Welcome to Every Three PM

Category: Personal Notes

  • Fragments of Travel: My Journey in Teapots and Plates

    Fragments of Travel: My Journey in Teapots and Plates

    The Rituals of Remembering: A Private Autobiography

    Everyone has their own ritual for remembering. For instance, some capture the essence of a city through scents, while others collect coffee cups from every corner of the globe. In fact, listening to these personal stories is a joy in itself. Ultimately, I have come to realize that my collection of objects is actually a personal travel autobiography. These items are no longer just souvenirs; they are ‘Personal Relics’ that preserve one’s footsteps and fleeting moments of the past.

    Collectively, they form a private autobiography that only the owner can truly decipher. I often find myself dreaming of weaving these fragmented stories together into a book, capturing the unspoken history of a life traveled. Each object on my shelf is not just an item, but a living chapter of my existence.

    The Unfinished Longing and the Flea Market Soul

    Travel itineraries always feel fleeting. Consequently, they leave behind a persistent sense of unfinished longing. Even after returning home, I find myself suspended in those moments, flipping through digital galleries. Most people settle for simple trinkets like fridge magnets, which often feel like small, metallic regrets.

    However, I eventually realized that my personal taste had quietly gathered itself through a different path. I have always believed that flea markets offer the most intimate glimpse into the soul of local life. Somewhere along those dusty aisles, my keepsakes began to take the shape of well-loved glass dishes and weathered teapots.

    The Aesthetics of Culture: Mirroring the World

    This narrative begins with the bronze teapots I unearthed at London’s Portobello Road Market. These pieces were chosen not merely for their aesthetic appeal, but because they embody the quintessential British culture. Their weight seems to hold the stillness of a foggy afternoon, capturing the very essence of London.

    While the types of objects I collect—teapots and plates—remain consistent, their designs, colors, and patterns are subtly different. Each one mirrors the unique atmosphere of the country I discovered. Instead of seeking a simple souvenir, I looked for items that shared a soul with their surroundings.

    For instance, the plates from Boxhagener Platz Flohmarkt in Berlin reflected a quiet, orderly life through their disciplined forms. In contrast, the treasures I found at Barcelona’s Els Encants, after circling its vast, mirrored expanse, carried the vibrant energy of the Spanish sun. These objects are the physical manifestations of the cultures I have walked through.

    Beyond Objects: A Continuous Journey

    Ultimately, these objects have transcended their identity as mere decor. They possess the power to vividly summon the weather of a specific day, the frantic energy of a market, and the very scent of the air in a foreign land. They are the living breath of my travels. By surrounding myself with these “chapters,” I turn my daily routine into a continuous journey. My home is no longer just a house; it is a living book of where I have been.

    If you are planning to visit Seoul, you might discover your own travel relics here.

    [Dongmyo Flea Market] ➔ ➔

  • Food Idioms in Korean and English: From Yakgwa to Piece of Cake

    Food Idioms in Korean and English: From Yakgwa to Piece of Cake

    “It’s Yakgwa.”

    A honey-glazed Korean cookie known as Yakgwa. It has a soft, chewy texture with a subtle sweetness and a hint of ginger.

    In Korea, when something is just a warm-up or “nothing” compared to what’s coming next, we call it Yakgwa. It’s the ultimate way of saying, “That part was easy.”

    But wait—why a cookie? For a non-Korean, hearing someone compare a physical challenge to a traditional honey confection might sound as mysterious as a Korean hearing that something is “a piece of cake” or “as easy as pie.” It seems that despite our different languages, when life gets simple (or tough), we all instinctively reach for a menu. Let’s dive into the tasty history and global flavors of these “easy” expressions.

    The “Yakgwa” Paradox: From Royal Luxury to “Easy Peasy”

    The expression “That’s Yakgwa” has a clever evolution. While Yakgwa (a medicinal honey cookie) was once a precious treat, its role in a meal changed its meaning.

    The Evolution: In a traditional spread, Yakgwa was just a light snack or a side treat served alongside much heavier dishes. Because it was the “small bite” compared to the main feast, it came to represent something “minor” or “easy to handle.” Today, if you say “That’s Yakgwa,” you mean the current situation is a breeze—a “sweet” little task before the real challenge begins.

