City of Push
The city as we imagine it, the soft city of illusion, myth, aspiration, and nightmare, is as real, maybe more real, than the hard city one can locate on maps, in statistics, in monographs on urban sociology and demography and architecture.
- Jonathan Raban
Sometimes the guest will have to leave the host in order to remain a guest.
- Fanny Howe, The Lyrics
I have an inkling that the blogger that is taking over this week will sound less like a tourist advert and actually start describing this city. Sure, it does have qualities once you look under the hood. One must look beyond it’s addiction to the colour grey and mass of architectural sameness to see it. There’s a suppressed chaos here that swims beneath the surface and comes out in office shouting matches, auto-plant clashes, or when you hear a man screaming atop of your roof as you wonder whether to call suicide prevention. Is this normal? You tell yourself it is.
There’s a pressure that many residents seem to wade through, besides the little ones. Maybe I am being dramatic. Maybe it’s the cut-throat competitiveness here, the lack of space, or an ultra-conservatism mingled with materialism with a dash of suppressed liberalism. The firm belief that bigger is better. The gossipy neighbour who will ruin you if you fall out of the Confucian mould. The dread of work, the greater dread of the holiday (if you’re a woman), and holiday traffic.
Pyeongtaek is considered rural by Korean standards- but it’s dizzying. The never-ending construction makes it seem like there’s one season, not four. If there is one word to describe this city, it’s PUSH. The buses and taxis that are pushing, the old lady is pushing ahead of you in line, parent’s are pushing their five year old into institutes. The base helicopters do it. The concrete trucks and bulldozers do it - through our airspace, villages and forests, leaving large tracks of red land idle to pour more grey.
I’ll leave it at that. So long, Pyeongtaek, who knows what you’ll become. Thanks to those who welcomed me into their homes, classrooms, and treated me like a fellow human. And to those who fed and encouraged me, helped me with the language and gave me life in the city,
Adéu
