I’ve been teaching in Thailand for ten years now. Government schools, language centers, the odd corporate gig, and one forgettable year early on at a 'boutique international school' that was really just a converted townhouse with a Union Jack painted on the wall.

When I first arrived, I was that guy - fresh off the TEFL course, full of laminated flashcards and boundless enthusiasm. I was going to change lives, inspire young minds, bridge cultures. You know, all the usual clichés people post on Facebook when they land at Suvarnabhumi with a backpack and a dream. Ten years later, I teach from a chair. I don’t stand anymore unless someone’s on fire or there's cake in the staffroom. I no longer care about 'engaging activities' or 'student-centred learning'. I care about the air-con working and whether the printer has ink. (It doesn’t. It never does.)

What happened? It wasn’t one big thing. Just a thousand little ones. Unpaid overtime. Vague contracts. Schools that ask you to smile more when a parent screams at you for giving their child a B+. Being told to teach a lesson on Shakespeare to a class of M2s who can barely spell their own name in English. The never-ending loop of school shows, rice planting days, and photo-taking marathons that somehow matter more than actual education. And don’t get me started on the parade of new foreign hires. The ones who last two weeks, realise this isn’t Bali, and disappear mid-semester, leaving me to cover their classes and listen to the director say, “Can you just help a little bit, only for now?”

But still, I stay. Maybe I’m too lazy to move. Maybe I’ve got too much stuff now to be a backpacker again. Or maybe, deep down, I still love the chaos - the kind of chaos where nothing makes sense, but everything somehow gets done. Anyway, if you’re new to Thailand and reading this, take it from a grizzled old farang: lower your expectations, raise your tolerance, and keep your passport handy. You’ll need at least one of those to survive.

Martin

When I arrived in Thailand nearly 10 years ago, getting a job with a temporary teaching license, work permit and visa was relatively easy. Then, the Thai authorities decided that documents needed to be notarized (or apostilled as some countries call it), and this added another pretty expensive hoop to jump through. I did it and managed to get another job...only to be told two years later that I simply MUST register for an expensive PGCE to continue working. I did that. I registered for the PGCE and completed it in 2020 only for the authorities to decide that any PGCE done after 2019 is not eligible for the 5 year teaching license. Now I either have to study on Saturdays outside of Bangkok or do the KSP 7 modules, despite already having the PGCE that I was told to do.

Well, this is awkward.

Steve

There are days when I wake up feeling completely exhausted not just physically, but emotionally and mentally. I carry a weight that doesn’t seem to go away, no matter how hard I try to stay positive. Due to political unrest and the effects of the pandemic, I couldn’t finish my university degree. I didn’t choose to stop. The situation made it impossible. I had dreams big ones but everything changed so fast, and I had to find a way to survive instead.

In the midst of that, I discovered teaching English. It became more than a job to me it was a calling. For more than five years, I’ve worked as an English teacher. I’ve taught different students, adapted to different needs, and continued growing. I even earned a teaching license through MOOC, and currently work as a part-time online teacher at an English center. But despite all that, people still don’t believe in me.

It hurts more than I can say. No matter how passionate or committed I am, the lack of recognition and trust from others has slowly chipped away at my confidence. Sometimes I ask myself: Am I even good enough anymore? I know I’ve helped students. I know I’ve worked hard. But the doubt around me makes me doubt myself, too. I dream of teaching in Thailand - a country I love deeply. But without a formal degree, without strong backing, and without anyone willing to give me a real chance, it feels impossible. I can’t go back to my country. It’s not safe, and the chaos there only adds to my hopelessness. So here I am, stuck in between worlds—trying to hold on to hope while everything inside me screams to give up.

I’m sharing this not for sympathy, but because I know I’m not alone. Maybe someone else out there is going through the same thing - working so hard but feeling invisible, fighting for a future while the present keeps trying to crush them. If you’re reading this and you’re struggling too, please know that you’re not alone. And even if we don’t have all the answers yet, we still have our voice. I still believe that someday, someone will see the value in what we’ve gone through and what we can give.

Until then, I’ll keep trying to hold on. Written with an open heart by someone who still dares to believe, even in the middle of doubt. Should i just change the career or just give up on everything ?

Robert

I am a Thai teacher and I have worked at a government school in Isaan for many years already. I want to write something from my heart about foreign teachers who come to work in Thailand now. Many young foreign teachers come with bad attitude. They say they love Thai culture, but then they complain about everything. They complain school is hot. They complain students are noisy. They complain we have meeting too much. Every day they complain something.

