Since this blog is still relatively new, and I have few, if any, regular readers, I find it much easier to bare my soul. I’m not as hesitant to make shocking confessions or discuss deep secrets. And so, it is with the strong pillars of anonymity and low visibility behind me that I reveal the following personal truth:
I am ADDICTED to Korean television.
There. I said it. It’s out there in the blogosphere.
I don’t know what it is. The plot lines are usually trite and unimaginative. There are always the same annoying stereotypical characters. There’s always some sort of stupid love triangle. A lot of the jokes and cultural references go over my head because I don’t speak Korean. Plus…are these guys wearing makeup?!
But I just can’t seem to get enough. Korean TV has robbed me of hours of my life. It’s like crack. Sweet, sweet, bulgogi-flavored crack.
I mean, it’s not like these shows offer any unique insight into the human psyche.
And they certainly aren’t full of what one might call substance.
But there’s something alluring about the formulaic fluff which makes up each one of these series. The bad-guy-turned-good gets the always-was-good girl in the end; the bad guy/girl always gets what they deserve; the good-guy-who-didn’t-get-the-girl ends up melancholy but happy for her; and all the minor characters go on to lead fulfilling, mildly humorous lives. That’s what life should be like, right? Good always triumphs, love always wins, those who sow evil reap it as well. Everything fits into a tidy package.
I guess I really like archetypes–and who doesn’t, deep down? I like knowing from the beginning that everything is going to turn out well and that the hard times faced will help the characters grow as people. I like watching the guy save the girl. I like knowing who I can trust and who I can’t. All this is so unlike the normal human experience.
I suppose, also, that this obsession is a sort of escape from myself.
Usually, I lead an extremely hectic and demanding life. I love my life and the challenges it presents me with, but sometimes it’s nice to come home and know that, for an hour or so, I can forget who and where I am and what’s due by tomorrow morning, and just be a spectator. I’m concerned with someone else’s future instead of mine. I am embarrassed for someone else’s stupid words instead of my own. I can see and hear all sides of a situation instead of just mine. It’s also probably a control thing. If things get too intense, I can turn it off and start something more light hearted. Oh, how I wish that were true in my own life.
So in reality, all those hours spent watching these silly soap operas haven’t necessarily been wasted, but rather they’ve been a very necessary reprieve from me.
Or maybe I’m just a sad addict. Yeah, probably that.