My Korean Water Dispenser

Two hundred years ago, you might have brought water from the well. Your shoulders might have strained as you walked with an oppressive bucket balanced on your head.

Once back home from the chore, the work still wasn't done. If you wanted it hot or clean, you would have to turn on the boilers or start a large fire in a pit. You'd wait for a healthy boil to roll, which will let you know the bacteria were killed and the water could be put on your skin or travel down your throat without worry.

But the work wasn't complete yet. All the water had to be used or wasted. And it was only morning. Only your first trip to the well. In a few hours, you'd need to put that heavy bucket back on your head, and pray your neck doesn't bend under it.

One hundred years ago, human innovation pulsated through industrial revolutions. With indoor plumbing becoming more stable around the globe, we could turn on our sinks and avoid the cold trek outside to the wells or bathhouses.

If our past humans could look at us now, sitting snug and hardly thinking of thirst or bath, they would scoff at our laziness and shake their fists at our lack of gratitude for such a luxury. Clean water, at the touch of a button. Hot water, in under ten seconds. The hours of water labor, lifted in a blink of an eye.

What a marvel. What a privilege.

The Conway Water Dispenser, just one of the many advanced machines I treat as common furniture, sits in my kitchen, waiting to be used. It's a wonderful Korean invention to fool us into thinking our tap water simply will not do. South Korea has one of the cleanest city tap systems in the world, but we would never think of turning on our faucets and taking a sip. Not with Conway sitting right there, judging our cleanliness.

Conway is advertised by one of the most famous Korean K-pop groups, BTS. The handsome young men pose, with glasses of water as pure as crystals, on billboards and screens. They hardly need to work to promote the water filter machine. Their dazzling smiles sell out each and every color variant introduced.

In two more years, our Conway will be expired, and a replacement will be sent over. We will not mourn the machine that brought us our drinking and cooking water. We will eagerly browse the flier, stare into BTS's lovely eyes, and choose our next one. No gratitude, only annoyance that the setup time might take longer than half an hour.

There are many perks to this semi-portable household machine.

Every two months, one of Conway's trusted employees comes to our home and changes the filters. This ensures the smoothest, cleanest drink. Even our cat's automatic water dispenser will get refilled by the Conway, so it's important we keep up to date with our filters.

Need your hot water in under six seconds? No problem, the automatic boiler is permanently set to a low hum. It is in a separate compartment from the filter that travels from the sink pipe to the body of the machine. The cool and ice-cold water settings are in the final compartment. It is not the consumer's responsibility to know how the technology functions. Our only job is to press a button and enjoy.

The filter only takes up about half a counter worth of space. It can be moved around the kitchen with ease because of its lightweight build. Since Korean apartments are small, the Conway fits perfectly into our lives.

I have never considered what it would be like to hoist a bucket of heavy water upon my head. Would my neck bend under the weight? Would my back vibrate with pain? Would the cold in winter freeze the hot aches of the walk back home?

I've never needed to know. And if my privileged life remains, I never will.

Tonight, I'll make a cup of warm tea before bed. I'll push the hot water button, and the spout will sputter and drop the water into my thirty-dollar novelty mug.

I won't even blink as the water rushes to me, sparkling and warm. I expect it. I demand it. I might even grow impatient, waiting all six seconds for the heat to rise.

If my ancestors are watching, as I take my cup back to the sofa and mindlessly stare into my phone, I fear they'd know me as a spoiled, laborless child. On my screen, I'd find a statistic from Sub-Saharan Africa, informing me that young women are burdened with six hours of water fetching each day. These six hours could have been spent studying, reading, playing, or connecting. But instead, they fetch water.

My thumb will hover over the faces of the African girls. My pale skin will grow cold, and I'll start to feel guilty. So, I'll scroll past them, get up, and make another cup of tea in under six seconds to settle my stomach.