I was on the verge of failing Mandarin, when a last-second pivot caused me to utterly fall in love with Korean culture, and send me in a totally new direction
T
he first time I discovered South Korea was during a Mandarin homework mishap in 2013. I was 16 and lacked all the characteristics required to be good at languages: confidence, a thick skin and any desire to talk out loud. Forced to choose a language, Mandarin seemed like the best option for me – with a self-proclaimed photographic memory, I spent hours cramming complex Chinese characters, convincing myself I could pass my exams without speaking a word. I could not.
My vow of silence was shattered three months in, when I was introduced to my native-Chinese conversation teacher. As suspected, I was woeful. I cried, she cried. Stunned by my ineptitude, she quietly wiped a tear away with her knuckle as she helplessly suggested that I watch Chinese TV dramas to improve my pronunciation instead.
That night, I worriedly scoured Netflix. Unlike today, there weren’t many Asian dramas to choose from – just a handful of broody Japanese crime series, a few Chinese epics full of sword fights and long grey beards, and one South Korean drama about a high-school rock band with perfectly coiffed hair. As an English teenager at the height of One Direction fever, this was the jackpot. I hovered over the enticing thumbnail full of young Korean actors, and, never one to turn down watching TV for homework, naively thought: “Well, she did say to watch a drama.” I often think about what my life would have been if I hadn’t clicked.
