My students are always shocked when I tell them that English is my second language. By now, my Korean is nowhere near as good but it's still the language I think in. My curses and prayers always feel better in Korean. Lately I've been really enjoying my native tongue. I’ve been singing K-pop songs and dropping Hangul in conversations. I’ve even introduced myself as Taeyoung.
Korean is played in short, choppy sounds. If English rolls through its letters, Korean stutter-steps each character. Each vowel is rushed and married to a hard consonant. The cadence fluctuates wildly, jumping up and down; Korean speech can be charted on music staff. And we speak it rapidly, plugging in words to universal sentence structure. Nouns are attached to articles that make sentences easy to anticipate. Korean thoughts flow like mad libs.
But more than anything, it's endearing. with separate conjugations of verbs to show respect. completely different vocabulary when addressing your elder. Whenever I talk to my friend’s parents, meet esteemed speakers, or want to honor my Dad, I’m grateful for the honorific style of Korean. Ironically, there’s something self-empowering about submitting to others.
I used to be embarrassed to answer my mom’s phone calls around American friends. Meanwhile, my Latino students flaunt their Spanish like a rare talent, seamlessly code-switching when they address each other. Maybe I’m getting bored with English. or embracing my roots. But when I speak Korean, it feels familiar and natural. It fits the length of my tongue and the shape of my lips. It makes me wanna improve my Korean. Maybe even live there for a little. I want to understand my mom’s articles in the church newsletter. I want to communicate closely with my wife’s parents. I want my kids to speak Korean as their first language. As cultures change and parents pass, the language might be the only thing that remains.
