참여형 세계시민 영어체험 교재
Culture Shock 2.0 — Global Citizenship English

1I started my long-desired graduation travel by flying to my elder brother, who is working as a doctor in New York. He worked as a plastic surgeon in Korea and found a job at a hospital in New York after finishing a medical course at Washington University School of Medicine. I met him in his office, which commands a distant view of the Statue of Liberty standing at the entrance to New York harbor. This is a story I heard from my brother when I visited him.

2"This is a story about one of my colleagues. My fellow Korean doctor had gotten his U.S. medical license and began working in a hospital in America. At the beginning, he had a hard time adapting himself to the American way of treating patients. One day, when he was treating a woman patient, he needed to give her an injection. He asked her to pull down her underwear and told her, 'Don't strain your muscle!' In the next moment, while slapping her buttock with one hand, he shot a needle into her buttock muscle with the other hand, as he used to do in Korea.

3Some days later, a lawyer called the doctor and inquired what he had done to the woman patient in the process of giving her an injection. The lawyer told him that the woman patient was suing him for sexual harassment. The doctor explained that slapping a patient's buttock in the act of giving a shot was a usual procedure for Korean doctors, in order to lessen the strain of muscles. The lawyer, in turn, asked him, 'Did you explain the reason for slapping her to the patient in advance?'

4'No. But I assumed it was a usual procedure for American doctors.'

5'You admitted two faults. One was that you didn't know the usual procedures of American doctors. The other was that you didn't explain to your patient why you did it, nor asked her permission to do so.' The Korean doctor had to hire a lawyer to defend himself. It cost him much to learn about American culture."

When I was in Britain for a year, I was invited to a garden party. It happened not long after I arrived there, so I didn't know much about the life there. At a table, I mentioned something about English people's gentlemanship. Contrary to my expectations, however, all those sitting at the table stared suspiciously at me with their eyebrows raised. I was too embarrassed to know what to say next. Finally, I whispered to the gentleman next to me, "I said so just for diplomatic intent. Did I say something wrong?"

"No, you didn't say anything wrong. But you took a seat at the wrong table." "What do you mean by the wrong table?" "We are not Englishmen. Honestly, we had been talking about the Englishmen's arrogance as a negative character trait just before you came over to this table." "I assumed all those present at this party were English. Where are you from then?" "I am from Scotland. There are two Irish, one Scottish, and one Welsh at this table."

"You are the people of one nation, aren't you?" "Right. We are subjects of the United Kingdom. But not all the people of the U.K. are Englishmen." "But the English are the majority." "Correct. But minority groups in Britain — the Irish, Scottish, and Welsh — like to keep their identity and pride."

"You mentioned an Englishman's arrogance. Then what are the negative traits of the Irish, Scottish, and Welsh?" "English people, in general, say: 'The Irish are lazy, the Scottish are stingy, and the Welsh are dishonest.'" "Don't you think this judgment is the outcome of over-generalization?" "Maybe. A kind of cultural stereotype. We can think of innumerable kinds — like 'Western Culture is individualism, Asian Culture is collectivism.' Or: 'Britain is heaven for the police but hell for the cooks; France is heaven for the cooks but hell for the mechanics; Germany is heaven for the mechanics but hell for the police.'"

In the evening of the day I arrived in New York, my brother and I met a Korean professor, who had been driving from Philadelphia to see us. He seemed unhappy about something that had happened between him and the secretary of his department. This is the story of why he felt offended.

The Korean professor, in his fifties, was staying at a university in Philadelphia as a visiting professor. He felt it necessary to develop a personal relationship with the male secretary of the department, so from time to time he drank with him at a nearby bar. One day the secretary approached him and said, "Hi, Youngsoo! A pint of beer today, okay?" The professor, raising his eyebrows, spat out in spite of himself, "No!" The secretary was shocked by his abrupt response and asked, "What's the matter? I'll treat you today." "No way!" The secretary backed away without knowing the reason for the professor's refusal. But the professor grumbled to himself, "The young guy who's my son's age calls me by my first name. What a shame! From now on, I'll never see him informally."

