Specifically, about age.
Let the record reflect that I am, in fact, 22 years old.
2011 - 1989 = 22
I'm not saying I didn't check the math, but I didn't not check either. Make of that what you will.
So my general confusion about my age stems from approximately 4 sources.
1) Korean age
As is apparently the norm in a variety of Asian countries, you are considered 1 year old when you are born. So, add one year to your real age, and presto-change-o, you've got your Korean age.
So, depending on the audience, I am 23.
2) Work age
When I first started at work, I was advised to tell the kids that I'm older than I actually am. Age is a big component of respect here, so having an older teacher = more respect.
At work, I am 27.
3) Working with children
These kids are all just so cute with their little Disney princess purses, Hello Kitty hair clips, patterned tights, and bows that it's kind of rubbing off.
Not that I'm getting all harajuku or anything, but I might've bought pink fleece socks with little bunnies on them.
And purple bobby pins with small gold bows.
Generally, kid stuff is generally appealing to me more and more.
It's extra cute because she's a ballerina! ...Right?
I've never been one to scoff at a game of Candyland or calling "No Backsies" or occasionally slamming an opponent/fellow passenger in agood-natured round of backseat jellybeans, but when I catch myself wistfully eyeing the freshly-stocked Hello Kitty stickers...
There might be some digression happening here.
4) Everyone else being really OLD
Somehow me and my coworkers are basically the youngest people in Yeongtong (the district of Suwon where I live).
But seriously.
The other day, I found out how old someone was, and caught myself thinking, "Gee, 26 is pretty young!"
F. M. L.
Someone else tried to pass himself off as 29, when he is, in fact, 33.
Who are you, Bridget Jones? Are you feeling your biological clock ticking down when you realize how unfulfilling your relationship with Mr. Haagen Dazs is?
I digress.
AND, the most appalling incident of how old everyone here is (sorry in advance to any REAL adults reading this blog):
3 weeks ago, I borrowed a friend's Nirvana tank top.
I was in no way trying to be "grunge"-- it's a smiley face for God's sake. Plus, I wore it under a J Crew blazer with Ralph Lauren riding boots. Super NOT grunge.
I digress.
So I'm at the bar, ordering a beer to bring back to my table, when some guy comes over to me and strikes up a largely one-sided conversation about how awesome Nirvana is.
He is just going on and on about it and I'm eyeballing the bartender to help me out and just give me the beer already when the guy says, "Maaaaan, I remember exactly where I was when I found out Kurt killed himself. EXACTLY, man. Where were you? Do you like totally remember?"
A) "Kurt"? I wasn't aware the two of you were on a first-name basis.
B) It's not Pearl Harbor or 9/11. It's not an assassination or a major earthquake. People don't talk about where they were when a rockstar committed suicide. It's not a thing.
C) How does such a guido-looking guy sound like such a valley girl?
D) Kurt Cobain killed himself on April 5, 1994.
I. Was. FOUR YEARS OLD.
So I said, "Uhhh, I think I was in preschool?"
Stunned silence.
"I mean, he died in 1994, right?"
"Yeah... Wait. So, so now, you're like, like..."
"22."
"OH."
The guy literally backs away from me slowly, with his hands out in front of him like I'm a raccoon he busted living in his garage and says, "I should gooooo."
I, of course, thought he should have left like 5 minutes before that, but of course am now curious.
"How old are you?"
"46."
FORTY. SIX.
Hi, peer of my parents, let's hang out at the bar.
NOT.
In conclusion, I have found myself being legitimately confused about how old I am on more than one occasion.
FYI, people think it's really weird when you say, "I'm 27. I mean 22. 23? Shoot. Wait, 2011 minus 1989... Yeah, 22."
And... because I have to:
"What s my Age Again?" --Blink 182
