There’s a strange irony here, isn’t there? English teachers in China are the most common expat job, yet they’re often the ones who get the side-eye. It’s like being the guy who brings the same joke to every party—everyone’s heard it before, but no one can quite figure out why it’s still funny. The stigma feels a bit like a collective joke at our own expense, a shared meme that’s somehow both cringey and comforting. We’re the ones who’ve traded in our careers for a chance to live in a country where ramen is a meal and “hello” is a greeting, but somehow, we’re still the butt of the joke.
Let’s not forget the role of expat culture here. It’s like a high school cafeteria, but with more visas and fewer sandwiches. You’ve got the “real” expats—engineers, lawyers, and tech gurus—sipping lattes while discussing their high-paying jobs, and then there’s the English teacher crowd, who’ve somehow managed to turn teaching into a lifestyle. It’s not that we’re not capable; it’s just that our careers are… well, less impressive on paper. But here’s the thing: teaching in China is no cakewalk. We’re juggling lesson plans, cultural differences, and the occasional student who thinks “grammar” is a type of cheese.
The term LBH also feels like a reflection of how society views teaching itself. In many countries, teaching is seen as a noble profession, but in China, it’s often the last resort for people who couldn’t land a “real” job. It’s a bit like being the backup dancer at a concert—essential, but not exactly the star of the show. Yet, here’s the twist: many of us chose this path willingly. We’re not just here to teach; we’re here to experience, to grow, and to maybe, just maybe, find a way to make it work.
There’s also the element of comparison. When you’re surrounded by expats who’ve landed roles in finance, tech, or even consulting, it’s easy to feel like you’re the odd one out. But let’s not forget: teaching isn’t a “lesser” job—it’s a choice. Some of us chose it because we love language, others because we wanted to live in a place where the air is cleaner and the food is better. The LBH label feels like a way to mock the unmockable, a way to make light of something that’s actually pretty damn brave.
And then there’s the whole “Losers Back Home” angle. It’s a bit like saying someone’s a “loser” for choosing a life of adventure instead of a 9-to-5. But here’s the thing: life in China isn’t all ramen and subway rides. It’s also about navigating bureaucracy, learning a new language, and figuring out how to order coffee without a translator. The LBH label might be a way to cope with the chaos, but it’s also a way to dismiss the real effort it takes to live here.
The stigma is also a bit of a double standard. If you’re an engineer in China, you’re a “professional,” but if you’re teaching, you’re a “fallback.” It’s like saying someone’s career is only valid if it’s in a field that’s deemed “important.” But let’s be real: teaching is one of the most impactful jobs out there. We’re shaping minds, bridging cultures, and sometimes, we’re the only connection some students have to the outside world. The LBH label feels like a way to downplay that, to make us feel like we’re not “serious” enough.
In the end, I think the LBH label is less about us and more about the people who use it. It’s a way to feel superior, to create a hierarchy of expat jobs that’s more about ego than reality. But here’s my take: teaching in China isn’t a failure—it’s a choice. It’s a path that’s messy, unpredictable, and sometimes ridiculous, but it’s also one of the most rewarding. So yeah, maybe we’re the “Losers Back Home,” but we’re also the ones who’ve found a way to make the most of it. And honestly? That’s not a bad way to live.
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Teaching, China, Feels, Label, Maybe, English, Because, Expat, Somehow, Teachers, Tired, Teacher, Still, Stigma, Careers, Ramen, Forget, Thing, People, Chose, Choice, Language, Saying, Sometimes, Honest, Losers, Become, Quirky, Nickname, Sticks, Sticky,
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