At the beginning of the semester, my goal was to complete a beginner Korean course at my host university. Now, it is already May, and the first two months of my semester abroad have flown by. This feels like the perfect moment to reflect on my experience of living in a country without speaking the local language.

After the first two lessons, I decided to drop the Korean class. I quickly realised that learning a language with a completely different alphabet requires significantly more effort than I had initially expected. Moreover, I came to the conclusion that Korean isn't a language I intend to master in the long run. Given the steep learning curve, I felt the necessary effort might be misplaced. It takes a considerable amount of time and constant repetition before you can actually use new language skills in daily life. To be honest, my current Korean vocabulary consists of only about ten basic words – just enough to get through a trip to the supermarket or say a polite hello. By the time I would have reached a functional level, the semester would already be over. Since I lack the motivation to continue studying Korean once I return home, I realised that any progress I made would likely fade away very quickly.

Despite my limited knowledge of Korean, I haven’t encountered any major problems in my daily life. Most Korean restaurants allow you to order via tablets, which usually offer English translations. You even pay directly at the terminal, eliminating the need for any verbal interaction. In the few cases where a digital menu isn't available, I simply use my phone to translate the physical menu or rely on Papago, a translation app, to communicate with the staff. Similarly, daily transportation, such as buses, trains, and taxis, no longer requires much human contact thanks to automated systems and apps. Furthermore, many young Koreans speak English at a sufficient level, so I haven't faced any significant difficulties navigating social or professional situations without speaking the local language.

However, despite the lack of practical problems, I sometimes find myself wishing I knew a bit more of the language. I have noticed that especially older Koreans truly appreciate it when you say ‘hello’ or ‘thank you’ in their native tongue. Even if I don't understand another word of the conversation, these small gestures of respect seem to create a warm connection that technology simply cannot replace.

Looking back, I don't regret dropping the course, but I’ve learned an important lesson: 15 years ago, you needed a language to survive; today, thanks to technology, you only need it to connect. Even if apps make life easy, knowing the basics is still a nice way to show respect to the locals. This realisation is something I’ll take with me for the future.