With a desire to wish the people of this city much luck and love for the New Year, it was time to take to the streets. Dressed to the nines in a traditional Korean outfit, I walked into the center of Gwanghwamun Square. Armed with thirty lucky pokjoomuhnee stuffed with han ji inscribed with my personal wishes for a "Happy New Year," I was indeed afraid. I thought, perhaps, that the Seoulians would take offense to a slightly ridiculous American woman donning an outfit so closely linked to the country's history and culture. The only way to spread the love, however, was to face my fear.
I've never been more wrong in my life. The second I took out my first pokjoomuhnee, it was as if someone had announced I was handing out hundred dollar bills. I was swarmed. Grandpas, babies, teenagers; anybody and everybody who was around wanted a Happy New Year pouch from the American girl. Not only were people receptive to my botched verbal attempts to say "Happy New Year" in Korean, they were thankful.
"Thank you," whispered the six-year old bundled in the comforting arms of her mother.
"Kamsahamnida," from the Grandpa in a green woolen hat.
"You look so beautiful in our dress," said a woman of about thirty.
I was shocked. Within two minutes, all of my pokjoomuhnee were gone. It was an honor to wish thirty random Koreans a Happy New Year in such a traditional and unique way. I am glad this is how I left my mark.
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