Chasing Dreams, Not Running From Them: The Truth Behind the LBH Label in China

Let’s be honest—there’s a certain kind of expat in China who walks into a bar, orders a pint of Tsingtao, and immediately gets asked, “So, are you one of those LBHs?” Not because they’re rude, mind you, but because the acronym has become so deeply embedded in the expat lexicon that even the coffee machine at the local 7-Eleven seems to whisper it under its breath. LBH—Losers Back Home—sounds like a punchline from a stand-up comedy special written by someone who’s never taught a single English lesson in their life. And yet, here we are, a whole community of people who’ve traded their 9-to-5 cubicles for 9-to-6 classrooms, swapping performance reviews for PowerPoint presentations on modal verbs, and trading traffic jams for dodging scooters on the way to school.

Now, imagine if every person who ever left their home country for a fresh start was automatically labeled a failure. That’s essentially the vibe LBH tries to project—like being an English teacher in China is some kind of last resort, like the career equivalent of choosing the second-to-last exit on a highway because you missed the first one. But let’s pause here for a second: how many of these “losers” are actually running online businesses, writing novels in their spare time, or teaching Mandarin to local entrepreneurs with the passion of a Shakespearean actor in a modern-day adaptation of *Romeo and Juliet*? Honestly, the idea that someone teaching English is inherently “unsuccessful” is about as logical as assuming a baker must be bad at cooking because they’re currently kneading dough in a Shanghai apartment.

The truth is, many of us didn’t “fall” into teaching English in China—we *leapt* into it, often with a backpack full of hope, a one-year visa, and a dream that involved more than just surviving another Monday morning meeting. Some of us left high-paying jobs in London because we wanted to see if the sky was actually blue in Chengdu. Some traded boardrooms for playgrounds because we realized we’d rather teach kids how to say “I like bananas” than how to close a merger. And yet, somehow, we’re still the ones getting the side-eye at dinner parties when someone says, “Oh, you’re an English teacher? That’s… interesting.” As if it’s the kind of job you just *end up in* because you gave up on life, not the one you *choose* because you believe in second chances, cultural exchange, and the power of a well-timed “What’s your favorite color?” to break the ice.

But let’s not forget: the LBH label doesn’t just come from other expats—it’s also whispered by locals who’ve never met an English teacher but still have strong opinions based on internet memes, TikTok videos of teachers trying to pronounce “th” in the wrong way, or maybe that one time a guy in a Hawaiian shirt tried to teach “American slang” using only the word “dude.” It’s like we’re all part of a global joke where the punchline is “You’re not a real teacher—you’re just here to escape something.” Meanwhile, we’re out here learning Chinese characters, grading essays about “My Dream Vacation,” and accidentally teaching students that “I’m good” doesn’t mean “I’m emotionally stable,” which honestly might be the most valuable lesson we’ve ever given.

And let’s be real—what’s more courageous than packing your life into a suitcase, navigating a visa application process that feels like a secret mission from a spy movie, and then landing in a country where the language barrier is only matched by the food variety? If being an English teacher in China means you’re “a loser,” then I’d say the world is full of incredibly talented, resilient, and slightly over-caffeinated losers. We’re the ones who’ve learned to say “I don’t know” in three different languages, who’ve survived the Great Sichuan Hot Pot Incident of 2023, and who still manage to smile through a student’s third attempt at “She is eating an apple.”

So here’s a little challenge: the next time you hear someone call an English teacher in China a “loser,” just reply with a wink and say, “Funny, I thought I was just chasing my dream—along with a free lunch at the school canteen every Friday.” Because while we might not all be Nobel Prize winners or movie stars, we are the ones helping kids dream bigger, laugh louder, and maybe even one day write a better essay than the one we’re grading right now. And honestly? That’s a legacy worth more than any gold-plated office chair back home.

In the end, LBH might be a nickname, but it’s also a story—one about second chances, cultural bridges, and people who chose adventure over routine. So here’s to the teachers who don’t just teach English, but inspire lives, one “Let me explain that again” at a time. We may be labeled as “losers back home,” but in China, we’re not just surviving—we’re thriving, laughing, and probably planning our next trip to Guilin for the sheer joy of it. And if that’s loser energy, then bring on the sequel.

Categories:
Chengdu,  Sichuan,  English,  Tianjin, 

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