The professor told this story to my brother and me when we had dinner together at a restaurant in Manhattan. We burst out laughing. My brother smilingly said, "I have a good idea, Professor." "What's that?" "You can have him call you Kyosunym (Professor in Korean)." "How?" "You can tell him that Koreans address their seniors by their honorary nicknames. And then tell him that your honorary nickname is Kyosunym." "That's a really good idea!"

After he came back to Philadelphia, he gave us a ring and said the secretary was calling him by his new nickname. His voice told us that he was really pleased by the success of the strategy.

I headed for the second destination of my travel, Los Angeles, to see my friend who worked as a policeman there. I met him six years ago when I was studying in the USA. He was Hispanic, so he understood well what it was like to live in America as a non-white person. This is a story he told me while we were walking around Santa Monica.

A European gentleman took his family on a journey to the United States. One day, while they stayed in Los Angeles, he had some business at the local post office. His wife asked him to take care of their baby because she was busy ironing clothes. So the gentleman put his little daughter in her stroller and went to the post office. When he went in, the baby was asleep, so he left her outside. In the post office, he got in line and waited.

Suddenly, a policewoman entered and arrested the European traveler. At first, he was at a loss for what to say. But when he heard what had happened outside, he understood why he was under arrest. The baby had been crying alone in her stroller, and some people had called the police. Everybody in the city knows that it is against the law to leave a little child unattended. But the traveler replied, "In our country, parents often leave their children alone. But children are safe. Nobody hurts them. People watch out for each other's children. I thought things were the same in America."

In the course of the investigation, the police learned that what the traveler said was true. In some European countries — France, Denmark, Sweden — people really do leave their children unattended. The police let him go. As he left, the traveler said, "I am sorry to have broken the law in your country." "I am sorry not to have known the law in your country. I envy you and your peaceful society," the policewoman said, smiling and waving her hand. The traveler smiled back.

After traveling around the US, I flew to London, which was to be my starting point to travel around Europe. While I was staying in London, I took a few one-day trips out to the suburbs. This is a story about what I saw on one of the trips.

After a two-hour bus ride, I arrived at a small village surrounded by a river. The river was very beautiful. I could see plenty of fish swimming in the clean water and wild swans and ducks flying over it. There was a wooden bridge across the river, built for people and pet animals to pass. The bridge hung about ten meters above the water, and I could see three boys hanging around on it. It was really a picturesque scene.

Suddenly, one of the boys fell into the water. I shouted, "Oh, my God! A boy is drowning in the river!" I ran towards the bridge, stumbling and gasping. I expected other people around the bank to do something, but nothing happened. The riverside looked peaceful as usual. And the next moment, to my surprise, another boy fell in! Then the last boy fell too! Finally I realized that those boys were diving into the water for fun. They swam to the bank and climbed up for a second dive. Although I could breathe easier, I was still worried, and I wondered why the other people seemed undisturbed.

I approached an old gentleman sitting on the bank. "Don't you think somebody should do something about the boys?" "I understand what you mean," he said with a smile, "but it's a kind of game. The boys' pushing, jumping, and swimming are everyday scenes here in this season." "Don't you think they should forbid the boys to take such risks?" "What for? Boys should be brought up to be brave and strong." After hearing him, I was left to think deeply about the Korean way of rearing children. Finally I said, "They adopt a lion-type child-rearing mentality here in the UK, but we adopt a kangaroo-type child-rearing mentality in Korea."

During an eight days' car tour around the U.K., we happened to dine at a restaurant in Oxford. When we opened the door, the waiter stopped us and asked the number of our group. When I said "four," he told us to wait outside. "There's no table for four at the moment. Maybe fifteen minutes or so."

We waited outside. It was getting dark and we were cold and hungry. My brother-in-law began to grumble. We waited more than fifteen minutes before we were admitted. When I asked what to order, he said in a loud voice, "Order some food that is warm and hot. I am almost dying of cold and hunger. Tell the waiter to bring the food as quickly as he can."

But we had to wait much longer than we had outside. My brother-in-law's grumbling grew louder and louder. I reminded him, "Do in Rome as the Romans do." But he shouted back, "Who is the king in a British restaurant, the customer or the waiter?" The waiter rushed to our table and asked what was wrong. As my brother-in-law spoke in Korean, the waiter didn't actually know what he was grumbling about.