    A Global Menu of “Easy” Idioms

    It’s not just Korea and the USA; every culture has its own “flavor” for simplicity based on its staple foods.

    CountryIdiom (Literal Meaning)Cultural Context
    KoreaEating cold porridge (식은 죽 먹기)Soft, grain-based food is the ultimate “no-effort” meal.
    USAAs easy as pie“Easy” is associated with the reward of a sweet dessert.
    FranceIt’s blessed bread (C’est du pain bénit)Something so favorable it feels like a divine gift.
    SpainIt’s eaten bread (Ser pan comido)Like a piece of bread already consumed; it’s a done deal.
    RussiaEasier than steamed turnipsTurnips were the most basic, effortless crop to cook.
    ItalyLike drinking a glass of waterItalians eat slowly, but water is finished in a flash.
    JapanBefore breakfast (朝飯前)A task so simple you can finish it before your first meal.

    The “Salty” Divide

    Beyond being “easy,” we use taste to describe personalities. It is fascinating to see how the same flavor—saltiness—is interpreted differently:

    In the USA: Being “salty” means you are annoyed, bitter, or upset.

    In Korea: Calling someone “salty” is an idiom for being stingy. It describes someone who “squeezes” their resources so tightly that not a penny leaks out, much like the intense, concentrated flavor of salt.

    Deep Broth vs. Sweet Icing

    Jinguk (Deep Broth): Koreans describe a sincere, genuine person as “Jinguk”—like a rich, deep bone broth that has simmered for hours to reach its true essence.

    Icing on the Cake: Americans describe an extra, unexpected benefit as “Icing on the cake”—the sweet finishing touch that makes a good situation perfect.

    Spicy Words

    When a remark is bold or hits with a stinging truth, Koreans call it “Maekom-hada”. It’s a “spicy” comment that has a bit of a kick—leaving a lasting impression that you can’t easily forget.

    Linguists believe that because eating is our most basic experience, it provides the perfect metaphor for our abstract feelings. Whether it’s “Sweet lies” or “Bitter reality,” we understand the world best when we can “taste” it. It’s fascinating to see how humanity shares the same “appetite” for these expressions.

    What is your day “tasting” like today? Is it a “Piece of cake” or a “Spicy” challenge?

  • In a Land of Speed, Why I Choose a 3-Minute Pause

    In a Land of Speed, Why I Choose a 3-Minute Pause

    As seen in the photo above, the Turbo Moka features a distinct ‘Helical Spiral’ base design, quite different from traditional Moka pots. This gear-like pattern is the core technology that maximizes heat efficiency and drastically reduces brewing time.

    Every morning, I reach for my old partner, the Bialetti Moka Express. Recently, a new product called the Turbo Moka caught my eye, and it made me think about how much of our lives are shaped by speed.

    Read More: Where Design Meets Efficiency — The Turbo Moka ➔ ➔

    A Swan on the Water

    The Turbo Moka reminds me of a graceful swan. On the surface, it keeps the familiar eight-sided silhouette first introduced in 1933. Beneath it, a turbine—almost like a jet engine—quietly works to shorten the wait.
    It’s a fascinating blend of Italian heritage and Korea’s fast-paced palli-palli spirit. Clever, efficient, and thoughtfully designed—just not quite how I like to begin my day.

    Where Speed Feels Right—and Where It Doesn’t

    Korea is one of the fastest countries in the world, and I genuinely admire that. When it comes to work, I rely on that speed. It helps me focus, decide, and move forward without hesitation.

    But coffee is different.

    In cafés and restaurants, I often find myself drawn to slower moments—the kind of unhurried atmosphere I usually experience while traveling abroad. As everything around us accelerates, these small pauses begin to feel more valuable.

    So during coffee time, I choose a different rhythm. Instead of instant coffee or 30-second capsules, I follow a more traditional European style: grinding beans, filling the chamber, waiting by the stove.

