It was almost nine p.m.. My mom, dad, brother and I walked into a local restaurant near our hotel on Jeju Island. We were hungry and tired after having hiked up Seongsan Ilchulbong. A lady sitting at a round grilling table by the door put down her bottle of Soju and called out a name. A second lady in a black apron stepped out from the kitchen. Now it was time for me to put my Korean speaking skills to use.
It was my third time visiting the country as a non-native Korean speaker, my sixth year since self-studying the language, so ordering food was a walk in the park. I was familiar with the hierarchical levels of speech: speak formally by using honorifics with strangers and your elders; dispense honorifics only when the person you are speaking to is the same age as you, or if they give you permission to do so.
This lady in the apron took one look at my family and I. She yelled loftily, “mwo?” which was an informal word, no honorifics attached. That word was not a polite “welcome” or “how may I help you?” It meant, “what?”
Maybe it was nothing other than poor customer service, but earlier that day at another restaurant, I had spoken Korean to the owners only to be assigned Mandarin-speaking servers after I code-switched to Cantonese with my family. Not only was my Chinese dialect conflated with another, I was also denied the opportunity to converse with the locals in their own tongue.
I was baffled: why did I not remember this kind of thing happening two years ago when I had travelled here? However, I quickly realised that it probably had happened before. I just never noticed because my understanding about the Korean language and its culture was not as acute as it was now.
That is not to brag about my language skills, but to pose a question central to this article:
How does one’s relationship to a foreign culture change in the process of learning that culture’s language?
A language is made up of not only words but also bodily gestures and tone. What is more, the meanings of a word are culturally constructed. Linguist, Ferdinand de Saussure coined the terms “signifier” and “signified” to distinguish the difference between a symbol, such as a word, and its meaning.
For example, since it is a cultural norm in South Korea to speak formally with strangers, especially in customer service, when the lady in the apron spoke the informal word “mwo” (“what”), it signified disrespect and meant something along the lines of “I assume you will not understand me, so I can speak however I want to you.” On top of that, her lofty tone and nonchalant stance communicated those ideas even more clearly.
I took a blow from that “mwo” and resorted to pretending like I did not know Korean. I ordered our takeout by pointing at the menu and saying in English, “this and this, please,” as a tourist should, then stepped outside to wait in dejected silence. When my mom asked me why I looked upset, it occurred to me that no one else in the family had picked up what I had. Not understanding the language, my family saw no problem in the lady’s attitude towards us. They thought I had switched to English merely because I was tired.
In truth, that dejection came in tandem with six years of written grammar practices, watching K-dramas and K-reality TV, reading about South Korean culture, and visiting the country. Those six years had pulled me so close to the culture that when we had landed at Jeju International Airport the day before, I felt quite at home, but I was only so close.
Language is a crucial part of most cultures. It enables written and spoken forms of communication, allowing people to document their lived experiences as well as express their ideas with one another. Therefore, a good way to connect with a foreign culture is to acquire their language. However, that is not all it takes. Culture is also formed by collective memory, such as time spent together and shared histories.
At that moment in the restaurant, I shared no collective memory with the local staff and it showed. I looked ethnically different, dressed differently, and spoke a different mother tongue with my family than they did with theirs. While I was decently fluent in their language, I probably used the wrong words here and there, which was easy to spot for a native speaker. Hence, I was not much more than a foreigner to them.
Learning Korean allowed me to form connections with certain parts of the culture. I could resonate with song lyrics by my favorite K-Indie band, JANNABI; follow a recipe for Kimchi Jjigae and make myself a pot of authentic-tasting Kimchi stew; enter a pharmacy in Jeju and ask for a pack of cough drops — yet my positionality remained starkly different from that of a native speaker.
The recurrence of locals in Jeju speaking Mandarin or English to me despite my efforts to converse in Korean also made me realise that perhaps in recognising that I was a tourist, the locals had wanted to practice their foreign language skills, just like I did.
We got caught in this back-and-forth of opposing positionalities, trying to engage with one another’s cultures but not quite landing on the same page.
