Page 4 of Teach Me K-Pop

I’m yawning, my cup of coffee poised halfway to my mouth when I hear the chime on the call. This certainly would not have been my first choice for a time of day to do any kind of tutoring, but when it comes to scheduling, the 14-hour time difference between here and Seoul is inconvenient at best and downright brutal at worst.

Accepting the incoming chat, I hear noise—rustling and mumbling in Korean—before I can see anything. It sounds like someone is being told togo awayand once it’s finally quiet the picture pops up. There’s a young man, dressed in a black tee shirt with a black beanie pulled low on his forehead, a few errant strands of dark hair peeking out and obscuring his right eye. He’s looking at something below the screen, like he hasn’t noticed I’m here yet.

“Annyeong, Nikko,” I say, letting him know he has an audience.

“Joesonghabnida seonsaengnim,” he apologizes, nodding his head slightly forward, showing he’s contrite with both his phrasing and actions. Okay, so I’m definitely not picking up any spoiled rich kid vibes like I expected. “I am sorry.”

I start to tell him it’s okay, but when he looks back up, I get my first full view of his face. And it’s,damn, it’s a good face. I’d dare say flawless even. There’s something almost startling about seeing someone in a casual setting who just looks kind of perfect. I wish I’d taken a couple more minutes to at least tame my hair a bit.

“Nothing to worry about.” I give him my best teacher smile, the one that’s supposed to be reassuring, but somehow feels a little wobbly right now. “I’m Jase, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Hello.” He pauses with a look of uncertainty.

Assuming he’s trying to figure out the proper way to address me, I say, “My plan is for us to speak casually, using English unless you need to ask for a word or phrase. So as long as you’re talking to me, there’s no need for honorifics. You can just call me Jase. Is that okay?”

Nikko nods, but it’s obvious this will be a struggle for him. It is with most of my students, as it goes against everything they’ve been taught about the rules and manners of conversation their entire lives. “Thank you. Jase.”

“Of course.” I decide to spare him my thoughts on how Americans don’t place the same importance on a hierarchy of respect that Koreans do and instead figure out how I can be most helpful to him. “Are there specific topics you’d like to practice? Or would you prefer to just talk and let it flow naturally?”

He considers for a moment. “Your students, what is…” Trailing off, he looks down, cheeks faintly pink.

I give him a moment, in case he wants to try again, then prompt, “Are you asking what my other students do?”

“Yes. That.” He fidgets a bit, lacing his fingers together to crack his knuckles.

“It depends on what they need. Some want to practice questions and answers for jobs or college interviews. Others prefer to have conversations that make them follow along and adapt,” I explain, measuring the cadence of my words carefully to give him time to process. I watch him, trying to gauge how much of what I’m saying he’s actually taking in.

“Interviews,” he repeats, tilting his head to the side. “I think we will… talk.”

I take a sip of my coffee, humming in agreement. “Sure. We’ll start there.”

I watch him shift in the chair, and I can’t tell if he’s getting comfortable or if it’s nerves. “Hi, Nikko. How are you today?”

“I am fine. And you?” The response is so automatic, I assume that he’s drawing on basics he learned back in school. I remember Kija saying he’d been learning for a while on his own, but there’s a big difference between memorizing words from an app and trying to talk to another person.

“I’m well, thank you for asking.” My teacher grin returns as I reply. “How long have you been studying English?”

“I study for a year?” The hesitation returns, his dark eyes dipping down to his keyboard.

“About a year? That’s great. Sometimes I work with people who are just starting, so you have an advantage already.” I look at him closely as I speak, still checking to see if I think he’s with me. He’s not giving me any kind of indication that he’s struggling, so I continue. “Have been using an app on your phone?”

“Yes,” he says. “It is good for knowing words.”

“I agree. The language programs are a great way to learn vocabulary and learn how to, like, ask where the bathroom is or how much something costs. But, I think that conversations are the best way to practice. Especially for interviews, since those are a lot of small talk.” I stop for a sip of my coffee because that was probably way too much at one time.

A flicker of confusion crosses his face. “Small talk?”

I chuckle. “I’m sorry, I forgot how American that is. Small talk means... talking about things that don’t necessarily matter much. Like the weather or traffic, stuff you might talk about with strangers while you’re stuck in an elevator or sitting in a waiting room. But I realize that’s also kind of a chatty American habit.”

He seems to consider what I’ve said for a moment. “Are we small talking?”

I’m not sure why that strikes me as so cute. “A little, maybe. I wouldn’t say it’s the same, though, because we’re starting to get to know each other.”

“I do not understand,” he tells me, avoiding my eyes like he doesn’t know if he should admit that or not.

“It’s okay. Normally small talk would be with strangers or people you probably won’t see again. It’s just to be polite and pass the time or fill those awkward silences that happen when a bunch of people who don’t know each other are standing around together.”

“I am not good at that,” he admits. “But I want to.”

---