    Coffee is not a task I want to finish. It’s a moment I want to inhabit.

    The Value of Taking a Little Longer

    For adults, coffee is rarely just about caffeine.

    In the morning, it’s a gentle way to wake the senses.
    In the afternoon, it’s a brief chance to breathe between obligations.

    Yes, cleaning aluminum requires care, and manual brewing takes patience. But I’ve grown fond of this kind of effort. There’s a quiet satisfaction in doing something slowly, with intention—a small, personal luxury that doesn’t announce itself.

    Choosing Slowness, On Purpose

    The Turbo Moka is an impressive piece of innovation. It respects tradition while making room for speed, and for many people, that balance is exactly right.

    For me, though, slow extraction is the only low-speed zone I allow myself each day. It’s not about rejecting efficiency. It’s about choosing where speed belongs—and where it doesn’t.

    So how fast was your coffee today?
    Did it rush you, or did it wait for you? Sometimes, being slow isn’t falling behind.
    It’s simply making space for yourself.

  • The Last Jesa Table: Closing My Family’s Chapter

    The Last Jesa Table: Closing My Family’s Chapter

    The Fading Tradition

    It feels like this tradition is disappearing with my generation. My parents might be the last generation to perform ‘Jesa’ (제사), the Korean Confucian ceremony of worshipping ancestors.

    In my family, we held rites for ancestors up to my great-grandparents, so we had ‘Jesa’ several times a year. Since my father is the eldest son (Jangnam), these rituals always took place at our house.

    As a child, I simply loved those days. All my cousins would gather, we didn’t have to do homework, and we played late into the night. It was just a fun party for us kids.

    The Weight of Mother’s Labor

    But the moment I discovered my mother’s toil, those days became a burden on my heart. Aside from the meaning of honoring ancestors, for the descendants living in reality—especially the women—it was a negative experience. How can I evaluate tradition? I can’t. But I certainly have the right to evaluate my mother’s hard work. Here is why.

    The food preparation begins a week in advance. There are mandatory menu items that must be on the table: Beef soup, rice, dried croaker (Gulbi), skewered meat (Sanjeok), three-color seasoned vegetables (Namul), various pancakes (Jeon), and Bindaetteok. Sometimes, we added special foods the ancestors preferred when they were alive.

    My mother never did anything carelessly. She trimmed, cooked, and prepared everything with her whole heart, which required an immense amount of time and effort. On top of that, during major holidays like Seollal(Lunar New Year) and Chuseok, the same table setting and rituals (called Charye) were required.

    The table was recently reduced to half its size, but every dish still demands time, care, and devotion.

    The Ritual: Hunger and Strict Rules

    Jesa was always held at night. We had to skip dinner before the ritual, so we started the ceremony clutching our hungry stomachs.

    The table setting begins with reverence and caution. Food is placed on a low, wide table according to strict rules like “Hong-Dong-Baek-Seo” (Red foods on the East, White on the West) and “Eo-Dong-Yuk-Seo” (Fish on the East, Meat on the West). The tops of the fruits are cut off to make it easier for the ancestors to eat. We light incense and candles to signal our location to the spirits.

    Once the table is set, the ceremony begins. We rotate the alcohol cup over the incense smoke and place it near the rice bowl. It’s as if the deceased ancestors are sitting right there. We treat them with the utmost politeness using two hands. Then, the men stand in a line facing the table and bow. Not once, but twice.

    Amidst rising wisps of incense smoke in a reverence-filled space, offering a deeply devoted bow in honor of ancestors.

    The Aftermath: Blessings and Dirty Dishes

    When my father, the eldest son, finally says, “It’s over,” it becomes dining time for the descendants. The food offered on the ritual table becomes our late dinner. The ceremony always ended late at night.

    And then, the reality hits. Did we truly accumulate ancestral blessings as high as that stack of dirty dishes?

    On holidays like Seollal, this ceremony happens in the morning. The ancestors eat first, and then the descendants eat.

    My Own Way of Remembering

    To be honest, holding rites for ancestors I had never even met didn’t really touch my heart.