In Korea, customers take it for granted that they can shout commands to the waiter in a loud voice. If the waiter is not obedient, they demand to see the manager. As a successful businessman, my brother-in-law was accustomed to treating waiters like servants. He couldn't understand why customers needed to be obedient to waiters in a British restaurant.

One evening when I was staying in Britain as a visiting professor, a Korean student called me. "I'd like to pay a visit to you, if you don't mind." It was past nine. My wife asked if she should prepare food. "You don't have to. He must have already had supper by this time."

When he arrived, he said, "Actually, I have been to a dinner party. But I am still hungry." I could guess what had happened, so I asked my wife to get some beef soup for him.

"A local friend invited me to his house — the first time I'd been invited to a local home. It was a wonderful meal, but I was still hungry. When they first offered, I accepted with 'Yes, please.' But whenever his mother offered a second helping, I refused, saying 'No, thank you.' Out of courtesy — that's the way we Koreans act." "What did your friend do?" "He accepted every helping and ate to his content." "Why didn't you?" "How could I? I was a guest." His friend never noticed he left hungry.

"May I tell you how to act in such a situation in the future? The simplest way is to confess that you don't know the correct protocol and ask straightforwardly what you should do. And another way is to wait and see what others do." "I should have confessed my ignorance of local manners." "Trial and error is the usual way of learning. Don't dwell upon it."

While staying in Britain, my wife and I were invited to dinner by an old English couple who lived next to us. The hostess said, "Last time when we were invited to your house, you treated us to Korean food your wife cooked herself. It was wonderful. But I am not so young as to cook for everyone. So we would like to treat you at a restaurant, if you don't mind."

"Of course. How about the Chinese restaurant near here?" The couple did not consent readily and exchanged looks. "You like Chinese food, don't you?" "Of course we love their food, it's not that..." "Then what is it?" "To be honest, we don't like the way they address us. They always call me grandma, and my husband grandpa. Whenever they call me grandma, I feel very old."

"They call you grandma out of respect for seniors. The cultures of most Asian countries are under the influence of Confucianism, and Confucian morality is based on a vertical human relationship." "I know. But I don't even like English people calling me grandma."

"Honestly, I myself don't like to be called grandpa by young Korean people. Nowadays, many older Koreans try to hide their age. Inequality prevailed in traditional Asian culture; I think that's why democracy could not flourish. Egalitarianism from Western culture brightened such a dark side. On the other hand, some negative aspects of Western culture — a disregard for seniors, and too much rivalry between individuals — darkened Korean society." We agreed to stop the discussion and enjoy our meal.

1I left for France. Waiting for my plane in the airport, I read a news article about Barack Obama's confession of having eaten dog meat. It reminded me of Brigitte Bardot, who made a blistering attack awhile back on Koreans eating dog meat.

2A few years ago, there was a sensational dispute on the dog-eating habits of Koreans between the Korean mass media and the French. Referring to the Koreans' casual habit of eating dog meat, which had been cast away by most Koreans, the French mass media went so far as to call the Koreans savage. The Koreans resented the malicious reports.

3A dog was not a pet animal but was considered another domestic animal, like a pig or a cow, to our ancestors. They treated only their most honorable guests to dog meat. This practice was also true of most Southeast Asians in those days.

4Discussing this with the priest in my church, he told me that people must not approach different cultures with a prejudice. I absolutely agreed, in the light of my own experiences of diverse cultures. I came to think that if I were born in a Hindu culture, I would esteem a cow to be sacred, and that if I were born in a Muslim culture, I would not eat pork.

5The Europeans' definition of the dog-eating habit as taboo must have originated from their remote ancestors' nomad culture. Criticizing a rice-farming culture according to the standards of a nomad culture is an example of ethnocentrism. With this insight in mind, I resented the arrogance of the French mass media.

6Today, I saw further proof that a contemporary American gentleman ate dog meat — Barack Obama. In his autobiography, he confessed he had eaten dog, frog, and so forth when he was brought up in Indonesia. By his candid confession, Obama must have meant that everyone in the world should overcome his or her prejudice against other cultures. I, however, wondered why the French mass media kept silent about Obama's confession.