There appears to be an inherent gap between locals and foreigners even when speaking the same language. This gap is worth our attention, because what if you are not a tourist in South Korea but an international student in Canada? Compared to visiting a country for tourism, forming kinship in a foreign culture becomes much more important when studying abroad.
If you are among the 20% international students at UBC Okanagan, you were most likely required to submit some proof of English proficiency in your university application. Universities want to ensure that students are capable of completing their academic degree using English, which is usually not the primary language of instruction in an international student’s home country.
At the same time, most 20% of you know that getting a 6.5 or above in the International English Language Testing System (IELTS) is just the first step to feeling included in Canada. Inclusion and kinship in a culture are not guaranteed by language proficiency. An international student who aces their IELTS can still take the bus for the first time in Canada and not know that it is proper etiquette to say “thank you” when getting off. That is, you can know the words yet be unfamiliar with when and where to use it.
Last week, I spoke with a third-year Bachelor of Fine Arts student at UBC Okanagan. Originally from Nepal and having lived in Canada for four years, she reflects on how the language barrier has influenced her sense of belonging. Since Nepalese is her first language and English her second, studying in English has often been challenging for her:
“I find it difficult to fully express my ideas in assignments, class critiques and exams, or join conversations with local students. It sometimes makes me feel a little left out.”
Considering this student’s perspective, not only does a language barrier limit one’s academic potential, but it also makes friendship or deep conversations with locals less accessible.
Within language, there exists subcategories such as academic jargon and slang. Surely, even students from Canada can relate to reading an academic paper for the first time in their lives and feeling like they cannot understand the English language. Now take that feeling and double it: that is how a first-year international student might feel.
Navigating the English language as an international student means having to dissect theoretical terms like “cognitive dissonance” in a psychology class, then feeling equally confused when a classmate ends the group discussion with “slay!” Someone new to North American culture would not know how to respond let alone emanate the sassy, confident tone that must accompany the term “slay.”
Language is exclusive — even English, the primary language of at least 46 countries in the world. For instance, in Canada, you can ask someone, “Wanna go to Timmies?” and “Timmies” would easily be understood as the local coffee chain, Tim Horton’s, but if you ask the same question in Australia, the response might be, “Who is Timmy and why would I want to go to their place?” This goes to show that language is extremely specific and tied to place.
Culture-specific terms become intimidating and isolating for a newcomer. Moving to a foreign country is scary enough, realizing that your grammar textbooks did not teach you the load of jargon and slang that pervades this foreign language is even scarier. So how does one overcome this multilayered language barrier?
There are a couple of solutions. First, UBC Okanagan offers an English Foundation Program that helps students develop their English language skills, critical thinking ability, general knowledge, learning strategies, and intercultural competence. This includes English for Academic Purposes (EAP) courses as well as labs and tutorials for added support.
Secondly, the Nepalese student whom I spoke with finds that Youtube videos, music, podcasts, and movies are fun ways to improve her understanding of English in the context of popular culture. She adds that “these things have helped me feel connected to a new culture.”
Finally, the simplest and best advice: do not give up. Returning to this article’s central question, “How does one’s relationship to a foreign culture change in the process of learning that culture’s language?” The truth is, during most of that process, you are going to feel like an outsider. Even after learning Korean for six years, I felt more excluded than included while travelling in Jeju Island, and it remains challenging for the international student from Nepal to find her voice in an English-speaking environment. However, there have also been experiences that encouraged her to continue honing her English language skills:
“The first time I felt rewarded [for learning English] was when I answered my teacher confidently in a class discussion. I was happy that they understood me, and this gave me confidence in my communication skills. Moments like these make me feel heard and respected, and they remind me that my hard work is paying off. This encourages me to keep improving.”
While learning a language may not necessarily give you a sense of belonging to a new culture, you reap many benefits in the process, including better confidence, communication skills, and most significantly, a broadened perspective. We live in a world of diverse cultures; learning languages helps us listen, understand, and converse with one another. It makes parts of the world that seemed once foreign not so foreign anymore.
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