On
Learning the Korean Language
By Antonio
Graceffo
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February 2007
When
I called home, my brother asked me how hard it was to learn Korean, and
after a lengthy explanation, “But Chinese is easier than Korean.”
I concluded.
The average person, normal people
who haven’t dedicated their lives to being language and martial arts study-monks,
would imagine that learning Chinese is about the hardest things someone
could do. But two weeks into my study of Korean, I began to suspect
that Korean was harder. Six months later, when I could read and write
with ease, and possessed thousands of vocabulary words, and countless grammatical
structures, but still couldn’t order off a menu, I was convinced, Korean
is the hardest of the ten languages I have studied.
Set in North East Asia, sandwiched
between China and Japan, Korea has one of the most unique languages in
the world. Much of the vocabulary is similar to Chinese, while the
grammar is similar to Japanese. American words and cultural influences
are unmistakable. Real football (the American kind) and baseball
are extremely popular collegiate sports. The players strut around
the university sporting letterman jackets the same as back home.
Schools are divided into elementary,
middle, and high school. A bachelor’s degree is four years; students
have a major and a minor. There is a master’s degree and a doctorate.
Basically the whole system mirrors the American one. The word for
pop song is pop song. The word for chicken is chicken. American
movie titles are simply transliterated so “Spy Game,” is “Spy Game,” and
“X-Men,” is “X-Men.”
At a glance, Korean seems that it
should be the easiest language in the world for an English native speaker,
who speaks Chinese. But don’t get too comfortable! Everything
about Korea, from the culture to the language is completely Korean.
Sometimes the familiarity actually makes things more difficult as you expect
things to be like back home, but you find out they are different.
So, when you go out to a ball game
you can eat shredded, kimchi and dried squid. I never saw any of
that at Yankee stadium.
“Take me out to the ball game.
Take me out with the crowd. Buy me some kimchi and dried squid.
I don’t care if we ever get back.”
Chicken is chicken, but only when you
are buying fried chicken on the street. Everywhere else, chicken
is duk gogi. “Spy Game” is “Spy Game,” but spy has no meaning apart
from being a movie title. In martial arts circles, the word match
means a fight. But everywhere else, you say match and no one knows
what you are talking about.
The weird English usage goes both
ways. Most Korean dictionaries translate the Korean word PC Bang
as PC Room. So when Koreans are speaking English they say they are
going to the PC Room and expect you to know what that is, because it is
English. It may take a while for an English native speaker to guess
that PC room means internet café, a word which doesn’t exist in
the Korean collective English lexicon. Another Konglish word is academy. |
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The Koreans refer to the night time
English schools as hack wans which, in Korean literally means study rooms
or study places. But when speaking English, they refer to hack wans
as academies. For most Americans, academy means a military training
school. So we are shocked that children are sent to an academy at
age seven or eight. The English word school is only used for a public
or private primary school. If I say I am going to the Tae Kwan Do
school, my Korean friends get confused, “But you are too old for
school.”
Thanks for reminding me about my
advanced age. You forgot to point out that I am a bit overweight
too.
One of the
easy features of Korean language is that the pronunciation is consonant
vowel, consonant vowel. Linguistic scholars maintain that this is
the easiest combination to pronounce, which is why German, which can have
four or even five consonants in a series, is hard for foreigners to pronounce.
As for unique
sounds, Korean only has one or two sounds which we don’t have in English,
such as giu he, which means church or ui sa which means doctor,
the eu sound is hard for us. But once you have mastered these
two phonemes, the pronunciation is not an issue.
The size of
Korean words is also perfect. When you are learning Thai it is not
uncommon to find words with twenty letters. Korean words usually
consist of a combination of two or three syllables. (More on this later.)
The
best thing about learning Korean is that Hangul, the Korean writing
system, is one of the easiest in the world. The Korean writing system
is an alphabet, just like the western/Latin script. Hangul was created
under King Sejong during the Choson Dynasty (1393-1910). King Sejong
is considered to have been the greatest ruler of Korea and is credited
with having brought about many positive institutions in Korea such as sunshine
and the changes of season. Perhaps his contributions have been a
little blown out of proportion, but he did a lot of good things for the
country. As a result, the dynasty lasted until 1910. At that time,
Japan invaded Korea and the country remained a Japanese colony until 1945.
