"Card-box Ajumma"

I was about to walk across the Hoegi  intersection in Seoul when an ajumma (an old lady) sort of thwarted my attention. She was pushing a cart full of flattened used card-boxes and I would not have noticed the scene had the cart was not so fully loaded that she barely managed to steer her directions. One thing came across my mind: she could be in danger. She could have been hit by a bus or an oncoming vehicle, or she could have been the one who dashed her own cart to someone or something. The encounter had me baffled with a whirring thought on my mind. 

Being exposed to the unnerving struggles of (some) Korean senior citizens who collect card-boxes in my neighborhood has really shaken my view on Korea lately. It could have been the effect of the chilling winter that recorded an extreme -17 C in January 2018 when I encountered the ajumma pushing her card. Or, it could have also been simply because I saw her with my own eyes---quite a few times lately. 

Apparently, other seasons (be it spring, summer, or autumn) have not affected whatsoever on the way I perceive someone like her. Not that I do not care about these humble spirits, it is simply because I have come to be so accustomed to their existence in my neighborhood to the point that there is no need for me to even questioning or worrying about their mere existence. During other seasons, in the wee morning and at night hours, I quite often came across their paths---which mostly unnoticed, unless I deliberately took my time to, yet I felt no urge to even pondering about their sense of "disconnectedness" with their surroundings. 

Please note that it is my personal take on the apparent existence of these ajumma and ajeossi who in their 60s, 70s, 80s (or more?) still have to fight for their lives in the enviably affluent Korean society---so to speak. Upon realizing this, I began to see the stark contrasting life of Seoul. Inside the warm and cozy atmosphere of cafes dotting my neighborhood, oblivious younger generations enjoy their life through a cup of coffee that probably costs them 5,000 won or around US$ 5. Outside the cozy-looking cafes, in the midst of chilling weather in winter or the scorching heat in summer, elderly citizens are seen pulling or pushing their rickety carts full of flattened boxes, bottles, and other reusable waste in exchange for a small amount of money---barely enough to buy a coffee at a fancy caf.  

Come on, foreigners around the globe must have been so accustomed to being bombardized by the image of K-Pop's colorful portrayals of this vibrant country. Pampered by the "light-speed" economic meteorite rise since the 70s, Korea has now enjoyed the status of being one of the most sought-after and must-visit countries in the world. Globe-trekkers are flocking to chip in and dip into this modernized, yet culturally embalmed society. For any backpackers or tourists who just came for a short visit, it is safe to assume that Korea's image could be perpetually unchanged: an enviable land of glitzy K-Pop world. And that is true---to a certain degree with no doubts about it. 

However, for a long-term sojourner like me, I have come to experience layer upon layer of what constitutes Korean society in its own way---and card-box ajumma and ajeossi are the layers of Korean society that ticked me the most simply due to the following two curiosities.  

First, where is the so-called Filial Piety that I have learned about Korean society? I remember the first time I learned about Korean-style Confucianism back in my college days. The first interesting concept to grasp, apart from its English-linguistic appeal, was filial piety. In short, I came to believe that Koreans live in a modern society, yet they still fully perform or adhere this so-called filial piety---and the easiest way for me to understand this was through the images of K-drama where children seemed to be traditionally attached with the responsibility of taking care of their parents financially---even when they are married. I still see this practice even today. Seollal (Lunar New Year) and Chuseok (Thanksgiving) could be the testament of this practice---or is it? Well, at least from the advertisements that sell the warmth of the family members gathering around these festivities, I still want to believe that this filial piety or filial duty indeed persists in Korea. But, then, why do we still encounter card-box ajumma and ajeossi on the streets? I know that this kind of member of the society also exists in many countries, in Indonesia as well. 

Pemulung---that's how Indonesians refer to these society members---is also a social problem in Indonesia. Even worse, children are also prone to be the breadwinners of some families by scavenging garbage and trash dump sites. Put this one aside, as an Indonesian living in Korea who sort of cherished and admired the way Korean family members supporting each other, I found the apparent existence of elderly card-box collectors to be particularly disheartening, especially with the backdrop of Korea's glitz.

What has gone wrong? I wonder if they had any children to support them. But, then I remembered the fact that more and more children (the adult one) find it hard to support themselves, let along supporting their parents. Or, it could be that these card-box ajumma and ajeossi do not have any children all along. Even if they do, they may not want to be the burden of their own children despite the fact they were probably the ones who financed their education. Yep, it is a common knowledge shared among Korean parents to invest their money on their children's education to the point that they may even have meager saving for themselves. 

But, still, what's wrong with that? Although some may say that there are no wrong doings in this practice, but the exercise of investing so much to the point of leaving nothing for one's own sovereignty is like sacrificing a whole lot of life without ever pondering about its future consequences. Some of these card-box ajumma and ajeosii could be senior citizens who may actually have children, but they refused to be associated with them. Their duties as parents stopped as their children grew up and began to build their own life. 

But, is this the path where Korean society leading to?