    With the rise of nuclear families and growing individualism, the rigid and burdensome formalities of these rituals are naturally fading away. While the situation varies from family to family, the tradition of strict ancestral rites is gradually disappearing.

    Even if these traditions eventually disappear, I would still set the table with all my sincerity whenever I want to remember my loved ones. It would be a personal ritual featuring their favorite foods—a quiet, meaningful way to meet them again with my heart.

    , , ,

  • Just a ‘Dog Dream’? Why Tigers Rule the Korean Dream World

    Just a ‘Dog Dream’? Why Tigers Rule the Korean Dream World

    Yesterday, I had the weirdest dream.

    I was walking in my neighborhood, and I met the usual stray dogs. But something was different. They were all wearing sleek, high-tech AI translators around their necks. And they were talking to me—complaining about the weather and asking for snacks in perfect human language. If I told this to a Western friend, they would laugh and say, “Lay off the sci-fi movies before bed.” But as a Korean, I hesitated for a split second: “Wait… is this a sign?”

    The President and the Ginkgo Tree

    Why do I hesitate? Because in my life, I have experienced a dream that actually came true.

    Years ago, I dreamed I was standing under a beautiful, golden Ginkgo tree. Next to me was someone who was running for President at the time. Together, we were peacefully picking up ginkgo nuts from the ground.

    It felt incredibly real. And guess what? They actually won the election and became the President later that year. Because of experiences like this, for Koreans, dreams aren’t just mental noise or anxiety processing. They are often treated as unread text messages from the future.

    Teeth vs. Tigers: The Cultural Divide

    When Westerners wake up with a strange dream, they usually consult a “Dream Dictionary” on Google to analyze their stress. Common search terms include “Teeth falling out” or “Being chased.” The focus is usually internal anxiety: “What is my subconscious telling me about my feelings?”

    In Korea, we look outward to Fate. And the most famous example of this is a unique tradition called “Taemong” (Conception Dreams).

    Jennie’s Tiger: A Prophecy of a Queen

    In the West, pregnancy dreams are often just seen as the mother’s subconscious. But in Korea, a Taemong is a destiny forecast.

    Take Jennie from BLACKPINK. Before she was born, her mother didn’t dream of a cute little bird. She dreamed of a massive tiger. It wasn’t scary; it was majestic and dignified, with sparkling, intense eyes.

    In Korean interpretation, a tiger symbolizes a person of great influence and charisma. Looking at Jennie now—dominating global stages with her fierce aura—it feels less like a coincidence and more like a prophecy.

    Watch: Jennie shares her personal birth story ➔ ➔

    Wait, You Can Buy and Sell Dreams?

    Here is the plot twist: The mother isn’t always the one who has the Taemong.

    In Korea, pregnancy dreams are a communal event. Often, a grandmother or a best friend wakes up and says, “I dreamed of a giant peach! I think you are pregnant.”

    This leads to a fun tradition called “Buying the Dream” (Maemong). If your friend has a lucky dream for you, you have to “buy” it (usually with a coin or a nice lunch) to make the luck yours. It’s a charming ritual that turns a subconscious experience into a shared celebration.

    So, What About My “AI Dog” Dream?

    Now, back to my talking dogs. Was it a prophecy like my President dream?

    Sadly, probably not. In Korean, we have a funny word for messy, meaningless dreams: “Gae-kkum” (개꿈). Literally translated, it means “Dog Dream.”

    So, my dream about dogs was, quite literally, a Dog Dream. Just nonsense!

    But that’s the fun of it. We wake up wondering, “Is this a Dog Dream or a Tiger Dream?” and start our day with a little bit of mystery.

    I hope you sleep well tonight. And if you dream of a pig or a dragon, don’t forget to tell me—I might want to buy that dream from you!

    Do you dream in black-and-white or Technicolor? Discover what your visual style says about you in my post: [The Overwhelming Color Dream] ➔ ➔

    Are you still guessing their conversation with just your imagination? Decode the reality behind their look in my post: [Is It a Treat or True Love? The Complex Read of a Dog’s ‘Hot Gaze’] ➔ ➔

    , , , ,