Sometimes I feel sad. Because as Thai teachers, we try to help. We say "never mind", we try to explain slowly, we help them understand student name or culture. But some foreign teacher don’t want to understand. They say “this is not how we do things in my country”. I want to ask — then why you come here? One teacher say to me before, “I just want to travel, teaching is not important.” I feel shocked. You teach students! You have a big responsibility. Thai students are not perfect, but they try. If you don’t care, students feel that. They know when teacher does not want to be there.

And please don’t think Thai teacher do nothing. Maybe we don’t walk around school with big voice like some foreign teacher, but we do many thing. We write report, we go to meeting, we plan events, we take care of student problems. Foreign teacher teach maybe 16 class. Thai teacher teach 20 class and still must go and stand in the sun for gate duty every morning.

I just want to say if you come to Thailand, come with a good heart. Come to learn also, not only to teach. Respect Thai culture, respect student, respect teacher. And if you don’t like Thai people or Thai way, maybe better you go home. With hope for better understanding,

Ajarn Ploy

I know the phrase “you get what you pay for” gets thrown around a lot in Thailand, but can we talk about the absolutely bonkers tuition fees at some of Bangkok’s international schools?

I recently toured a school that charges north of 900,000 baht a year for Year 9. That’s before you factor in the “optional” extras like bus fees, lunch, uniforms, after-school clubs, and whatever mysterious “building fund” they conveniently leave off the brochure. By the end, you’re staring down the barrel of a million baht a year so your kid can learn about tectonic plates and get bullied by the children of oil executives.

Look, I’m not denying the value of a good education. But when the school’s marketing team uses words like “bespoke”, “holistic” and “future-ready global citizens” without a hint of irony, I start wondering if we’re paying for academics or just a really expensive performance art project. Meanwhile, some of these same schools are posting job ads for teachers with two years’ experience and offering salaries that might just cover their Grab bills. So where’s all the money going? Gold-plated smartboards? Imported snow for the winter play?

There’s a madness to the model, and I’m not even sure who it’s serving anymore. Are we preparing kids for the world, or just training them to look good on LinkedIn by age 14? Anyway, just needed to get that off my chest before I start applying for a second job handing out flyers on Sukhumvit. Cheers!

Dave the disillusioned Dad

If there’s one thing I wish someone had warned me about before I moved to Thailand, it’s this: don’t ever expect to get your apartment deposit back without a fight - or at all. In the past two years, I’ve moved apartments three times. Not because I enjoy it (I don’t), but because the reasons always pile up: noisy neighbours, water problems, or the classic “Oh, we’re renovating for the next six months.” But each move came with the same bitter ending - losing my deposit for the most ridiculous reasons imaginable.

The first landlord claimed I “scratched the floor” — I lived there alone and wore socks indoors. The second deducted nearly the full deposit because of a “stained” curtain that was already stained when I moved in. The third was the best one yet: they took 4,000 baht out of my 10,000 baht deposit to replace a remote control that I never even saw. It’s exhausting. I’ve started photographing every corner of my apartments before I even unpack. But even then, you’re up against a wall when it’s their word against yours. Contracts help sometimes, but let’s be honest: once they’ve got your money, it’s near impossible to get it back without a lot of stress.

To any new teachers moving here: be careful. Document everything. Read the fine print. And don’t be surprised if your “fully refundable deposit” turns into an expensive goodbye gift to your landlord. I still love Thailand and still love teaching. But I’d really love to stop paying for other people’s curtains.

Tom

To my Thai students who think I'm rich and famous because I'm white actually....

Every time you call me 'movie star' or tell me I look like someone from a K-drama (wrong continent by the way), I smile but inside I’m laughing, cringing, and thinking of the basic meals I ate for three nights in a row because payday was still a week away. You see me walk into the classroom with my button-up shirt, my chai yen in hand, and maybe you imagine I came straight from a luxury condo or a five-star breakfast. But let me tell you: I live next to a karaoke bar that keeps me up half the frigging night.

