In Seoul

MIDDLE aged married women known as "ajumma" are a formidable force in South Korea.

They are aggressive, loud and often uncouth, a startling transformation from the demure and sweet damsel that has been immortalised in soap-operas. It's amazing what marriage can do to a Korean woman - her muscles and vocal cords suddenly become strong.

These are people who will rush for seats in the subway and pity those who stand in their way. Once I almost got bowled over by an ajumma. No words of apology. She simply sat down snug in her victory of having snagged a seat.

These women are supposed to tend to household chores during the day when the husbands are at work but I often see them in parks whiling the hours away with fellow ajummas. They whine about the rising cost of education, the lack of attention from their husbands, the plummeting stock market and their husband’s stagnant salaries.

I never wanted to eavesdrop. They are just loud.

Ajummas are group creatures hanging out what is known as the "ajumma brigade" and they have their pet causes to champion. With baby in stroller, they are the part of those taking on the government in the earlier spate of anti-US beef protests. Advertisers enlist their help to be mystery shoppers to test the quality of products. They herd together for overseas trips to places including Singapore and often offer unsolicited Korean lessons at the top of their voice.

On my home trips, thanks to them, I often have difficulties distinguishing Changi Airport from Incheon Airport. They are also the ones who will throng temples at the end of the year to ask for divine help for their children taking the university entrance exam.

After five years of being in South Korea, a key reason for me surviving unscathed and sane is this: I have learned to stay out of the way of an ajumma.