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The Korean language felt like home — until I saw it written in English.By Alex Sujong Laughlin

 
Oct. 10, 2022

I was born in the United States, but raised by my Korean mother, who exposed me to her language early and consistently. Over time, though, English took over as my primary language. I have a solid grasp of Hangul, the Korean alphabet, however, and a smattering of basic survival words, most of which I learned at home when my mother urged me to “bballi bballi mogo” — eat faster, faster.

I recently downloaded Duolingo in an attempt to regain some of my fluency. Language learning apps like Duolingo promise to turn our previously wasted social media scrolling time into productive bursts of self-improvement. With such a convenient tool at my disposal, why wouldn’t I replace my doomscrolling with a little language learning?

In Duolingo, you must start from the beginning. You cannot skip ahead. The first lessons are intended to teach users the basic Hangul letters, to match the sounds with the letters and then begin putting them together. My task was to match the letter with its romanization, but the Roman letters didn’t match with my recollection of the pronunciation of the language I’d been spoken to since I was born. It felt absurd. For a moment, I felt alienated from this language I’ve known my whole life.

This is the trouble in trying to capture one language in another: Each language exists on its own and contains phonetic expressions that are difficult, and sometimes impossible, to capture in another language’s alphabet. But to live in a globalized and pluralistic world means we must find ways to communicate across language boundaries. That’s where romanization comes in.

 

Romanization and transliteration allow languages to be accessible to nonspeakers. Transliteration is the process of phonetically converting one language into another, while romanization refers specifically to converting non-Latin scripts, like the Cyrillic alphabet, Arabic or Korean Hangul, into the Latin (also known as Roman) alphabet that we use in languages like English, French and Spanish.

Contrary to my assumption that Korean words were transliterated into English based on vibes only, the history of Korean romanization is deliberate, complex and fickle.

 

Joy Kim is a curator at the University of Southern California’s Korean Heritage Library who works with standardizing romanization systems across libraries. She explained that Korean was romanized using two common systems: the McCune-Reischauer and the Korean Revised Romanization system.

“Each was developed based on the audience and purposes in mind,” she said. “So the McCune-Reischauer system was developed by missionaries to Korea to record as closely phonetically as possible to Korean. So in terms of sounding out, the McCune-Reischauer system is closest.”

The Korean Revised Romanization system was released in 2000 by South Korea’s Ministry of Culture and Tourism in an attempt to better reflect common usage and sounds of certain consonants that the McCune-Reischauer system didn’t quite capture.

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These systems were developed for bureaucratic and archival reasons: so street signs would have consistent spellings and so researchers could save work in databases that could be accessed later. They follow standardized rules. Once you learn them, you understand the Korean sounds they intend to represent. But it’s not as simple as phonetically sounding out the letters.

“It’s almost a brand-new language for one to be able to use it skillfully,” Ms. Kim said.

This process of adapting, translating and recreation across borders exists for all languages. Some countries, like France, moderate their evolving languages through government organizations that approve or deny new additions to the language. But most languages develop and evolve organically and orally, and written systems (transliteration and romanization among them) follow.

Ms. Kim, a native speaker who immigrated to the United States in the 1970s, has seen her native language evolve without her — new technology, trends, slang and social norms all have a cumulative effect on language. For example, she said “dang-geun” means “carrot,” but it is used for “of course,” and “oppa” means “older brother,” but these days it also means “boyfriend” or “older male friend or acquaintance.” She knows that language lives and changes and she stays up-to-date by watching contemporary K-dramas, so her Korean doesn’t stay stuck in the 1970s.

This idea of seeming Western doesn’t apply just to those living in the United States or other English-speaking nations. Ms. Kim noticed that many Korean speakers often use English words in conversation, even when there is a Korean word available. The Korean word for “fact” is 사실, or sa-shil, but many Korean speakers will use a transliterated version of the English word: 팩트, or paek-tu. Ms. Kim said she found some of these words ridiculous: “I just wish that they would use their corresponding — and perfectly natural — Korean words instead.”

This is true outside of Korea as well. Zinnia Shweiry is a lecturer at the American University in Beirut, where she has researched Beirut’s linguistic landscape. Arabic is Lebanon’s official language, but English and French are also widely spoken, and blending and transliteration of the three languages are everywhere.

Ms. Shweiry said she texted using a romanized version of Arabic called Arabizi that uses numbers to represent various letters that don’t exist in a Latin alphabet because it’s easier to type quickly on a phone. Arabizi has become ubiquitous among younger generations of Arabic speakers, but it is so different from traditional Arabic that it might even seem like a foreign language to a native speaker if they are unfamiliar with it.

“Most of the older generation, they wouldn’t understand what’s what they’re reading,” she said. “and they would tell you, ‘Please type in Arabic because we don’t understand what you’re saying.’ But we’ve gotten used to texting because it’s so much quicker to do that in English than in Arabic.”

 

These collisions of language create new languages that reflect global power dynamics. Arabizi didn’t evolve because people couldn’t use Arabic keyboards on their phones; it was just easier to use the Latin alphabet. That seamlessness is evidence of how the way the technology was built reinforced the evolution of the language.

“I’ve seen this in certain Arab countries — not in Lebanon — the word is English and they transliterate it into Arabic,” Ms. Shweiry said. “So say, ‘Global solutions,’ they would write ‘علوبال سولوتيونس’ — “Global solutions’ in the Arabic letters. Which to me is very weird.”

Ms. Shweiry said that shopping malls provided another telling example of how global power informs whether and how words will be transliterated: Despite Arabic’s being Lebanon’s official language, hardly any signage in malls is in Arabic. “The major brands, we don’t even transliterate these,” she said. “We just keep them in English and in French.”

Deciding when and how to translate or transliterate is something Ms. Shweiry does multiple times a day, as do the millions of multilingual people around the world.

If language were a static thing with rigid rules to which it always stuck, these translations would be simple and consistent. But language lives and changes, it creates its own rules and then breaks them and often doesn’t offer an explanation. Romanization is one way of attempting to bring two languages together despite their inconsistencies.

Since that day I had to connect “어” with “eo,” I haven’t spent much time on Duolingo. My lock screen is filled with notifications from the app’s mascot telling me I’ve made him sad. Now that I know the history of Korean romanization, I would like to be able to stop stomping my feet and get past the introductory levels so I can actually learn new words and phrases, but it still feels strange, somehow cold and inhuman, to learn a language from an app.

Before I got off my call with Ms. Kim, the curator, she told me about her children, who were born in the United States and whose relationships with the Korean language were similar to mine — the immigrant parent, the years of Saturday school, the guilt over not speaking. As they got older, one of them became more interested in learning the language and culture. “She watched the Korean drama and then she picked up speaking Korean,” Ms. Kim said. “And now, she can carry decent communication in Korean with me and her in-laws, so Korean drama is a really good tool. You should watch it.”

I ended the call with a list of recommendations, and queued up my Netflix account.