Korea had been
using the Chinese writing system for centuries. The Chinese claim
their system is perfect. Although many scholars would disagree, the
Chinese system does have one very significant advantage. The strength
of the Chinese writing system is that the pictographs (characters) have
meaning, but no sound value. So, anyone, with any native tongue,
can look at the Chinese characters and pronounce them in any language.
As a result, Korea, Japan, Vietnam, Hong Kong, and Taiwan were all using
the Chinese writing system, but pronouncing it in their own language.
And all over Asia Buddhist monks were using the Chinese characters and
scriptures.
The disadvantage
of Chinese writing, however, is that it is so bloody difficult. When
I was studying in Taiwan I discovered that primary school students spent
nearly half of their study time learning to read and write their native
tongue. As a result, China has a surprisingly high illiteracy rate
given the country’s level of development. In the 15th century, Korea
was also suffering from widespread illiteracy, due to the difficulty of
the Chinese system.
In 1446 King
Sejong, proclaimed a 28 letter writing system called Hangul. The
word Han, meaning Korean. Today, the system has been further
simplified to only 24 characters. Most foreigners find they can learn
the alphabet in about a week. Korean children are expected to have
mastered the alphabet before they begin school.
Being sandwiched
between the huge neighbors, China and Japan, the Koreans have developed
a pervasive nationalism. They are afraid that if they let their guard
down at all, and begin absorbing foreign culture, their unique Korean culture
will disappear. Hangul appeals to this nationalism, and is
a powerful element of Korean national pride.
Although the
Hangul
was
being taught and used in Korea, it was being used parallel to the Chinese
characters. To be an educated person, and a fully functioning member
of society, it was necessary to master both. Newspapers were written
in Chinese characters until the early part of the 1990s. Today, medical
school, pharmacy school, and several other university departments still
use textbooks written in Chinese characters.
If you don’t
speak Korean, you may wonder why when you see Korean writing it looks like
Chinese type characters instead of a string of letters such as in English
or Russian. The reason is that Korean is written in syllables.
Each syllable is a tight composition of Korean letters which fit together,
like a Rubic’s cube, and look like a Chinese type character. In many
instances each syllable does, in fact, correspond to a Chinese character.
For example the Korean word for library is do so guan. The
Chinese word is du su gwan. The pronunciation is almost the
same. And the three Korean syllables would correspond to the three
Chinese characters.
Where the language
becomes difficult for a student of Chinese language is that in Chinese
du
su guan literally means study book place. So once you learn the
word for library in Chinese, you have also learned the words for book and
study. But in Korean, the first two syllables, do so, don’t
actually have any meaning at all. The only place where the word so
reoccurs for book is in the word so jum which means, book store,
but again, the word is obviously borrowed from Chinese, and has nearly
no other meaning.
In researching
the origins of the Korean language it is difficult, although very important,
to be able to separate which similarities with Chinese and Japanese are
the result of a common origin, and which are loan words.
.
Living,
Working & Investing in China - Living.
Working & Investing in China -
What this report will do is arm you with ammunition needed to reduce the
number of unpleasant surprises related to living, working or investing
in China. In it, the author relates his first hand experiences to help
alleviate your worries regarding mundane daily tasks such as getting your
hair cut, making your computer work and what's on TV. It includes information
on jobs available in China, where to look for them and how to avoid the
bad ones. It offers reassurances about visas and examples of actual teaching
contracts. You will also find a brief overview of China's long and rich
history, must know cultural tidbits and interesting facts. I urge you to
read, enjoy, learn from mistakes and when you're done, dive headfirst into
the Middle Kingdom. In today's world, you will find no more exotic and
exciting place!
This report certainly won't remove
all the surprises and mystery that exist in China today. You will simply
have to go there and do that for yourself! |
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I grew up speaking
both Italian and Spanish. Where the languages overlapped, say 70%
of the vocabulary is similar, we could attribute these similarities to
a common Latin origin. So, for example kitchen, cucina in
Italian and cusina in Spanish, both obviously come from the same
place, showing that the languages are related. But the word toilette
which is a fairly universal word, used in German and English, is a loan
word, a word borrowed from French, and in no way suggests a common origin
for the three languages.
