Red Ink in South Korea

Every society has its own odd superstitions, and while Westerners worry about black cats, open umbrellas, and spilled salt, Koreans can’t stand red ink. Supposedly, if you write someone’s name with a red pen, that person is going to have some really bad luck in the near future. They might even die.

So why does red ink send some Koreans into red alert? Well, when a South Korean has shuffled off this mortal coil, his or her name is written in a family register and on funeral banners with red ink. Some believe the red ink drives away demons and protects the dead, but if you write the name of a living person in red, you get the reverse effect. So if you’re ever signing a contract, writing a letter, or grading a paper, play it safe and use black instead.

Blood Type in South Korea

In South Korea, blood is a big deal. It doesn’t just deliver oxygen to the rest of your body—it determines your personality. People in South Korea are automatically stereotyped thanks to their blood type. While this belief originated in Japan, it has taken a firm hold in South Korean culture, and it might even make a difference in who marries whom.

There are positive and negative traits assigned to each blood type. People with Type A are thought to be conservative and punctual, but they can be also obsessive, uptight, and a bit introverted. However, they think that cheating on their romantic partners is wrong and will thus be extremely loyal. People with Type B are a totally different story. While they have some good traits like creativity and passion, they’re also willing to cheat on their partners, lazy, and impatient. There’s even a South Korean movie called My Boyfriend is Type B, a romantic comedy about a Type A girl who falls for a Type B boy and has to deal with his impulsive nature.

As for Type AB, they’re supposed to be cool and under control, but they can be elitist, harsh, and judgmental. Type O means a person is ambitious and athletic. They want big things in life, and nothing is going to stand in their way. On the flip side, they’re pompous and egotistical, but once they decide to commit to a relationship, they’re generally pretty loyal. So if you ever visit South Korea, you might want to figure out your blood type first—someone is going to ask eventually.

Age in South Korea

Traveling to South Korea is a bit like traveling into the future. The moment you step across the border, you automatically turn one year older. In Korea, a baby is one year old at birth, instead of zero as in most other cultures. And things get even trickier, since everyone has the same birthday . . . sort of. After the New Year passes, everyone in Korea automatically ages one year, even if they haven’t had their actual birthday yet. It gets even more complex for people who were born just a few days before the New Year. If a baby is born on December 31, it’d be one year old. However, after January 1, that same baby will automatically turn two.

So if you’re unsure of what your Korean age is, subtract the year of your birth from the current year and then add one. Or if someone asks your age, you could probably save a lot of hassle and just tell them what year you were born.

Crime Reenactments in South Korea

One thing South Korea is definitely not known for is liberal criminal rights. Anyone who has seen films like Sympathy for Lady Vengeance, Miracles in Cell No. 7 or Mother is familiar with the Korean practice of crime reenactments. Citizens suspected of committing crimes, such as rape or murder, are forced to take part in these humiliating public rituals, which start with police binding the suspect with ropes or handcuffs. They are then led to the scene of the crime and are ordered to recreate the criminal act. To make the ordeal even more humiliating, the media is invited along to publicize the event. Dates for the reenactments are even printed in newspapers so the public can show up, watch, and hurl insults.

In 1972, Jeong Won-seob was forced to act out the murder and rape of a schoolgirl, a crime he allegedly committed. As he acted out the event, people were screaming at him and yelling things like, “Kill this guy!” As horrible as this is, it gets even worse: Jeong turned out to be innocent. Despite the glaringly obvious problems with this procedure, the practice still continues today. The reasoning is something called “national sentiment” which basically means public feelings are more important than civil liberties. Obviously, not all Koreans agree with this viewpoint, and many are campaigning against the practice, but it seems the majority favors the public ritual despite the public opposition.