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You hear a distinct Korean rhythm and style when Koreans speak their English with their Korean voices, but before the U.S. Army arrived in the country in 1950, it was rare to meet Koreans who knew any English at all. Today, millions of Koreans begin their studies of English in childhood such that by the time they become teenagers they speak, think, read and write in English without ever having spent even a semester abroad in an English-speaking country. Astute foreigners working as English teachers in Korean middle schools soon realize that for many of the students in their classes, English has already come alive in their minds and voices and they are so intelligent with the language, that it's all the teachers can do to keep up with them.
Still, the notion persists among more than a few native English speakers that everything the Koreans say and write in English that isn't "standard practice" is Konglish (a habit of mind revealing more about the stupidity of the person saying this than it does about English usage in Korea or anywhere else). Though there is Konglish, the Koreans have coined English words and phrases particular to them that aren't Konglish.
A Konglish term is a word or group of words borrowed from English and made into Korean. Koreans spell Konglish words in Hangul and often give them definitions similar to their American meanings but still a little different.
For example, the noun "shyoo-puh" is a Konglish word that you see spelled in Hangul on signs above small grocery stores all over Korea. The Koreans have taken the American term, supermarket, shortened it to super ("shoo-puh," as it sounds to my American ear), and spelled it in Hangul. A shoo-puh isn't a giant supermarket, nor is it a corporate-owned convenience store. It's a small grocery store usually owned and managed by an older couple ― a "mom-and-pop" we call them in America.
"Beenil housuh" (as I hear the Koreans say it) is another Konglish term. A beenil housuh is what Americans think of as a green or hot house where professional gardeners grow flowers and sometimes vegetables. Years ago, a few resourceful Koreans salvaged sections of steel tubing discarded by the United States Army, shaped and cut the tubing into semicircles and spaced these pieces out a meter or so apart for the length of a field, raised the whole thing to form a steel skeleton, covered it with clear plastic vinyl (also left by the U.S. Army), thus building their "beenil housuh" ― or vinyl house ― where they could then grow watermelons, tomatoes and strawberries, among other fruits and vegetables, during the winter.
Koreans have also coined a few terms they use in both English and Korean. One such term is "handphone" ― which is not Konglish but Korean-English ― and the Konglish "handuh-pone." Handphone is good English, no matter that Americans, Canadians, Britons, or Australians may call it a cell phone. The Korean "handphone" accurately describes this device (after all, you hold it in your hand). Also, what we native speakers call a business or calling card, Koreans call a "name card," which again is good English and is perfectly logical, for the most important feature of a business card is the bearer's name.
My favorite, though, is the valediction the Koreans say instead of the American, "Have a good day." What you're likely to hear a Korean say is, "Have a good time." And though it's not much of a difference, it's a nice touch.
"Have a good time."
Sometimes when I'm walking through the neighborhood, a knot of little boys will call out to me with, "Hello," probably because they want to practice English but also because they are little boys and they like to talk to foreigners. (By contrast, when they see a Korean man, they stop and bow without saying anything.)
"Hello," I say back to them, "how are you?"
"We are fine, thank you. And you?"
"I'm fine too," I say.
"Where is your hometown?" they say, by which they mean to ask me where am I from (yet another example of Korean-English).
"I'm from America," I say.
"America!" they say with their youthful exuberance. "We LOVE America!"
"Well, you know what, boys? Korea is great too."
"Yeah!" they say. "We are KOREAN!"
Being little boys, they're ready to run off to their next adventure, but before they go, they wish me well by saying:
"Have a good time."
At a young age, little boys in Korea are already speaking Korean-English.
Lyman McLallen is a copy editor at The Korea Times. He taught English at Hankuk University of Foreign Studies for many years.
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