The term "LBH" (Losers Back Home) has become a punchline in expat circles, a shorthand for English teachers in China, who somehow landed in the land of dumplings and dragon boats. It's not just about teaching - these individuals are navigating an intricate web that encompasses cultural quirks like soy sauce on shirts being stuck forever to their garments, while also facing bureaucratic hurdles such as getting a "cup" for bubble tea instead of cash when attempting official transactions; this joke is inescopable from the rest. The reality behind it however remains serious and complex - English teachers here aren’t just teaching as they were before, but rather navigating through mazes to be able, including existential crises over whether their degree holds more worth than a cup of tea with bubbles rising up like confetti in an explosion that’s impossible to ignore.
The joke isn't the only thing being navigated - these teachers have also been subjecting themselves to cultural quirks and bureaucratic hurdles, not as they were before, but rather facing them head-on; this leads us into asking ourselves about our own worth in comparison: "If I could earn a cup of bubble tea from my degree when teaching English to expats like these teachers - is it possible that the joke's meaning might be more than just funny?"
As one delves further, we see there are indeed numerous cultural quirks here; if you were asked about them now: "What do people say behind closed doors and what kind of conversations could they have in front when talking like this while teaching English to expats who find 'LBH' labels funny but also serious?"
That term - Losers Back Home, has become the go-to label for many teachers here; although it began as a punchline within jokes about cultural quirks and bureaucratic hurdles that those "losers" were facing every day while teaching English to expats in China like these ones.
A teacher's job isn’t just restricted by their qualifications - but also the daily experience of living, working or simply existing
within this cultural context; teachers here need more than a degree: they are required to have an open mind and be ready for whatever might come at them next. "Can one survive on soy sauce-sticking-to-their-clothes-like-forever while still teaching English in China, like the ones who stick around?"
At times it gets difficult - is there a point where a joke isn’t funny anymore? That punchline that we call "Losers Back Home" becomes something which may strike us as both saddening and infuriating when hearing of all these teachers; I'm thinking perhaps the term itself could become its own cultural quirk, leading to an interesting discussion about whether a cup from somewhere might be worth more than what one gets.
This isn’t simply teaching - navigating through mazes, or just having "bubble tea" for existential crises; no – this is English teachers in China living as expats themselves, and all that comes with it when facing such labels every day while working on their own terms: How does one tell the punchline from what's behind - Losers Back Home?
I recall a conversation where we touched upon these cultural quirks bureaucratic hurdles, existential crises, etc., and then asked ourselves if our degrees were worth more than just being funny or not. While this may sound like an easy question for many of us - expats in China don’t find themselves on the receiving end very often when teaching English to those "LBH" labeled teachers – where do you, yourself, fit into such a scenario?
Telling apart what's behind from that punchline isn't easy for many of us expats who teach in China like these LBH-labeled ones; while our qualifications may be worth more than just funny labels - how does one decide "worth" when teaching English to those same teachers every day?
The stereotype paints them as the last resort of the global job market, a group of people who couldn’t find work elsewhere and decided to “try their luck” in a country where the alphabet is written in characters. But let’s not forget, many of these teachers are here for reasons as varied as the students they teach. Some are chasing adventure, others are chasing a paycheck, and a few are just trying to remember if “banana” is a fruit or a slang term for a certain kind of expat. The LBH label feels less like a critique and more like a meme—funny, but not entirely fair.
What’s fascinating is how this perception clashes with the actual experience of these teachers. They’re often the ones who get stuck with the most challenging classes, the ones who have to explain why “I’m not a native speaker” isn’t a cop-out, and the ones who learn to laugh at their own misfortunes. A teacher once told me that in their first month, they accidentally taught a lesson on “how to politely ask for a raise” using a textbook that had “raise” as a verb, not a noun. The students were confused, the teacher was confused, and the whole class ended up in a debate about whether “raise” was a good idea.
There’s also the irony of the LBH label itself. It’s a term that’s often thrown around by expats who themselves might be in the same boat, just with slightly different hobbies. While one teacher is battling a 100-person classroom, another is trying to decode the mysteries of a 24-hour convenience store. The LBH stereotype ignores the grit and creativity required to teach in a system that’s as rigid as it is dynamic. It’s like saying a chef who works in a fast-food joint is a failure, without considering the artistry behind a perfectly grilled burger.
Let’s not forget the cultural shift that happens when you’re teaching in a country where English is both a bridge and a barrier. Teachers often find themselves translating not just words but entire worldviews. One teacher I know once tried to explain the concept of “sarcasm” to a group of students, only to be met with blank stares and a chorus of “Why would you say something you don’t mean?” It was a moment of clarity for both sides—teachers realizing that language isn’t just about grammar, and students learning that humor is a language of its own.
The LBH label also overlooks the personal growth that happens in this environment. Teachers who once thought they’d never leave their hometowns now find themselves navigating a world where they can order coffee in three different languages and debate the merits of K-pop with a 12-year-old. It’s a transformation that’s as unexpected as it is profound. And yet, the stereotype persists, like a catchy pop song that everyone hums but no one really understands.
Here’s a joke for you: Why did the English teacher in China get a promotion? Because they finally figured out how to spell “banana” in Chinese. (Spoiler: It’s not “banan.”) But seriously, the LBH label is a reminder that stereotypes are often built on half-truths and a dash of humor. It’s easy to laugh at the idea of expats being “losers,” but the reality is far more nuanced. These teachers are not just here to teach—they’re here to learn, to adapt, and to find their place in a world that’s as confusing as it is beautiful.
In the end, the LBH label is less about the teachers themselves and more about the lens through which they’re viewed. It’s a mirror reflecting our own biases, our tendency to categorize, and our inability to see the humanity behind the label. So next time someone tosses around the term “LBH,” maybe we should pause and think: What’s the story behind that teacher? What’s the journey that brought them here? Because sometimes, the real losers aren’t the ones who left their homes—they’re the ones who never dared to leave.
Categories:
Teachers,
English,
Teaching,
Cultural,
Expats,
Ones,
Behind,
