Let’s get one thing out of the way before we dive into the emotional rice cooker that is jeong: this concept is going to make your average emotionally constipated Western therapist twitch. Why? Because jeong laughs in the face of clean emotional boundaries, politely offers you a cup of tea, and then refuses to leave your life even if you ghosted it six months ago.
If you're unfamiliar with the word jeong (정), congratulations — you’ve either never dated a Korean person, or you’ve lived a life free of intense soul entanglements that don't have clear start or end dates. Must be nice. But for the rest of us? Buckle up.
What Even Is Jeong, and Why Is It Clinging to Me?
At its most basic, jeong is the Korean word for an emotional bond that forms between people over time. But unlike your standard American brand of affection that comes with prepackaged terms like “romantic,” “platonic,” or “leave me alone Karen, we only spoke once in line at Target,” jeong is a shapeshifter. It's friendship, family, shared suffering, mutual annoyance, that uncle you can’t stand but would punch a bear for — all rolled into one.
It’s the emotional equivalent of kimchi: complex, fermented over time, occasionally stinky, but oddly comforting when you’re feeling lost. It’s that thing you feel when your neighbor brings you soup when you’re sick, and now you’re morally obligated to attend their kid’s school play until the end of time.
It’s not love exactly. Jeong is quieter. Stickier. It’s a warm blanket made of shared moments, unspoken loyalty, passive-aggressive favors, and food offerings no one asked for.
Jeong vs. Western Feelings: The Smackdown
Let’s be honest: the West’s emotional vocabulary is about as deep as a kiddie pool. We’ve got “I like you,” “I love you,” “I’d die for you,” and “we should probably see other people.” That’s it. Four categories, clean lines, swipe left if confused.
Jeong laughs at this rigidity. Jeong says, “Sure, you can hate your mom, but you’ll still send her a care package because she likes those weird fish jerky snacks from Busan.”
In contrast, Western culture is all about cutting “toxic people” out of your life. You know, the ones who… check in on you too much? Bring you soup? Remember your cat’s name? Jeong doesn’t compute with that logic. It’s not toxic — it’s fermented affection, baby. It sticks. Even when you wish it wouldn’t.
You can try to Marie Kondo your relationships all you want, but jeong will still spark joy in the weirdest damn places. Like when your college roommate you haven’t spoken to in a decade sends you a photo of the ramen shop you used to cry in together during finals. Does it make sense? No. Does it make you cry a little into your keyboard? Yes. That’s jeong.
The Many Faces of Jeong: A Relationship Shape-Shifter
Let’s break this down with some real-world scenarios so you can fully appreciate the many cursed and beautiful forms jeong takes:
1. Romantic Jeong:
You’ve broken up. It’s done. You had “the talk,” deleted each other from your playlists, and agreed not to text. Two weeks later, you’re getting a “hope your grandma’s surgery went okay” text at 2 a.m. Not because they want to get back together. No, no. Because jeong. That emotional lint trap doesn’t clean itself.
2. Platonic Jeong:
Your old co-worker from the café you worked at in 2011 still messages you every Chuseok (Korean Thanksgiving). You haven’t seen them in person in 12 years. You have nothing in common anymore. But they know how you like your coffee, and that means something. Jeong.
3. Familial Jeong:
Your mom has never once said “I love you,” but she peels fruit and leaves it on your desk when you’re stressed. She also critiques your life choices with surgical precision. The fruit cancels out the trauma. That’s jeong.
4. Workplace Jeong:
Your manager screams at you during meetings but defends you like a rabid tiger when someone from another team tries to throw you under the bus. They’ll also buy you lunch when they feel guilty. It’s not a healthy dynamic, but it is jeong.
5. Pet Jeong:
You and your neighbor’s cat stare at each other every morning while drinking coffee across your respective balconies. You’ve never touched. You’ve never spoken. But if that cat disappeared, you’d riot. Jeong. Furry. Silent. Real.
The Passive-Aggressive Power of Jeong
Don’t be fooled into thinking jeong is all cuddles and heart emojis. It’s also judgmental gifts, emotional debts, and lifelong obligations you never asked for but now can’t live without.
