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“I don’t want to be a bother,” he explains. “If I go through the front, I’ll be creating more work for everyone.”
“Sangki is famous here,” Yujun adds, confirming my suspicion. I feel bad for not recognizing him.
“Famous everywhere.” Sangki laughs as he ducks underneath a rather tall security man’s outstretched arm.
“Famous in his head,” Yujun replies drolly.
I’m too embarrassed to admit that I’ve never heard of Ahn Sangki, so I keep my mouth shut and smile and nod as if I’m in on the joke. First chance I get, though, I’m googling him. Or maybe it’s navering in Korea? Wait. I don’t know how to spell his name, either in English or in Hangul. I guess I’ll remain ignorant until I get home or I see Boyoung. Along with finding my mother, can you explain who Ahn Sangki is and how to spell that?
“You came with someone, right?” Sangki asks as we walk down a dark hall.
“Yeah. I should get back to them.” Maybe Anna and company can supply the answers.
“Invite them here! I won’t take no for an answer.” “Here” is a private room overlooking the dance floor. Two uniformed waitstaff stand at strict attention as we enter the room. One of them is dispatched to find Anna and the others. Sangki explains, in an apologetic and serious tone, that going down to the floor could cause a problem.
“He is actually very famous,” Yujun admits. “He doesn’t want to take away anything from his friends.”
The friends being the other very famous people onstage. I’m starting to realize that Sangki is famous here in the way that someone like Bieber is back home. He must be some sort of a musician—a rap star? A pop star? An actor? One of those. My guess is partially confirmed when my flatmates are ushered into the private space and gasps of shock and screams of glee fill the space.
“He puts on a brave face, but he’s shy,” Yujun murmurs next to me. “Watch his ears. They will grow red like the trees on Mount Chiak.”
In the face of this very loud, very obvious adulation, Sangki gives a small bow and smiles, but Yujun is correct because the very tips of Sangki’s ears turn a charming, endearing pink. Sangki turns and gestures for Yujun to step forward and there are introductions all around. While Yujun talks to the staff about drinks, Jules takes up the empty spot next to me.
“Why didn’t you tell us you knew DJ Song?” she hisses into my ear.
“Who is DJ Song?” I ask. “Oh, you mean Sangki?”
My flatmate’s brows crash together and she jerks a thumb over her shoulder. “You call him Sangki?” she asks in shock.
“That’s what he said his name is.”
My flatmate sighs. “You don’t know anything about this country, do you? There’s a strict age thing here and you have to use honorifics with people or you’re going to offend someone. It’d be different if you looked foreign, but you look like you’re Korean, so people like the waitress are going to speak to you in the language. You should learn some Hangul, too, because not everyplace has stuff in English. Plus, you’ll be treated better.”
You look like you’re Korean. Jules doesn’t mean anything by it, but the words bite anyway, mostly because Jules is right. I don’t know much of anything about Korea and haven’t put the time or effort into learning. Korea wasn’t even on my top five places to visit despite what I’d blurted out at Denny’s after the funeral. I’d come here on a whim and that foolishness is starting to pay dividends I don’t like.
“What should I call him?” I ask, trying to learn.
“You said you’re twenty-five, right?”
“Yes. Is this like the booze thing where I have to pour the drinks and turn to the side?”
Jules nods. “Yeah, in Korea, it’s all age based, so if you’re the same age as DJ Song-nim then you could get away with calling him something like Ahn Sangki-nim or DJ-nim. Don’t use oppa. It’s cringey, particularly from a foreigner.”
I don’t even know what oppa means, but I file it away.
“The full name?” That’s a mouthful.
“The full name unless you are same-age friends and you decide together that you don’t need that formality; then you can call him Sangki-ah and he’d call you Hara-ya.”
“That sounds awkward.”
“Well, your name isn’t super Korean so that’s why.”
With that last twist of the knife, Jules turns away. I rub my chest lightly. It’s all in one piece but it feels like I should be bleeding somewhere.
“Is it too loud in here for you?”
I turn to see Yujun—no, Choi Yujun-nim—in the place Jules had occupied.
“No, it’s great.” The music is good and I’m not going to let a few truth bombs drive me away. I’m glad Jules educated me. Sure, it might’ve been a little harsh, but better that I know than I continue to embarrass myself or, worse, offend someone.
