The Myth of the LBH: Why Teaching English in China Isn’t Failure—It’s Freedom

Let’s be real—there’s a certain kind of mythic folklore that swirls around English teachers in China, like a ghost story told in dimly lit bars after too many beers. It’s the whisper that follows you through the fluorescent-lit hallways of language schools: *“Oh, you’re an English teacher? So… you’re one of those LBHs?”* The acronym—Losers Back Home—floats through expat forums like a cursed Wi-Fi signal, impossible to escape. But here’s the wild part: the stereotype is so widespread it’s practically a cultural meme, even though the truth? Well, let’s just say it’s not exactly a Netflix documentary on underachievers. It's more like a slapstick sitcom where everyone’s wearing glasses, drinking lukewarm coffee, and trying to pronounce “thirteen” without sounding like a robot with a cold.

Now, picture this: you’re a 28-year-old from Manchester with a degree in Victorian Literature, a fondness for poetry, and a dream of writing a novel that’ll win a Booker. But after two years of applying to 473 jobs, you land a three-year contract teaching English in Chongqing—because the hiring manager literally said, “We’ll take anyone who can say ‘How are you?’ correctly.” Suddenly, you’re not a literary prodigy; you’re a *teacher*. And suddenly, the internet thinks you’re a failed dreamer. But wait—wasn’t the job market in London so competitive it could’ve been its own horror film? Wasn’t the rent in Shoreditch so high it made the Great Wall look like a budget-friendly fence? The irony isn’t just thick—it’s *glossy*, like soy sauce on a dumpling.

And yet, somehow, we’re all expected to accept the narrative that teaching English in China is some kind of last resort—a sad backup plan for people who couldn’t make it in their home countries. But let’s compare that to reality: the average English teacher in China is someone who’s:
- Fluent in English (which, shockingly, isn’t automatic for everyone in the West),
- Willing to live in a country where the average salary is 3x what they’d make in a similar role back home,
- Ready to adjust to a culture where “no” isn’t just a word—it’s a *philosophy*.
That’s not failure. That’s *adventure with a side of bureaucracy*. If that’s a loser, then I’m a professional at surviving life in a country that still uses the term “foreigner” like it’s a compliment.

Oh, and let’s not forget the jokes. Because of course, the expat community loves its humor—especially when it’s self-deprecating. There’s a classic one floating around: *Why did the English teacher from London move to China?*
Because he heard the locals didn’t care if he said “I’m sorry, I don’t understand” in perfect Mandarin…
…*because they already knew he wouldn’t.*
It’s funny because it’s true. The irony is delicious. We’re not just teaching grammar; we’re teaching people how to say “I’m not an expert, but I’ll try” with charm and a smile.

But really, let’s look at the data—because even myths need facts to survive. The truth is, most English teachers in China are highly educated, culturally adaptable, and often far from “losers.” They’re lawyers who wanted to travel. They’re graphic designers who got tired of client emails. They’re former actors who traded stage lights for fluorescent classroom bulbs. Some are single, some are married, some are raising kids in Shenzhen while their spouses work in Hong Kong. They’re not running from their lives—they’re *rebuilding* them. And yet, the LBH label sticks like soy sauce on a plate: hard to remove, impossible to ignore.

And here’s the kicker: the same people who call us “Losers Back Home” are often the ones who flew halfway across the world to teach English in Korea, Brazil, or Thailand—only to complain about how “the real professionals” are in China. So, who’s the real “loser” here? The person who left their comfort zone to learn a new language, adapt to a different education system, and still somehow survived the never-ending cycle of “Do you have a visa?” “Is your degree accredited?” “Can you pass the background check?” Or the person who’s still sitting in their hometown, judging others from a distance while sipping their third latte of the day?

So let’s retire the term. Let’s stop calling passionate, resilient, and often hilarious individuals “Losers Back Home.” Let’s call them what they are: global citizens with a love for language, culture, and the occasional *dumpling-based life crisis*. The real loser? The idea that your worth is measured by your job title in your home country. Because if you can survive teaching “present perfect tense” to 14-year-olds who’d rather be on TikTok, you’re not a failure—you’re a modern-day diplomat with a clipboard and a dream.

In the end, the story of the English teacher in China isn’t about falling down—it’s about leaping, even if you’re not sure where you’ll land. And maybe, just maybe, landing in a place where you’re not just tolerated—but *celebrated*—is the real win. So here’s to us: the so-called LBHs, the dreamers with backpacks, the ones who said “yes” to a new life, even if the world still thinks we’re just… trying.

Categories:
Chongqing,  Shenzhen, 

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