Your aunt, who hasn’t spoken to you in three years because you didn’t go to your cousin’s wedding, still sends you frozen dumplings “just in case you’re too busy to cook.” That’s the weaponized form of jeong. Sweet, with a side of “don’t ever forget who loved you first.”
It’s not love-bombing. It’s love simmering. Forever. On low heat. In a pot you didn’t ask for but now can’t throw away because she bought it from Costco in a three-pack and “thought of you.”
Why Americans Don’t Get Jeong
Look, America thrives on individualism, emotional autonomy, and therapy speak. We love our boundaries. We draw them with chalk, permanent marker, and, when necessary, barbed wire. “You’re not entitled to my emotional labor,” we declare proudly, as we cut off someone for not replying to a meme fast enough.
In that context, jeong feels invasive. Creepy, even. Why are you still emotionally tied to someone you haven’t spoken to in five years? Why are you worried about whether your ex-boyfriend’s dog got over his hip surgery?
Because jeong, that’s why.
Jeong doesn’t respect your “clean break.” It doesn’t care about your five-step breakup plan. It lingers in that bowl of soup someone made you when you were sick. It echoes in the random note your old friend left on your windshield after your job interview.
Americans want closure. Koreans want to make sure you ate.
Jeong and Food: The Ultimate Love Language
If jeong had a love language, it would be feeding you until you explode.
No, seriously. Korean culture expresses jeong through food in the most aggressive ways. You say you’re full? Here’s five more side dishes and a lecture about how thin you’ve gotten.
Your halmeoni (grandmother) doesn’t say “I love you.” She says, “Eat more.” And if you’re lucky, “You look tired. You want ginseng chicken soup?” That is a marriage proposal in halmeoni-speak.
You could commit tax fraud, and your mom would still pack you a bento box with seaweed shaped like hearts. Not because you deserve it, but because jeong has no moral compass. It just is.
When Jeong Becomes a Problem (Because of Course It Does)
Now, let’s be real. Jeong can be toxic AF.
It can keep you in relationships long past their expiration date because you feel guilty. You remember the time they bandaged your blister in the rain. You feel connected even though the love died in 2019.
It can also be a tool of emotional manipulation. Ever had someone say, “After everything I did for you…” and then proceed to guilt-trip you with a PowerPoint of all their emotional investments? Yeah, that’s weaponized jeong. It's like emotional student loans with a 15% interest rate and no forgiveness.
And worst of all? Jeong is not symmetrical. You can feel it for someone who feels exactly zero back. And because you grew up in a culture steeped in jeong, you’ll still pick them up from the airport at 6 a.m. anyway. Like a chump. A loving chump.
So What Do We Do With Jeong?
We accept it. We respect it. We occasionally curse its name when it makes us feel things we’d rather suppress with whiskey and nihilism. But most importantly? We learn from it.
In a world that’s increasingly transactional, jeong reminds us that connection isn’t always clean or logical. Sometimes it’s messy. Sometimes it overstays its welcome. Sometimes it comes with kimchi and unsolicited life advice.
But it’s human.
It’s that warm feeling you get when someone you forgot about sends you a photo of a street you used to walk down together. It’s the shared silence on a bus ride with your dad. It’s the moment your ex texts you, not to get back together, but just to say “hope you’re okay.”
That’s jeong. It doesn’t ask for much — just your soul, your lunch, and maybe a ride to the airport at 5 a.m.
Final Thoughts: The Jeong Is Coming From Inside the House
If you’ve read this far and you’re like, “Wait… I think I do have jeong with someone,” congratulations. You’re a soft, squishy human being and not a walking Reddit thread about boundaries.
Western culture may teach us to prioritize our own peace, cut off people like hair extensions, and ghost anyone who eats with their mouth open. But jeong teaches us that some bonds go deeper than logic.
So the next time someone brings you soup when you’re sick, sends you a random “thinking of you” meme, or buys your favorite snack just because — don’t panic. You’re infected. The jeong has chosen you.
And honestly? You’re lucky. Now go call your mom.
