Sometimes my middle school students talk to me in Korean, even though they’re perfectly capable of expressing themselves in English. Partly, this is to indicate a different pragmatics: it shifts control of the discourse from me to them, since I’m the one with limited Korean ability. I think they derive some satisfaction from that. So, especially during times of just chatting or joking around, they’ll start talking in Korean, but still talking to me. This is remarkable, because half the time I don’t understand them, but I fake it pretty well, and I guess they enjoy the notion that they’re “teaching” me, too.
On Friday night, some girls in my HS2M cohort had the giggles. Well, certain types of 8th grade girls often have the giggles. I said, somewhat jokingly, “Are you going to stop laughing? Ever?”
One girl, Gayeong, said, painting a serious face for just a very short time, “But, Teacher! I have 웃음조절장애!”.
I laughed pretty hard. “웃음조절장애” means, roughly, “Laughter control disability” – with the same formal or vaguely medicalized discourse level. It’s the way a Korean child psychologist might talk about it, if it were considered an actual disability. So it was a joke.
I’ll have to remember the experession.
[daily log: walking, 1km]
Day: May 19, 2018
Caveat: Poem #658
Sometimes the dust that inhabits my room
spirals around as if searching for what
random thing might have been lost or forgot.
[daily log: walking, 7.5km]