I met Suni in Sydney, where she studies. Before her apartment, she lived with a homestay family. Her host mom was very hospitable; as a Christian she took Suni to church, treated her like family, showed her the small study and said, "I can lend them to you if you want," and shared her old photo album. Suni felt at home.

One day the family went on holiday. "Take care of yourself during our absence." "What about the house?" "Don't worry. Let the house take care of itself." Suni didn't understand exactly. Feeling lonely, she brought a friend, showed them the host mom's study and album — to show off her privileged status — thinking the host mom would not mind.

When the family returned, the host mom said, "You must leave my house in three days. Why did you intrude into my room with your friend? I saw you on the hidden camera." Suni was stunned. "I'm afraid there was a big misunderstanding. I got you wrong when you said, 'You can act in my house like my daughter.'" "Did you think those words gave you the right to come into my room without permission? Even my own daughter was taught such basic manners." "That's why I said there was a big misunderstanding — I suspect it was a cultural gap."

Mr. Hwang, a Korean-American, was upset to be summoned to his son's school. Each time he met the counselor, he could only listen and say "Sorry," unable to follow her. At home he scolded his son for the wrong he guessed. When his son tried to explain, Mr. Hwang roared, "Shut up! How dare you talk back!" His son looked him in the face, which made him angrier: "Now you're looking me straight in the face. You're spoiled."

This time Mr. Hwang ignored the summons and asked his brother-in-law, Mr. Min, to meet the counselor. She handed over an e-mail from Brian to his teacher, Mrs. White: "What you call my problem action — not looking teachers in the eyes — is the usual Korean way. In Korea, students don't look teachers straight in the eyes, especially when scolded. I tried to change in America, but my father stopped me — when I looked him in the eyes he roared. At school the teachers want me to look them in the eyes; at home my father wants me not to. I'm so confused. I don't know what to do."

While I stayed in New York in 2002, I lived in my son's apartment. One busy morning I pushed into the crowded elevator. An old man said, "You stepped on my foot." "Oh, sorry." A woman said, "You touched my arm." "Sorry, I didn't know." Another said, "Your bag is pressing against my back." "I'm very sorry." Within a few minutes I had to say "sorry" three times. In Korea, in a crowded place, people cannot claim their own comfort zones — everyone knows this, so we don't need to apologize. After this, I took to walking down the stairs lest I bump into someone.

I was taking critical-thinking lessons from Dr. Matthew Lipman, and began to inquire into such American manners I had taken for granted. Back in Korea, my colleague Marie sometimes drove me. When her hand happened to touch my knee, she said "I'm sorry." "That's all right." It happened over and over. I wanted her not to repeat it, but she never failed — she was brought up in England, where a low-context culture prevails. Accustomed to a high-context culture, I found such conscientious Western manners annoying.

A young American English instructor named Sally began to work in a country middle school in Korea. The first problem she encountered was having to answer many questions — most not about English. At their first meeting, the principal asked, "Why are you not married yet? Are you going to remain single forever?" She deflected them with jokes.

In her first class, students bombarded her: "Were you ever married?" "Have you ever fallen in love?" "What type of guys do you like?" Her colleague teachers asked the same. Even after school she wasn't safe. One Saturday afternoon, the doorbell rang. A next-door neighbor stood with a tray. "I'm paying you a visit to get to know you better. May I come in?" She walked into the living room without waiting for an answer, put the tray down: "This is freshly made rice bread. Try it." Then she caught sight of Sally's evening dress on a hanger. "That's a wonderful dress. Where did you get it? How much was it?"

When I was a visiting professor at Montclair State University in 2002, I heard an interesting story from Dr. Lipman, a world-famous advocate of children's philosophy. One day his secretary cut in: "Too many letters have arrived from all over the world. Could you hire an assistant?" "Most ask if they could be your student. A fast-growing number of Asian applicants keep me busy."

Dr. Lipman said, "May I give you a hint? Read the Asian applicants' letters from the end. The points are revealed toward the end." I burst out laughing: "That's not a joke — as an Asian, I can say that's true." He brought it up for discussion: "You sent me a letter asking to be a visiting professor. Did you begin by making your point clear?" "I'm afraid not." "How did you begin?" "'I am honored to write to a world-famous scholar, and I came to know about you through Mr. so-and-so...'" He chuckled. "Why this way?" "It's the usual way for a Korean writing to someone whose favor he seeks." "Did you think it would have an affirmative effect?" "What do you think, Doctor?" He chuckled again: "I must admit it had a good effect on my decision." "That's it. We Koreans think human relationships are everything — that's why we Asians spend quite a long time smoothing the way to communication."