You ask me if I’m rich, if I own a car, if I’ve been to Paris. I get it. Western media does a great job of selling that dream. But here's the truth: I don’t own a car. I own a bicycle and even that gets a flat tire every so often. I’ve never been to Paris. And no, that’s not a genuine Apple Watch; it’s a knockoff that sometimes tells the wrong time but still looks cool. Sometimes, I want to sit all of you down and say: I’m here because I chose this lifestyle not because I was sent here by some VIP parent company or because I couldn’t make it in “the West.” I came here to teach, to learn, to live differently. To trade winter for warmth, stress for smiles, and office cubicles for chalk dust and laughs.

I’m not famous. I’m not rich. But every time one of you says, “Teacher, I understand now!” or makes a joke in English that actually lands, I feel like the most successful person in the world. So let’s make a deal: you stop calling me movie star, and I’ll stop pretending I understand หมูกรอบ prices at the street market. Okay? Maybe we’re both learning how to see past the surface.

Kenny

Having spent over 30 years in the teaching profession in Thailand, very little surprises me anymore when it comes to foreigners who come here to live and work. In fact, you can almost categorize them based on common behaviors and attitudes.

That said, we currently have an American teacher at our company who has been quite the character. He tells elaborate stories about his past — teaching in Japan, Korea, and now Thailand. However, the timelines don’t add up. According to his own account, he would have been just 16 or 17 years old when he was supposedly teaching English in Japan, which is highly unlikely. He talks constantly, boasting about his wealth and achievements — but the more he speaks, the more inconsistencies emerge. His stories have more holes than Swiss cheese.

He shirks his responsibilities — avoiding tasks like preparing tests — and when others try to hold him accountable, he reacts as though he's being unfairly targeted. While the easy option is to ignore him, the problem is that he has slowly and insidiously ingratiated himself with the center manager. As a result, he’s now allowed to show up for work in shorts and a T-shirt — something I’ve never seen permitted in a formal teaching environment in all my years here. After observing his behavior closely, I can’t help but suspect he may have narcissistic personality traits. Of course, I’m not a psychologist, but the constant need for attention, the exaggerated self-image, the manipulation, and disregard for norms all point in that direction.

Hank

I teach at a mid-sized government school in the Northeast. Overall, it’s been an incredible experience - great students, a laid-back lifestyle, and coworkers who have mostly been kind and supportive. But one day, I learned the hard way how one tiny comment, especially about food, can land you in hot water. Here’s what happened. Every day, the Thai teachers would gather in the staff room around 11:30 for lunch. I usually brought my own or grabbed something from the canteen, but a few times, I was invited to join in their shared meal. Picture this: a bunch of delicious home-cooked Thai dishes laid out on the table - curries, fried fish, vegetables, chili pastes, and, of course, a mountain of rice. It was always generous and flavorful.

Now, on this particular day, someone had made a dish with fermented fish (pla ra). If you know, you know. It has a very, um, distinct smell - strong, salty, almost sour. I’m trying to be polite, but I’m also caught off guard. So I make a face (not on purpose!) and say something like: “Whoa, that smells intense! What is that?” That’s it. Nothing mean. I didn’t say it was gross. Just... surprised. Suddenly, the room goes quiet. One teacher kind of chuckles awkwardly. Another just mumbles something and turns back to her food. The vibe shifts. Later that day, one of the English-speaking teachers quietly tells me that my comment might have been taken as an insult. Apparently, pla ra is a beloved part of Isaan cuisine, - and joking about it, especially in a way that could be interpreted as disgust - is kind of like mocking someone's family recipe or tradition.

I felt awful.

The next day, I brought in some mangoes and sticky rice from a local shop as a kind of peace offering and said (very clearly), “The food yesterday looked amazing - I really didn’t mean to be rude.” That seemed to smooth things over, and now we’re back to smiles and lunch invites, but wow… lesson learned. Moral of the story: In Thailand, never underestimate the cultural pride tied to food. If something smells strong or unfamiliar, keep your poker face strong and your comments light - or better yet, just ask to try it and smile.

Robert

I’ve been in Thailand for a few months now teaching English at a government high school, and while I did some research beforehand, I’ve still been hit with a lot of surprises - both good and frustrating. For one, the students are way more respectful and fun-loving than I expected. I’ve had kids wai me every morning and bring me snacks from the canteen. On the flip side, the organization (or lack thereof) at the school is something else. I’ve had schedule changes without warning, and sometimes I don’t find out about school-wide events until the morning of.
Curious to hear from others - whether you’re in Bangkok, the sticks, or somewhere in between:

Vicky