Why Did I Teach Abroad?

Dear reader,

This is not a post about why you should teach abroad. This is a letter to myself about why I did. Maybe it will resonate, or maybe it won’t. But if it does, then here’s some advice that has stuck with me in the last year I have been in Korea.

We regret the actions we don’t take more than the actions we do take.

. . .

I always wanted to live abroad.

I grew up on stories of family friends joining the JET program, moving across the world, and teaching in Japan. I saw pictures of eager eyed fellow Nikkei kids standing in front of Tokyo Tower or the Glico Man in Osaka or in small Obon festivals in the middle of Gunma.

And I wanted that.

I wanted to go on some great adventure outside of the coasts of California.

So, in my junior year of college, I tried things out and studied abroad in London. It was the first time I had ever lived so far away from my family, from the familiar hills of Silicon Valley, and it was thrilling. I, a homebody to the core, had never gone out so much or so frequently.

During those months I spent hours looking at exhibits at the Tate, chased stars in Norway, and wandered through the streets of Prague. I took cheap flights that I had to wake up at 4am for. I rented a car and drove through fjords. I drank champagne from paper cups atop Primrose Hill to watch the sunset.

Exploring London, traveling to different European countries—it was fun, but I could still tell that my heart wanted to go east.

Back at home, I spent the free moments of my senior year planning and thinking about where I wanted to go after graduating. I had dozens of tabs open about different programs for teaching English in Asia and TEFL certificate programs.

But, just a week from turning in my final senior thesis, my school’s campus closed.

It was March 2020 and the world I knew had just lock downed for the pandemic.

Borders closed, and all my plans came to an abrupt stop.

I took my last class of college in daze of online sessions and strange sleep schedules until I graduated in my living room, watching a livestream on my TV. I spent the following summer getting my TEFL certificate during midnight hours, applying to jobs, getting rejections, and generally just trying to exist.

I thought about applying to grad school, stopped halfway when I realized I wasn’t over college burnout, finished my TEFL certification, and finally started working again.

Suddenly, it was the 2021 and I was just waiting to see how the world learned to live with Covid. It felt a bit like swimming in molasses and also a bit like driving in the fast lane. Every day was constantly changing—this regulation, that regulation, this vaccine update or that one—and yet every day was the exact same as the last. Get up, go to work, go to bed.

I also realized, at some point in 2021, that I had grown terrified of change.

I realized I hated anxiously waiting to hear what new policy was coming out, what new economic downturn we were in, what borders were closed then reopened and then closed again.

After living in lock down limbo, after stumbling into the outside world again—change, something that I had loved, was now one of my biggest fears.

But the stagnation that came with working in an office also scared me. I wondered if I was going to live the rest of my life like that, every day just a continuous loop of the last. As the months passed, winter turning to spring to summer, the growing anxiety of being “stuck” in life grew too.

Thus, halfway through 2021, I made my decision.

I was going to South Korea for a year.

South Korea wasn’t my first choice. The little Nikkei girl who grew up on JET stories was still dreaming of the land, but back in 2021 Japan’s closed borders seemed like they would never open. I had heard so many rumors of the delays, the Covid restrictions, and honestly, there was a quiet fear of being disillusioned by a country that I knew was flawed but that I still dreamed of regardless.

Then, a friend of a friend reached out. She had just finished her year teaching in South Korea, and was wondering if I was interested in hearing about her time in EPIK—or the English Program in Korea.

One FaceTime call later—I applied to a recruiter, who walked me through EPIK applications, and I zoomed through the process. I interviewed, I got my visa paperwork done, and packed my bags. Then February 2022 came and I was on a plane headed across the ocean.

I was pursuing a dream I always had. I was visiting a part of the world I had never been to. I was forcing myself to confront a fear that I knew, that I still know, would have ruined my life.

I wanted to have an adventure, and I was going to have one.

So, long story short, I decided to teach abroad because the small lizard part of my brain screamed at me that the fear of standing in the same place was more terrifying than taking the chance on change.

Sincerely,

Kon