During our stay in England, my sister and brother-in-law visited, and I took them to Paris. At a French restaurant on Montmartre, the waiter spoke only French. When I asked about the menu in English, he acted as if he were deaf. A young man from Sweden, who could speak English and French, came over and kindly explained the dishes. It was his second visit — a world-famous, high-priced restaurant — for his first wedding anniversary. "But you left your wife alone too long." "No need. She usually takes more than fifteen minutes to decide what to order."

I overheard the couple at the next table: "They are strange people. When I asked each lady what she wanted, each said, 'Anything is okay with me. I'll follow the group leader's decision.' When I asked the eldest gentleman, he pointed to a younger man and said, 'Ask him.'" The younger man was me — I decided for everyone. When the waiter brought each dish asking whose it was, I said, "Where you put it makes no difference."

Then my wife tasted her food and said to my sister, "This is delicious. Try some!" She moved food to my sister's plate, and my sister returned the favor. After a series of give-and-take, all the dishes were mixed together. People were watching and giggling. The Swedish man asked, "Is this the usual way Koreans act?" "Yes. Strange?" "I couldn't understand at first." Instead of explaining, I pointed to the two tables: ours moved to the middle to share; theirs stayed in front of each person.

On my way back to Korea from America, I saw a strange scene at John F. Kennedy Airport. Some Koreans looked as if they were quarreling, but they were relatives bidding farewell. A young woman handed an envelope to an older one: "Sister-in-law, this is just a little money — the taxi fare home." The older woman refused, waving her hand: "No! I cannot take your money. You've done more than enough for us."

One ran away waving; the other ran after her, sticking out the envelope. Noticing everyone staring, they stopped, and the envelope was stuffed into the older woman's pocket. A few minutes later, the older woman's husband whispered to her, took the envelope, added some of his own money, and had her give it to the younger woman: "Use this to buy a pretty dress for the baby." "No, I cannot take it..." Just as they were about to make another scene, the husband exclaimed gravely, "Stop making a scene in full view of the crowd!"

What the Korean couples did is understandable for Koreans, who take it for granted, because we know it is a kind of a show in an effort to save face in public. But for Westerners, this cannot be understood — and it might cause a culture clash.

Sam and Paul started the Cross-Cultural Communication Club with four Korean students to discuss Korean culture in English. The Korean youngsters were mostly inactive; Paul tried to prompt them but in vain. Allowing them to speak Korean made no difference. So Sam said, "I think Korean students are inactive in discussions — not from personal shortcomings, but the influence of society. Let's discuss: 'What makes Koreans weak in taking part in discussions?'"

So-yun presented first: "The strict atmosphere at my house was the culprit. Three generations lived together. When my mother tried to reason with my grandparents about their conflicting views, my grandmother would roar, 'You're going to try to teach me? Stop it! Age knows better than books.' Then my mother would retreat to her bedroom for days. In traditional Korean society, talking back to one's parents is regarded as rude."

Yun-jin added: "Confucianism placed human relationships above everything, summed up in the three principles and five disciplines — but they are based on inequality. Even between spouses there is no equality; the worst part is the woman's three laws of obedience. In a culture of vertical relationships, one-directional communication flourishes more than intercommunication. That's why we got used to listening to teachers rather than taking part in discussion. But now we should mend our ways."

Paul Lee, an Americanized Korean youth, visited Korea with his friend Sam to learn the language. On the campus of Gyeongsang National University, they saw a young woman clinging to a young man, calling him "Oppa (elder brother)." Then they saw two young women walking hand in hand; one called the other "Eun-ni (elder sister)." Sam guessed they might be sisters, or even a couple, and asked directly.

"No, we're classmates in the English Education Department. But this lady is two years my senior, so I call her Eun-ni. We Koreans like to address one another using terms used for relatives, to sound more intimate — to narrow the psychological distance through chung (affection). For Koreans, human relationships are everything. Age must be considered in every relationship." About the couple: "They're boyfriend and girlfriend." "But she called him 'elder brother'." "That's the usual way in Korea."

