SuperGardenKorea : Understanding Korea. Growing with Korea.

  Inside the meeting room, the numbers just won't line up. Both sides are digging in. By the third time the same sentence gets repeated, someone lets out a sigh and says it. "Let's eat first, then we'll talk." If you're the foreign partner in the room, this is the moment your eyebrows go up. Wait — are we stopping the meeting because we're hungry? The negotiation is stuck, everyone's on edge, and someone just suggested lunch. In the last piece , we looked at "Did you eat?" as a greeting, and "let's grab a meal sometime" as the phrase Koreans use to leave a door open when they part ways. But it turns out meals play an even bigger role once you step into a Korean business setting. The role just changes shape depending on where you are in the relationship. There's a meal that starts things off, a meal that keeps the door ajar, and — as in that tense meeting room above — a meal that talks a deal back from the edge. "Shall...

Growing up, the moment I took off my shoes at the door,  my grandmother's words were already waiting for me. "Have you eaten yet? Go eat something." She asked every single time she saw me — even right after I'd told her I just had. As a kid, I hated hearing it. Does she really think I can't feed myself? Such needless worrying, I used to think, more than a little sulky about it. But somewhere along the way, I noticed I'd started saying it myself, several times a day — to a coworker on my way into the office, to a friend after lunch, to my parents on the phone in the evening. So why do we even ask this in the first place? I got curious enough to actually look into it. Not a Greeting. A Way of Checking In. Here's the short answer: "Did you eat?" was never meant as a greeting. Digging into it, I found that my grandmother's constant asking carried a heavier story than I'd realized. Korea was an agricultural society for most of its histo...

  These days, when you stop liking someone, the solution is usually simple. You cut them off. You block them. You never see them again. If your feelings are gone, ending the relationship feels like the obvious, rational move — no wonder "the courage to be disliked" has become such a popular idea. I get it. Honestly, I agree with that logic most of the time. But spend enough time in Korean society, and you start noticing strange scenes. Someone who was grumbling "ugh, I can't stand the sight of him" just yesterday shows up the next morning with a coffee for that exact person. They clearly seem to dislike each other, and yet the moment things get hard, they're the first ones to show up for each other. People who were fighting an hour ago end up sharing dinner and soju by the end of the week. What is going on here? Koreans gave this feeling a name a long time ago. Jeong (정). The Word That Doesn't Translate People have tried translating jeong into E...

  "Some words never fully reveal themselves in a dictionary. You only understand them once you understand the people who use them." That's exactly what "uri" (우리) is like. Have you ever been talking with a Korean friend and heard something like this: "Oh wait, hold on — our mom is calling." If you've studied any Korean, you already know that uri technically means "our." So taken literally, the sentence becomes "Our mom is calling." Most people pause right there. Subtitles and translation apps quietly smooth this over into "my mom" every time — but what you actually heard, in the room, was uri . It's my mom. So why "our"? The translation isn't wrong. If anything, this one small word turns out to be a surprisingly useful key to understanding Korea. "It's a Collectivist Culture" Isn't Quite the Full Answer There's a standard explanation that always comes up. "Korea is a...