In my vulnerable, adolescent years at college, I lived next door to a Western dance instructor at a boarding house. I could often hear him and his female student dancing to dulcet tones. At the time, learning or teaching Western dance was forbidden in Korea, as dancing with a stranger was regarded as decadent entertainment. So, the lessons were held clandestinely in the instructor’s private studio. Frequently, he would get lucky and sleep with his female students. Perhaps, the guilty pleasures of playing at something forbidden in a secluded room overwhelmed both teacher and pupil.

One day, while conversing with me casually, he asked me rather abruptly, “Do you dance?” “Nope,” I replied. He clicked his tongue and advised me, “Try learning, and you’ll see how the girls chase you.” Then he asked me again, “Do you drink?” “Nope,” I replied again. “I’m a teetotaler.” He seemed rather surprised and looked at me as if I were a weird, pathetic creature. “You know Koreans trust only those who can drink, don’t you?” I nodded feebly, realizing that sadly no one would trust me in this country. Disappointed, he asked me a final question, “Do you smoke?” “Nope,” I answered again with an air of despair. He sighed heavily and muttered, “Where’s the fun in your life, then?”

I knew I was failing at his test. To him the correct answer to the question “What is life without women, drink and smoking?” was “Nothing.” I wanted to protest, though, saying that I had fun of my own and my life was not in the least boring. I had my favorite pastimes: going to the movies, reading books and listening to music. For me, leaning foreign languages and literature was fun, too. In fact, I fervently studied English, French and German at the time. I liked poetry as well, and memorized poems in the original languages.

However, such things were considered feminine pursuits in Korean society those days. A “real” man was supposed to be a heavy drinker, a chain smoker, and sexually promiscuous. In the dance instructor’s eyes, therefore, I was not manly enough; I was only a sissy half-man, and a hopelessly boring college boy.

These days, I sometimes wonder what the dance instructor is doing now. He must be way past his prime by now, unable to enjoy life’s mundane pleasures. “What fun is left in his life now?” I often wonder. Ironically, I still enjoy reading, watching movies and corresponding with my foreign friends.

Recently, I was asked to write a postscript for a forthcoming book written by Dr. Choi Cheongwon, a Korean-American physician who resides in L.A. but regularly travels to Mexico to provide free medical services to the locals there. Reading the manuscript, I had the impression that this admirable person enjoys what he has been doing for the Mexicans for the past 20 years. Unlike having sex, drinking or smoking, his way of enjoying his life is altruistic, worthwhile and venerable.

In the book entitled “Baja Healing Mission,” Dr. Choi opens our eye to a new world through his trips to St. Quentin and Tijuana. In the first chapter, “Koreans look down on us,” Dr. Choi edifies us by quoting from Antonio who says, “Koreans think they’re above us. They don’t treat us equally.” Dr. Choi also quotes another Mexican, Hano, who makes us feel ashamed of ourselves: “I have worked for a Korean at his store for 10 years. Yet he has never invited me to lunch.” Of course, Dr. Choi does not do his altruistic service only for fun. It has something to do with his warm personality, humanity and compassion as well. Nevertheless, his fun is different from the mundane pleasures that the dance instructor blindly sought.

When a professor of religion gave a talk on the Taoist philosophy of Lao Tzu and Chuang Tzu in Seoul recently, a discussant pointed out the problem of applying it to contemporary Korean society. He said, “The two philosophers taught that in order find the Way, we need to suppress and transcend our desires. The problem is that we find it difficult to teach Taoism to our students who desire to get good grades and outshine others so they can enter an elite university that will guarantee them a bright future.”

In Korea, the measure of a successful life depends on graduating from top universities, getting prestigious occupations and living in an expensive district. Without strong desires, one cannot make one’s dreams come true. Thus, you cannot possibly persuade people to empty their minds and forget their desires. If you insist, you will inadvertently crush their dreams and ruin their lives.

Sadly, Korea does not seem to be an ideal place for Taoism. Yet we need to ask ourselves in all seriousness, “Where’s the fun in my life?” Having sex, drinking and smoking? No, there is much more we can do with our lives.

By Kim Seong-kon

Kim Seong-kon is a professor emeritus of English at Seoul National University and president of the Literature Translation Institute of Korea. ― Ed.