Later Paul advised Sam: "In Korea, take care not to call relatives or your seniors using a pronoun. Don't say 'you' to a teacher — call him 'teacher.' Pronouns refer to impersonal things, or to people younger or inferior. I was once scolded for calling my grandfather 'you.' Human relationships in Korea are vertical; we pay respect to seniors by their titles or relationship terms."

A Korean middle school's PTA decided to employ a native instructor to teach English conversation after school. The applicant, a clergyman-to-be whose father was a preacher, said he loved teaching children. His self-introduction made such a good impression that they agreed to hire him. At the meeting, the chairman said, "James, thank you for agreeing to teach our children." But James said, "I don't think I've agreed yet. Before I give my consent, I'd like to ask a few questions. First, what's the pay?"

The members were embarrassed. "Tell him we'll pay more than enough." "Koreans are not misers about education." James grew more confused: "Why don't they tell me exactly? I must know the pay per hour." "At least ten per hour!" "Before or after tax?" "After tax!" "Daily, weekly, or monthly? Weekly, paid in advance, would be best." The members suspended the meeting and whispered: "He is too interested in money to be a good teacher."

Mr. Park told James, "You were too inquisitive about money matters." "But in America we discuss money openly and clearly." "I know that's your way, but not ours. You'd better follow our way for now." James agreed to sign. The next day he e-mailed, curious why Koreans equivocate about money. Mr. Park used the folktale *The Story of a Nobleman*: Confucian scholars publicly made believe to act aloof about money — "plain living and high thinking" — while calculating inwardly.

1A reporter for a world-famous newspaper in America was dispatched to Korea to cover a famous actress' debut. When the interview was nearly finished, the actress suddenly assumed a sentimental look. She said, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you what a miserable life I lived in my childhood." The reporter asked her to tell more — her past might highlight her present success. "I have some photos of those days. My parents have them. They live in my hometown."

2"Then, could you send them directly to me in America?" — "Yes, I'll do that. Don't worry!"

3The reporter flew back to New York and waited. Nothing came. After a week, he called her. She answered without apologizing, "Okay, okay! No problem. I will send them soon." Another week passed — still nothing. He felt insulted. He was about to give up the article when he happened to talk with a Korean-American reporter, who didn't look shocked at all: she might not send the photos at all.

4"Why not?" — "She may be too busy, or may not have found them." — "Then she could have told me why." — "Korean people think it is rude to say 'no' directly." — "Don't you think it is also rude not to keep a promise?" — "As a Korean-American, I understand and agree with you. However, most Koreans may think she did the right thing in her own way."

1It was a quiet Tuesday evening when Minji's phone buzzed with a notification from her class group chat. Someone had posted a photograph that made her stomach drop: the world-famous canals of Venice, usually calm and postcard-pretty, now shown under a wall of dark water, with waves crashing violently over the marble columns of St. Mark's Square. The caption, written in urgent capital letters, read: "BREAKING: VENICE IS SINKING FOREVER — HAPPENING RIGHT NOW." Minji's thumb hovered over the share button. Seventeen of her classmates had already reposted it.

2Just as she was about to tap "share," her cousin Jinho walked into the room. Jinho was in his second year at university, majoring in media and communication, and he had a habit that used to annoy Minji: he never believed anything on the internet right away. "Hold on a second," he said, glancing at her screen. "Before you send that, let's spend thirty seconds checking it." Minji sighed but handed him her phone.

3Jinho didn't zoom in on the photo first. Instead, he copied a few words from the caption and pasted them into a search engine — a technique he called "lateral reading," or checking a claim by looking sideways across other sources instead of staring only at the image itself. Within seconds, three separate fact-checking organizations appeared in the results, each with headlines like "No, this viral Venice flood photo is not real."

4"See this?" Jinho zoomed into one detail of the original photo: a small Italian flag fluttering from a nearby pole. It had six stripes of color instead of the correct three. "AI image generators are getting better every year, but they still make strange little mistakes — flags with the wrong number of stripes, hands with six fingers, text that looks like letters but spells nothing at all. If something looks dramatic and perfect at the same time, that's often your first clue to look twice."

