My story

My Journey: Why I Teach Korean in the US

If middle-school-me had heard that someday I’d be teaching Korean in a city in Utah, I probably would have just laughed. But life is full of wild twists, and my story is about as twisty as it gets.

I grew up in Korea, with my mom’s stories and the spicy smell of kimchi always in the air. Then, as a teenager, I moved to China. Suddenly, Korean classrooms turned into Beijing subways, and Mandarin became my daily soundtrack. High school and university happened in Chinese. I learned how to juggle languages, friends, and late-night dumpling runs.

After university, I found myself back in Korea, working in business connecting Korea to the world in the oil and chemical industry. But my heart kept wandering, always curious about new places and people.

That curiosity led me to my next destination: the US. My husband started his PhD, and I joined him, studying marketing and exploring how people use their smartphones in unexpected ways. I loved everything about living in new cultures, but something always tugged at me—from deep inside my Korean roots.

I missed more than just food or holiday traditions. I missed all the little things: the jokes that only make sense in Korean, customs that shape how you see the world, and values that don’t always translate neatly. Now, as a mom to two daughters, language has become everything—it’s how I pass on not just words, but an entire way of being.

There’s a debate out there: “Why bother learning another language? AI can just translate everything!” I get that question a lot. But can you really make a lifelong friend with a translator app? Can you feel the real warmth of a hug or a laugh when your words are filtered through a voice that isn’t yours? Would you ever have a truly honest and deep conversation if there was always an AI sitting in the middle, deciding what you meant? I doubt it.

Language isn’t just about swapping words. It’s about connecting, feeling, understanding—a shared perspective you can’t get from a machine. When you learn a language, you’re also seeing the world from someone else’s eyes—and that’s priceless.

I’ve seen firsthand how language fades if you stop using it (my Chinese got rusty), and I vowed not to let that happen to my Korean, especially for my kids. So, here I am, organizing lessons and games, starting a Korean club at our local library, and trying to raise kids who feel at home in more than one world.

Maybe that’s what teaching today is all about: helping others find their voice—unfiltered, untranslatable, perfectly human. For me, that journey starts, and keeps growing, with Korean.