Language as Therapy

I like my job. I teach English conversation with adults. Usually a small group of students, between 1 and 6 people, aged anywhere between 18 and 50, file into my little classroom for 75 minutes. And we talk about a load of different stuff, covering the kind of conversation topics you might expect, like Music, Love, Families, Sport, TV, School, etc. 

But the part I enjoy most is getting to know the students’ individual stories, their pasts, their ambitions, their dreams, and the small talk about their everyday activities – working, studying, bringing up children, meeting friends, getting a girl/boyfriend etc. – this is the stuff which is universal enough for me to relate to (except the bringing up kids bit), yet, being in Korea, there are also many subtle differences which make it all seem new and interesting to me, and I always have lots of questions to ask. 

Sometimes my students seem to find it strange that I find so much mileage in what they assume to be the mundane stuff (“What time do you go to sleep?”, “What did you eat for breakfast today?”, “What do you wear to work?”), but for me, that’s the valuable part of my job – I get to uncover some of the minutiae of Korean life for Korean people, the stuff you can’t discern from a Wikipedia entry or a Lonely Planet guide, and which you certainly can’t get from teaching 6-year-olds how to count to 10 in English. It's like I have my own little Focus Group.

In my first couple of months, I was slightly hesitant to ask personal questions which, in England might be considered rather nosy or invasive. But as time went on, I realised that I needed worry. Koreans are far more open and honest than us Brits.  Koreans have no problem with trying to satisfy their curiosity, and my students often ask nosy questions of each other, especially about money, like asking each other how much their clothes cost them, or how much they earn, stuff which us Brits tend to be pretty coy about.

"Where the magic happens."

Within the walls of my classroom, all sorts of stuff comes out. And I guess the crucial factor is the language difference. For many of my students (who are of a pretty advanced level), English no longer presents a language barrier, but an opportunity. It sounds silly to say, but my class is, for some of them at least, akin to therapy for them. It’s a chance to talk about their feelings in a safe environment: to vent their anger at their manager who doesn't turn on the Air Con when the temperature at work is 32degrees; to voice the unspoken frustrations they have with their spouse who doesn't pull his weight at home; to complain about studying for the endless tests and english certificates they all endure. Basically, to mouth off about the imperceptible structures which shape their lives, and the very tangible people who just irritate them.

I have heard some pretty startling stuff come from my students, especially the female ones. Some wives complain about having married too young, or about regretting having the kids which their husbands talked them into having. Younger students tell about hating their parents, lying about the long-term boyfriends and girlfriends and wanting to move out; and a friend of mine was told by a student (whom she had known only a few days) that she was cheating on her husband with a variety of boyfriends, and had been doing so for years.

It is a well-known fact that people often feel more able to discuss sensitive issues with strangers, where the fear of repercussions is massively reduced (Even if I could speak Korean, I’m hardly going to find their husband/boss/father to dish the dirt, am I). Furthermore, the fact that I am foreign and therefore unencumbered by the cultural norms of Korea, surely helps my students to offload. 

And I guess using English, rather than their native tongue, is a huge factor too. As for me, whenever I speak in a foreign language, there is something un-real about it all. I am almost surprised when the sounds I form with my mouth actually illicit the desired response (I read out some gobbledigook from my phrase book, and 'Hey Presto', two beers duly arrive at my table! How did that happen?).

When I speak English, it comes so naturally to me, that I am entirely aware of what I am saying and the likely consequences of my words. So it’s far more likely that I might be more honest and lucid when speaking in a foreign language (assuming, of course, that I possessed the vocabulary to express what I felt).  In fact, I remember that when learning French in my teens, and having to practice forming sentences, I occasionally said things which, unwittingly, unveiled some inner subconscious truths, which I wouldn’t feel as comfortable saying in English. Most strange.

I know I’m in danger of having made some huge generalisations here, and I know that not all of my students are so open with their feelings in my class. In fact, for some of them, having to speak to me in English for an hour seems like a huge, almost painful effort, and they seem visibly relieved when our time together is up, and they get to re-enter the Korean world outside. But for some of them, it’s maybe the only time they have in their day when the only thing required of them is to talk. 

So, the moral of the story is as follows: if you’re a socially curious person (AKA 'nosy git'), become an adult English teacher, and if you’re an emotionally-repressed wreck, learn a foreign language. 

You heard it here first.