(Author’s note:
Before you send me any angry emails I would like to say: If we go back
far enough in time, we would find that French, German, and English share
a common origin. But this is not proved by the common use of the
word toilet.)
Using this
type of logic, separating words demonstrating common origin from borrowed
words, many scholars maintain that Korean is a completely unique language,
although somewhere on the order of 30-50% of the vocabulary comes from
Chinese language. One interesting observation I have made, and when
I say interesting I mean only for people like me, the Korean word for weekend
ju
mal contains the components week and end of a time period. The
Chinese word jo mo is nearly identical and uses the same Chinese
characters, but it has no meaning in Chinese apart from weekend.
Could this mean that weekend is a Korean word, written with Chinese characters,
which was adopted by the Chinese?
Since the
Korean government is paying my tuition, I will say, “Yes, it is.”
Ok, enough
egg-headed details about the Korean language. Now let’s look at why
learning Korean is such a traumatic experience.
First off,
Korean is the only language I have learned, so far, where there are two
separate counting systems. They have a Chinese counting system (based
on Manchurian dialect, not Mandarin) which is used for counting certain
things, other things are counted with a Korean counting system. As
a student of the language its frustrating trying to remember which set
of numbers to use.
When reading
stand alone numbers, such as phone numbers, addresses, ID card numbers
and bus and train numbers, you use the Manchurian numbers. When counting
things, you use the Korean numbers. When telling time, however, the
hours are counted with Korean numbers, but the minutes with the Chinese
numbers. So 5:05 would be dasot shi o bun. Dasot
being five in the Korean system and o being five in the Chinese
system. Twenty-four hour shops, however, are called by the Chinese
number yisip-sa shi instead of the Korean seumel net shi.
If you have
ever taken Tae Kwan Do in the States, the exercises are always counted
il,
i, sam, sa, o, yuk…but this is incorrect because these are the Chinese
numbers. When you study martial arts in Korea, the exercises are
counted using Korean numbers, han, dul, set, net, dasot, yosot…
My personal
Waterloo in learning the Korean language is the social register. In Korean
there are special ways of addressing people depending on their status.
So you use one verb form for talking to a friend, and another for talking
to your parents. You would use yet another for talking to your grandparents.
You also use special forms for talking about people who are more important.
Just when I thought there couldn’t possibly be another verb form, I stumbled
onto a sentence I couldn’t make head nor tail of. My teacher explained
to me, “this is how a mother talks to her son, if she is talking about
the grandfather.” Of course!
In addition
to the various address forms, Korean is the only Asian language I have
studied which has a full compliment of grammar. In addition to having
numerous verb tenses, Korean also has grammatical moods to convey concepts
such as probability, suggestions, orders, requests, doubt…and then each
of these moods will have various forms dependent on who you are talking
too. Chinese is simple in comparison. Almost everything is
in the indicative and there really aren’t any tenses. Once the tense
has been established, you no longer need the various indicators.
Korean also
has particles which follow nouns to tell whether the word is a name or
an inanimate object, a subject, an object, plural or, a single subject
which is similar to a subject already mentioned.
And so I sit,
frustrated. I have memorized, at this point, literally more than
one thousand main words, verbs, nouns and adjectives. And yet, every
time I open my mouth I have to think, who am I talking to? What are
we talking about? How sure of this am I? When did it happen?
By the time I sort out all of these details, the person I wanted to talk
to is home in bed. And I am left alone and speechless. The
good news is, the average American male has a life expectancy of 78 years,
so I still have 38 years to learn to speak Korean. Maybe by then
I will have learned to like kimchi.
Originally from New York City, Antonio
works as a full time adventure and martial arts author, writer, and film
star. He speaks Chinese, Khmer, French, German, Spanish, Italian,
Thai and is learning Korean. He has studied and competed in martial
arts and boxing for over twenty-five years, and has studied at the Shaolin
Temple, in Mainland China and a Muay Thai (boxing) temple, in Thailand.
He is the author of four books, available on amazon.com.
Checkout Antonio's website www.speakingadventure.com
Get his CDs and DVDS ar http://cdbaby.com/cd/graceffo
Get Antonio's books at amazon.com
The Monk from Brooklyn, Bikes, Boats, and Boxing Gloves, The Desert of
Death on Three Wheels, Adventures in Formosa |
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