Sometimes in life, we meet unexpected situations, whether or not we're at fault. Some people respond with excuses to protect themselves, finding ways to escape smoothly. Others, however, take a different approach. Recently, I experienced this directly.

On my first day at a new job, the director provided detailed instructions on company policies: "Wear indoor shoes upon entering the office. Bring your own mug. Speak only English. Your official work hours are 10 a.m. to 7 p.m., but, as general manager, you may need to stay later, depending on the workload. Also, feel free to develop your own marketing strategies, such as blogging, event planning, or friend referrals. However, make sure you share all your ideas with the team." I couldn't shake the feeling that my ideas might be exploited rather than valued.

The work environment quickly affected me as one where tasks were prioritized over real connections. While I expected a collaborative atmosphere, the director's main focus seemed to be on keeping parents satisfied by documenting every interaction with their children.

With Halloween approaching, the school was preparing a "market" event where children could use earned "banknotes" to buy snacks. Instead of engaging with the kids, I found myself taking photos for evidence of their activities — like the teacher I was replacing, who had abruptly quit.

When I saw a part-time teacher standing idly in the hall, I asked her, "What are you doing here?" She seemed taken aback, perhaps thinking I was overstepping, and later complained to the director. In response, the director spoke to each staff member individually about the situation. When she met with me, I explained that I also felt uncomfortable. It was my first day, and I already sensed a lack of understanding for my perspective or feelings.

The director stared at me in silence, her expression unreadable. I felt that her strict expectations — to speak only in English and conform to the organization's cultural norms — were conflicting. She addressed me in English but without genuine cultural sensitivity, treating me as though I were expected to operate within a strictly Korean working style.

She later mentioned that she felt unwell, unable to sleep or digest her dinner, perhaps because she expected me to silently listen without expressing my views.

Reflecting on this experience, I'm reminded that language is more than a means of communication; it's intertwined with culture, values, and identity.

I was raised to speak openly and express my feelings — a trait encouraged by my parents through respectful, open discussions. They fostered my independence, encouraging me to make my own decisions and learn from them, regardless of the outcome. Here, however, I felt that my background and communication style were disregarded.

Language connects us to our heritage and community, carrying cultural pride and continuity. When someone insists on a specific language without considering a person's cultural background, it can feel isolating, as though a part of one's identity is being set aside.