SOUTH KOREA: ONE YEAR LATER

Today marks a year since I ventured out alone to South Korea to begin my life as an English teacher. Boarding my flight alone on February 10^th, 2022, felt surreal yet simultaneously terrifying. I spent the entirety of 2021 preparing for this moment, from the 4am Zoom interviews, to the constant (& expensive) visits to DHL to ship off document after document. I had never wanted something so bad in my life, though at the same time I had no real grasp of what that thing was. Leaving home meant leaving behind everything I knew and loved up until that point in my life, my family for one. Life post-pandemic determined that the time we got to spend together with our loved ones became that more precious and valuable, as it taught us how easily it can be taken from us. The missed birthdays, Eid celebrations and family gatherings could never be made up for over a virtual FaceTime call across three oceans. Distance is difficult, and something I will never quite grasp the concept of. Some days it feels like I can turn a street corner and be right at home with my family – I can almost smell the parotas my mum is preparing in the kitchen. On others, it feels like I’m living on a remote island with nothing but a magic conch shell (think back to that one SpongeBob episode). While the latter couldn’t be more different from my reality here in South Korea (and if anything, the UK is quite literally the island here), it’s routine to feel isolated and lonely at times.

Luckily, I have amazing support networks both professionally and personally. It is a privilege to know and love these people, some of which are on the same exciting, strange journey as me. Working abroad as a teacher has been a particularly eye-opening experience. As the youngest faculty member at my school, it’s not completely out of the ordinary to be met with shock when others learn that I’m a 2000’s baby (teachers and students alike). Having an age-gap of less than a decade between me and my youngest students has taught me to approach my role more sympathetically and at the same time, more responsibly. I can name and describe practically every teacher I’ve had the pleasure (and displeasure) of meeting since the age of 13, meaning I should take every course of action to leave the best impression possible on my own students. For many of these kids, you are one of the handful of encounters they’ll have with foreigners while living in Korea. This comes with its advantages and disadvantages. The advantages, to name a few, are using this opportunity to broaden their cultural awareness, building upon their language abilities and most importantly (imo), giving them the confidence and room for error to do so. Education is hard, and English is merely an inconvenience to many students who hold zero prospects of using it in their budding futures. Many (native and non-native teachers) make the mistake of politicising English as a tool of power that reigns over the 7000+ other languages the world has to offer, endorsing a colonial message of ‘English ability = utmost knowledge’  in their own teachings of the language. Before this shifts into an essay on decolonising language and literature, I’ll highlight my teaching philosophy as stated in my initial job application:

“I am a strong believer in the equal importance of both teacher and student in the classroom, predicated on Paulo Freire’s ‘ banking model of education ‘that advocates for the democratisation of the classroom. This is achieved by recognising the authority of both teacher and student, rather than asserting dominance over the student that intimidates them and forges a superiority complex […] As teachers are the primary depositors of this knowledge, they should be aware of the content they push out and take into mind the repercussions should they choose to neglect the student’s best interests.” – October 2021

Of course there are disadvantages that come with navigating life as a foreigner in Korea. Most frustrating perhaps is the preconceived notions  of what it means to be a ‘foreigner’. Regardless of how you choose to label your foreign identity , be it an ‘expat’, ‘traveller’ or ‘settler’, you become increasingly aware of just how differently you are seen and treated by society. The Korean term for foreigner, ‘외국인’, is often translated to mean ‘alien’ in English. It should be humorously noted that it was no more than 3 years ago when South Korea officially decided to scrap the ‘A’ in ‘ARC’ (Alien Registration Card) and reformed it to simply read as ‘RC’ (Registration Card). This card is essentially your portal to life in Korea, and although I can only see the light-hearted use of ‘alien’ to describe my presence in the country, it can (and has) played a part in how me and my peers have been accepted (or denied) into society. As a foreigner, you represent an entire population of people in the country you will never personally see or meet yourself. In that sense, it is very much so a collective identity regardless of whether you welcome or reject the idea of it. Your students, co-workers and friends alike may have an entire character of you made up in their minds before a meaningful exchange has even taken place between the two of you. As much as I would love to treat this as a generalisation, it is awfully common to hear “you’re different from other foreigners!” or “I thought you were like all the other foreigners!” (the ‘foreigners’ in question being one (1) unpleasant person they’ve encountered at work or on the news). South Korea is a fairly small country, meaning there is an even smaller sample size of foreigners to inspect and form an opinion on. With that being said, I will stress the importance of embracing the culture, language, and lifestyle of any country you choose to migrate to as a basic, mutual sign of respect. However, in the face of prejudice, it isn’t and shouldn’t always be our duty to reform such notions and stereotypes placed on the ‘foreigner’ identity.

Despite such happenings, this past year has been the best of my life. People have gone above and beyond to welcome and accommodate me in ways I have never experienced elsewhere. I had always pictured this move as one that didn’t necessarily involve the making of lifelong friendships and relationships I would cherish forever, but rather as something that would momentarily fulfil my career goals and give me further insight into the world. In my case, I have experienced all of this and more, so much so that I know my time here isn’t over. With any journey in life that involves leaving behind the comfort and security of home to venture out into the unknown, ups and downs are inevitable. This experience has taught me how much I’m yet to learn and discover about myself and the world around me, while also reminding me how important family is to me and what it would cost me to lose out on even more time apart from them. Despite my original plans to spend a single year teaching in South Korea, I have decided to renew my contract for another year and plan to return back home to the UK in February 2024.