dos culturas o más como yo y cuando uno vive esta mezcla diariamente.
Pero hay que reconocer que hay estratificación lingüística. Tenemos la asociación de ciertos rasgos lingüísticos con hablantes pertenecientes a uno u otro grupo socio-económico cultural, para prestar una idea de la lingüista Silva-Corvalán. Entonces no funciona al revés? O sea, deciden que soy de un cierto grupo y después me pintan con características que este supuesto grupo supuestamente tiene.
Decir que tengo un acento hispano no es un cumplido. Lo que nadie dijo, la razón de no querer esta forma de hablar como modelo para los niños coreanos es que mi habla como hispanohablante sea incorrecta porque no pertenece a una persona blanca que representa el ejemplo ejemplar del ingles perfecto. Ser blanco es ser más autentico como ingléshablante. Qué lástima cuando hay tantas personas multilingües con una variedad de acentos que son más que capaces de enseñar inglés. Y ahorita me cago de la risa pensando en como tenía que esforzarme para mejorar mi español y distanciarme del ingles, cuando tal vez debo hacer mas esfuerzo que me acepten…. como nativohablante…. de mi idioma nativo.
Chuta.
Estoy harta de que me digan que tengo un acento hispano. Claro que hablo español. Pero soy canadiense y a lo mejor tengo acento canadiense al hablar español. Pues tengo un montón de ejemplos de cómo la gente ven mi ciudadanía mexicana (soy ecuatoriana) pero hoy voy a enfocar un una de las incidencias que me parece más interesante por su naturaleza sutil.
Hace más de un año empecé a ser una de los rockstars de los videos que mi compañía usa para las tareas que los niños usan en el Internet. Hice mi audición y de una me contrataron y filmaba casi todos los días un par de meses. Pero un día me dijeron “no estás en el Schedule para la otra semana.” La semana siguiente pasé por el estudio de film para recoger el Schedule para la semana siguiente. Otra vez el gerente del equipo de film hizo una mueca y me dijo que no iba a estar en el Schedule de la semana que venía pero seguro para la próxima. Ya estaba acostumbrada a la forma de hablar super indirecta de algunos países de habla hispano y reconocía el rechazo… pues seguía con la grabación de voz que estaba haciendo pero no volví a hacer video.
Pues unos meses después me topé con la mera mera, la gran jefa coreana de la oficina quien es pariente de nuestro CEO, en la coffee room de la oficina principal donde trabajo ahora. Platicamos un rato, y muy amable me preguntó por qué no estaba haciendo filming. Le dije que no tenía idea pero que siempre me gustaba hacerlo. Algunas horas después me llamaron para venir el día siguiente. Como solían hacer me dieron el guión para leer de antemano. Era muy corto para una sesión de 1.5 horas, lo normal de la oficina. Cuando llegue el día siguiente mi partner de filming me preguntó si estaba lista para mi audición. Audición? Pues ya lo había hecho antes, para que una audición. Después de terminar la sesión, llegó una de las gerentes para ver el video. Lo vio y después de 5 minutos lo aprobó y me pusieron en el Schedule de nuevo empezando la semana después.
Por qué me quejo? Sigue leyendo.
Durante la fiesta de navidad del trabajo el año pasado, platicaba con un amigo de la compañía con quien actuaba en los videos. Me dijo en confidencia, y por eso escribo en español, que me habían cortado de la lista de actores porque alguien, al redactar uno de los videos, escuchó mi acento hispano.
Acento hispano? Pues nací en Canadá y crecí hablando mucho más inglés que español, especialmente con mi mama, quien es 100% menonita, gringa, canadiense, blanca. Como estudiante de lingüística, esto me ofendía no por sugerir que soy aún más latina – de eso soy super orgullosa – pero me ofendía el intelecto porque es imposible. Los nativohablantes desarrollan sus acentos de niño y aunque nadie sabe 100%, mucho estudios sugieren que la edad crítica para aprender un nuevo idioma y hablarlo como nativohablante es 12 o 13 años. Pero olvidando eso, como así un acento ecuatoriano de haber nacido y crecido en Canadá?
La mera mera, después de encontrarse conmigo en la coffee room, se había dirigido a mi amigo quien tenía muchos amigos latinos en Canadá, y le preguntó si yo tuviera un acento hispano. Le dijo que no, y la jefa se puso a ver videos de mi para llegar a conclusión que no tenía acento hispano y quedaron con la idea de hacer una nueva audición.
Pero me quedé pensando en como podía haberles dejado con la impresión que no hablo mi idioma materno como… idioma materno.
Pues la única cosa que pudiera haber hecho aparecer un fantasma de acento es mi aspecto físico. Mis facciones latinas. O sea, una suposición de cómo soy basada en mi apariencia. Esto no se llama estereotipo o racismo?
Soy Latina. Eso es mi identidad. Me identifico como una persona de color. Y diría que hay un acento “urban” que los que no son blancos usan en Norteamérica para hablar inglés. Por eso se puede decir “you talk white” en el barrio – se escucha una diferencia. Tal vez hablaba con mi acento “urban” por un rato y lo grabaron? Tal vez hacía uno de mis chistes con un acento hispano un ratito y grabaron eso? (jes)
Pero no creo. Cuando tienes un “eerie feeling” que algo podría ser basado en el racismo sutil, usualmente estás correcto.
Hablamos de una forma entre amigos, entre amantes, en la oficina, con la familia, cuando queremos que alguien nos haga un favor. Hablamos de otra forma cuando somos de dos culturas o más como yo y cuando uno vive esta mezcla diariamente.
Pero hay que reconocer que hay estratificación lingüística. Tenemos la asociación de ciertos rasgos lingüísticos con hablantes pertenecientes a uno u otro grupo socio-económico cultural, para prestar una idea de la lingüista Silva-Corvalán. Entonces no funciona al revés? O sea, deciden que soy de un cierto grupo y después me pintan con características que este supuesto grupo supuestamente tiene.
Decir que tengo un acento hispano no es un cumplido. Lo que nadie dijo, la razón de no querer esta forma de hablar como modelo para los niños coreanos es que mi habla como hispanohablante sea incorrecta porque no pertenece a una persona blanca que representa el ejemplo ejemplar del ingles perfecto. Ser blanco es ser más autentico como ingléshablante. Qué lástima cuando hay tantas personas multilingües con una variedad de acentos que son más que capaces de enseñar inglés. Y ahorita me cago de la risa pensando en como tenía que esforzarme para mejorar mi español y distanciarme del ingles, cuando tal vez debo hacer mas esfuerzo que me acepten…. como nativohablante…. de mi idioma nativo.
Chuta.
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