On Saturday, I had one of the worst hangovers of my life.

And the worst thing about it was that it began while I was still drinking.

I had only a few beers, but the side dishes were all cold — sashimi, salad and the like — and pretty soon, I had a searing headache. 

But I wasn’t about to lose my cool, so I held on for dear life, trying to smile and make small talk.

Then as we were talking, I suddenly forgot about my hangover for a bit and became quite engrossed in the conversation.

My counterpart was an executive at a Japanese retail chain. 

He was making quite a bit of money, but he stressed that he really enjoys what he does. Then his friend mentioned that his dad was very, very well-off. And that he ran a family business that had been handed down over several generations.

He said that the father had pleaded with the executive and his brothers to carry on the business, but they all refused. His dad is still there, running the business while his sons live their lives as they wish.

The Koreans who were listening to his story, including me, were speechless.

Here we were, all of us salaried workers all looking for a way out. All thinking, it would be great to have a successful entrepreneur for a parent. Being an entrepreneur yourself is too much of a hassle, you see.

And here was a man who had refused an easy way out. The business was quite lucrative, and running smoothly on auto-pilot, he said, without even a hint of ruefulness.

We used to see a lot of stories of how Japanese people inherit their family business no matter what. The son may be an accountant or a lawyer, but in the end they do what their fathers did.

But in some ways, it takes more courage not to follow that path.  

To say no to (relatively) easy money and break out on your own. 

In Korea, the situation seems quite different. It’s been quite a while since more and more young Koreans began aspiring to be teachers, professors or civil servants with a longer career span.

These same people — the so-called “88 Generation,” named after their prospects of 880,000 won ($730) monthly salaries — would give an arm or leg to have a parent with a tangible business to bequeath.

I remember when I visited Seoul last month. It was so exhilarating to be among people who actually knew how to raise their voice when the situation calls for it, and where everything was moving at warp speed.

The transition, however, also came with a certain amount of rage and frustration. One of the biggest was the defeated looks on so many of the young employees I met at shops and restaurants.

So many of them appeared as if they were bored to death and couldn’t wait to get off.

Then I read the news about how there were few regular jobs to go around. That many younger people were making do as temps. That most loathe their work, and that it shows.

But I want to ask, what is it you do want to do? Is it like you have something you want to do so much, even at the risk of throwing away a chance at the family business?

They say there’s no place for entrepreneurism in Korea. The top-down social culture and fear of failure are cited as the primary reasons. And recently, surveys show that a much bigger portion of self-employed Koreans are unhappy and feel threatened, compared to their counterparts in developed nations, including Japan.

How much of this is true, and how much of the exasperation and doubt is due to a lack of real dreams?

At the end of the day, it seems pretty cool if you actually have something you want to be or do. 

And it’s clear that that desire or aspiration is sorely missing in the lives of so many of our young people.

My migraine returned far too quickly for me to make any more observations. My last word about that night is, never, ever take a painkiller for a hangover headache when you are still slightly drunk. It can be lethal.

By Kim Ji-hyun

Kim Ji-hyun is The Korea Herald’s Tokyo correspondent. — Ed.