Monthly Language Learning Journal #3: Over the past two weeks, my main task has been expanding my knowledge of 한자 (Hanja), particularly those related to personal names and Korean clan history. I’ve been working closely with my tutor, Jason, a native speaker with a deep knowledge of Sino-Korean etymology and historical nuances. We’ve focused on unpacking the characters in my Korean name and exploring the origin of my last name’s 본관 (clan origin)—which is something I had always heard about growing up, but never really understood.
My goal was twofold: first, to understand the meaning and historical roots embedded in my own name, and second, to develop a stronger grasp of how Hanja functions as a cultural and linguistic bridge. I hoped that by gaining this knowledge, I could better appreciate the layers of meaning and identity that exist within Korean language and culture, especially as a Korean-American who didn’t grow up fluent.
One of the most meaningful parts of this learning period has been the reciprocal exchange with Jason. While he provides the linguistic and cultural scaffolding, I’ve been sharing reflections from my Korean-American upbringing. Overall it’s felt more like a dialogue than a learning session.
In terms of strategies, we’ve been using a mix of traditional and modern tools. I’ve been handwriting characters to help with recall, using the Naver 한자 dictionary for practice sentences, and reviewing etymologies to understand at a deeper level. I’ve found handwriting and storytelling around each character to be the most effective. Memorization for its own sake isn’t enough, when the character is tied to family, place, or narrative, it sticks.
One highlight was finally understanding the full meaning of my given name. Seeing the 意 character (meaning “meaning” or “will”) and recognizing its presence in both historical texts and modern phrases gave me a real sense of pride. On the other hand, I’ve struggled with distinguishing similar-looking radicals—particularly when multiple characters share the same base component. I’ve had to revise my task list to include more review drills focused on radicals alone before trying to memorize full characters.
Emotionally, I feel grounded and excited. Learning Hanja has connected me to something deeper than vocabulary, it’s connected me to my lineage. Still, I’m also feeling a little bittersweet. Graduation is just around the corner, and I know I won’t have regular sessions with a native speaker like Jason after that. Our conversations have become a routine I genuinely look forward to, and I’ll miss having that consistent exchange of culture and language.
Going forward, I want to continue integrating Hanja into my reading habits—especially by tackling more Korean newspaper articles or Buddhist temple histories. I’ll also experiment with flashcard-based apps like Anki to keep up spaced repetition. More importantly, I plan to set a long-term goal of learning 1,000 common-use Hanja over the next year, and to start building my own journal of characters I encounter in everyday Korean.
This learning cycle reminded me that language is not just about fluency—it’s about meaning, memory, and belonging.
My goal was twofold: first, to understand the meaning and historical roots embedded in my own name, and second, to develop a stronger grasp of how Hanja functions as a cultural and linguistic bridge. I hoped that by gaining this knowledge, I could better appreciate the layers of meaning and identity that exist within Korean language and culture, especially as a Korean-American who didn’t grow up fluent.
One of the most meaningful parts of this learning period has been the reciprocal exchange with Jason. While he provides the linguistic and cultural scaffolding, I’ve been sharing reflections from my Korean-American upbringing. Overall it’s felt more like a dialogue than a learning session.
In terms of strategies, we’ve been using a mix of traditional and modern tools. I’ve been handwriting characters to help with recall, using the Naver 한자 dictionary for practice sentences, and reviewing etymologies to understand at a deeper level. I’ve found handwriting and storytelling around each character to be the most effective. Memorization for its own sake isn’t enough, when the character is tied to family, place, or narrative, it sticks.
One highlight was finally understanding the full meaning of my given name. Seeing the 意 character (meaning “meaning” or “will”) and recognizing its presence in both historical texts and modern phrases gave me a real sense of pride. On the other hand, I’ve struggled with distinguishing similar-looking radicals—particularly when multiple characters share the same base component. I’ve had to revise my task list to include more review drills focused on radicals alone before trying to memorize full characters.
Emotionally, I feel grounded and excited. Learning Hanja has connected me to something deeper than vocabulary, it’s connected me to my lineage. Still, I’m also feeling a little bittersweet. Graduation is just around the corner, and I know I won’t have regular sessions with a native speaker like Jason after that. Our conversations have become a routine I genuinely look forward to, and I’ll miss having that consistent exchange of culture and language.
Going forward, I want to continue integrating Hanja into my reading habits—especially by tackling more Korean newspaper articles or Buddhist temple histories. I’ll also experiment with flashcard-based apps like Anki to keep up spaced repetition. More importantly, I plan to set a long-term goal of learning 1,000 common-use Hanja over the next year, and to start building my own journal of characters I encounter in everyday Korean.
This learning cycle reminded me that language is not just about fluency—it’s about meaning, memory, and belonging.
Comments
I am excited for you that Learning Hanja had grounded you and made you feel a deeper sense of connection to your culture. I hope maybe in the future we can do this, and I would love to learn about Hanja but also see how it has affected you.