Tangled
Han has some friends — though not many. All of them sound deep and complicated, like herself. For example:
응어리 [Ung-uh-ri]
An emotional lump, knot, or any solidified mass of resentment, bitterness, unresolved sadness that is accumulated and repressed within one’s heart. It implies a feeling that’s “stuck” or “clumped together” emotionally.
화병 [Hwa-byeong]
A mental and physical illness resulting from the suppression of intense anger, resentment, and frustration over layers of time. It often manifests as chest tightness, a lump in the throat, headaches, insomnia, depression, irritability. It’s characterized by an inability to express one’s grievances, leading to internalized “fire.”
울화 [Ul-hwa]
Suppressed anger, rage, or indignation that builds up inside due to injustice, unfairness, or foiled wishes. “울” refers to the feeling of being stifled or choked, and “화” means anger or fire. So together, “울화” means “stifled anger” or “pent-up rage.”
원한 [Won-han]
Deep-seated resentment, grudge, animosity, often stemming from an experience of profound injustice, unfair treatment, or betrayal. It’s a feeling of bitterness and desire for revenge or justice for past wrongs, stronger and more enduring than simple anger.
What is interesting is the specific verbs that are used for these terms, or should I say Han’s friends. When the feeling of Han, Wonhan, and Unguhri enters one’s heart, in Korea, we say, “Han has been cast.” Cast — like a meek prey caught in a large spider web! And when those feelings finally get resolved, we say, “Han has been untied.”
One exception is Ulhwa. When she appears, we don’t say it was cast; we say, “My Ulhwa is exploding.” Moreover, there are no verbs used for the resolution of her explosive anger. It cannot be undone or untied, just as an eruption of a volcano cannot be stopped. It simply explodes, nonstop, until it enters a recess, then explodes again.
In the Western world, sadness is often the subject of conquest. Words such as “moving on” or “getting over it” are widely used in English conversation. The one who could do it — forgetting the past, the hurt, the unresolved pain — is considered brave, powerful, and sensible. The one who cannot, who refuses to get up from their place of mourning, is thought to be weak and childish.
As a person who had Western education but kept her Eastern eyes, I had come to realize that such a concept is not only unrealistic but also violent.
Holding two contradictory feelings in fact is what we humans often experience: parting ways and longing for someone, actualizing a certain dream and disliking what it actually brings, crying and feeling relieved.
To ask a person to break clean from their past equals to ask a person to achieve an impossible goal to live as a completely independent entity, free from all social connections. The result of such extremity is doubtlessly a death of one being — emotional, if not physical.
Today I accept my identity as a woman of Han. No matter what, Han finds her way back to me. She bickers, howls, and yells all she wants. Though I am still unfamiliar with being in the same room with her, I now know not to close the door, or tell her to get out, or worse, pretend she’s not there. It’s hard to welcome her, to be honest — her presence still surprises me. And yet, I do not disavow her either.
So yes, in strange ways, we’re tangled deeply, almost inseparable at this point. I mean, after all these years, how could I?
