Many years ago, Michael worked as a waiter alongside a stunningly attractive Polish woman. Her name was Asia (pronounced Ah-sha), and she seemed to dominate every room she walked into. She was kind, and gentle, and patient, and when the other waiters flirted with her, as they all inevitably did, Asia would just laugh and shake her head before getting back to work.
One evening, in the middle of a service, Asia passed through a doorway while holding a tray. The side of the tray struck the door frame, and Asia said the word “Ow.”
It was not an expression of pain; it was simply a statement. Immediately after this collision, she stepped back, corrected her balance, and continued on through the doorway as if nothing had happened.
The clarity with which Asia had said “Ow” stuck with Michael for a long time afterwards.
In later years, Michael went on to live in Chile, where he taught English to grown ups. His adult students were as varied in their English abilities as they were in their ages. Some of his students weren’t even able to conjugate the verb “to be,” while others spoke with such fluency that Michael wondered why they needed classes in the first place. It was this latter group that Michael found the most interesting. With his advanced students, he would have long, complex conversations about a wide variety of topics. Michael would throw his most sophisticated vocabulary at them, and his students would respond without flinching. Sure, some of these students had accents, but otherwise their English was flawless.
The interesting thing about these students was their lack of confidence in their speaking ability. They seemed unable to believe that their English was as good as it sounded. Despite their fluency, they would often apologize for their “terrible” English. Or they would believe that there was vast room for improvement, or that they still didn’t feel like they were good enough to apply for English jobs. Any time they received praise, they would only think people were being polite.
The common denominator among all of these advanced students was that they had started learning English later on in life. Perhaps it was only in high school that they started getting interested in the language. Or maybe it was with their first job that they realized the benefit of learning English. Or perchance they had always wanted to learn another language, but could only afford to do so with their first paycheck.
Whatever the case may be, Michael always struggled to convince these students that their English level was on par with, or even better than, most native English speakers.
This phenomenon was a mystery to Michael until one unremarkable day when he suddenly recalled the memory of Asia walking into the door frame. The way she had said “Ow” had been so clear and so crisp. It was as if she had meant to say “Oh,” and had modified it at the last moment. And it was not just any “Oh,” but the kind of “Oh” you would say to someone when you have intruded on their space, or disrupted their life in some minor way. It was the kind of “Oh” that immediately preceded an apology.
The more he thought about it, the more convinced Michael became that Asia had been about to apologize to the doorway.
Such behaviour in someone as captivating as Asia seemed out of place. Her reaction was that of someone with low self-confidence – of someone who felt that they were at fault for all transgressions. Surely someone who could hold a room as she did would have grown up confident and in command of their own space. Any misstep would be the fault of someone else when it came to her, because she was the master of her surroundings. She was self-assured, and she was not afraid to keep her head up and her eyes open.
Apologizing to inanimate objects was something that Michael was quite familiar with. He had grown up carrying the blame for every misstep, every interruption, every shoulder check. Anytime anyone unexpectedly came into his space he was the first to apologize. Apology became second nature to him, until he was asking pardon from the furniture itself.
As a child, Michael quickly came to accept that he was shy. His primary method of communication was silence. His first language was downcast eyes and evading interactions. It was being unseen and blending into the background. It was avoiding competition and accepting last place as a matter of course.
Time passed, Michael left school, and he began to work on improving his self-image. He got jobs that forced him to interact with people. He took dance classes and drama classes and started exercising. He said yes to every opportunity and he forced himself to socialize. He got in shape, found wit, and learned to look people in the eye. As with all people, maturity brought him comfort in his own skin, and as he settled into adulthood he began to notice that people noticed him.
Now, at 31 years old, Michael is an advanced student when it comes to confidence. He speaks it fluently, but he still does not believe it to be true. While his sense of self-worth is high and healthy, he does not truly believe that he is attractive, he does not truly believe that he is interesting, and he does not truly believe that he is all that smart. When people compliment him, he believes that they are only being polite. When people choose to be in his company, he is convinced that it is only for a lack of anything better to do. So he is grateful for Asia, who showed him that even the most confident people are just shy people with a second language. And he is grateful for his Chilean students, who reminded him that that even the most highly-skilled practitioners of a craft can have self-doubt if they acquired those skills later in life.
The Hangul Games 