The Guardian
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 The 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. Continue reading...
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