5Minji stared at the fake flag, embarrassed that she had almost shared it without a second thought. "But it looked so real," she said quietly. "That's exactly the problem," Jinho replied. "It's not that you're careless — it's that the technology was built to be convincing, not to be true. Feeling certain is not the same as being correct." Minji did not press "share." Instead, she typed a comment underneath the original post: "This image appears to be AI-generated — please verify before sharing further." The next morning, three classmates messaged her to say thank you; one of them had already sent it to her grandmother.

1Jimin had rehearsed the song for three weeks before she finally worked up the courage to upload a video of herself singing for the school's annual talent show. Within the first hour, the view count climbed past fifty, and the comment section filled with encouragement: "You have such a beautiful voice!", "Good luck at the show, you'll do great!", and a string of heart emojis from her closest friends.

2Then, near the bottom of the thread, she noticed a comment from an account with no profile photo and a string of random numbers instead of a name. It read: "This is actually painful to listen to. Please don't sing in public again." Jimin read the sentence three times, as if rereading it might change the words. Her face grew hot, even though she was sitting alone in her room with the door closed.

3She brought her phone to her older brother, Junho, who was in his final year of a media studies degree. "Why would a total stranger say something like this?" she asked, her voice shaking slightly. Junho read the comment, then looked at her gently. "This is something researchers call the online disinhibition effect," he explained. "When people can't see your face, hear your voice crack, or notice you're actually hurt, it becomes much easier for them to forget that a real person is on the other end of the screen. Anonymity removes the natural brakes most people have in face-to-face conversation."

4"Should I reply to them?" Jimin asked. "You could," Junho said, "but arguing rarely changes an anonymous stranger's mind, and it can pull your attention away from the fifty people who were genuinely kind. You can report the comment if it breaks the platform's rules, or simply hide it. The real skill isn't winning an argument with a troll — it's making sure one anonymous voice doesn't outweigh fifty honest ones in your own head."

5That night, lying in bed, Jimin found herself thinking about a comment she had left on a stranger's dance video months earlier — "lol so awkward" — typed quickly and half-jokingly, the kind of thing she might have said to a close friend as a tease, but posted in public where the stranger, and thousands of others, could read it. She had never once wondered how it landed on the other end. She opened the app, found the comment, and deleted it. Then, on Jimin's own video, right below the first unkind comment, she typed something new for a stranger to read: "I really liked your energy in this video — keep going."

1Yuna had scrolled past dozens of ads for the same app that week: a colorful quiz promising to reveal which K-pop concept — "girl-crush," "innocent," or "hip-hop" — matched her personality best. Curious and a little bored on a Tuesday evening, she finally downloaded it. Before her results could load, a pop-up window appeared: "QuizVibe would like to access your Contacts." Eager to see her result, Yuna tapped "Allow" without reading the explanation below the button, the way she almost always did.

2About a week later, three separate friends messaged her within the same afternoon, each asking a version of the same confused question: "Why did I get a weird ad text that says it's 'from a friend of Yuna'?" Yuna had no idea what they were talking about. She hadn't sent anyone a single message about concert tickets or discount coupons.

3Puzzled and a little worried, she brought her phone to her older sister, Somin, who worked at a cybersecurity company. Somin opened the quiz app, scrolled through its permissions and its terms of service — a long block of text that almost nobody actually reads — and sighed. "This app didn't need your contacts to calculate a personality quiz result," she said. "There's a good chance it collected your entire contact list in the background and used it, or sold it, for advertising. That's most likely how your friends ended up receiving those texts."

4"But I only agreed to share my information — not theirs," Yuna protested. Somin shook her head gently. "That's the part most people don't realize," she said. "The moment you allowed access to your contacts, you weren't only sharing your own data. You were also sharing your friends' names and phone numbers — without ever asking them if that was okay. Your data footprint doesn't stop at you; it can pull in everyone connected to you, too."

5Yuna deleted the app immediately and reported it through the app store. Then she opened her group chat and typed an honest message: "Sorry, everyone — an app I downloaded without checking its permissions may have leaked your numbers. I'll read what I'm agreeing to from now on, and I wanted you to know first." A few of her friends thanked her for being upfront, and one admitted she had allowed the exact same permission on a different quiz app just days before.