I think one really awesome thing about the Korean adoption community is that we are a global community. Though most Korean adoptees have come to the US, representation can be found in Australia, France, Norway, Japan and many more countries. Collectively we are fluent in numerous languages and cultures. To me, there is a sense of both beauty and power in that. It makes me excited for what our community is doing now and for the potential we have to do great things in the future.
Deann Borshay Liem, a filmmaker and Korean adoptee, is truly honoring our global community through her upcoming documentary, Geographies of Kinship. I am so very excited for this film as it follows the lives of five Korean adoptees around the world. Watching just the preview for it already got me misty eyed over the weekend. The film has been seeking financial support over the past month and its online fundraiser is about to end. Although the funding goal has already been met, please at least take a look at the preview and consider offering your support! I think this will be storytelling at its best and a beautiful tribute to the Korean adoption community.
Link here: Geographies of Kinship
Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts
Monday, July 30, 2012
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Risk and benefit
A friend and fellow adoptee recently sent me the link to Voice of Love, a project to encourage the elimination of Korea’s international adoption quota in order for more children to be adopted overseas. The project is seeking Korean adoptees and their families to record a video of themselves discussing how their lives have been ‘blessed’ by international adoption. It is hoped that these videos will influence Koreans to change policy once they see how lives have been positively impacted by adoption.
I understand what this campaign wants to accomplish. And I understand why. The reality is that Korean society has not embraced the notion of domestic adoption. Yes, domestic adoption does happen. Organizations such as Eastern Social Welfare Society promote domestic adoption, but it’s largely a topic still stained by stigma. It is my understanding that many Koreans who adopt domestically try to adopt an infant as young as possible and may not even tell the child that they were adopted. Bloodlines are paramount. Korea, to this day, is one of the most homogenous nations. Single parenthood is looked down upon because it disrupts that patriarchal lineage which society works so hard to preserve. I think it is a culmination of these societal beliefs that leaves many Korean children in an orphanage or foster care. I can understand why Voices of Love wants to help them because their circumstances are certainly sad.
And yet, I hesitate at the thought of participating in the campaign. Voices of Love is one perspective and one potential solution to a social issue. It is not the only one or, necessarily, the right one. Then again, I have no clue what the ‘right’ one is. Does anyone? It’s complicated. I’m not sure that I would be comfortable turning my life into a PSA and, especially, such a one-sided one. The campaign is asking for 30 second videos. What can be said in half a minute? I love my family. They are, without a doubt, my family. In so many ways, I have had a good life so far. I have had opportunities to thrive and I have been loved deeply. I suspect these words are the kind of words Voices of Love is hoping an adoptee will offer to their effort. They’re all true words, too. The truth is that my life has been good.
But the truth is also that my life has been with struggle. It continues to be. This past year has been one of the hardest for me as an adoptee filled with hurt, frustration and questions. So many questions. There is both risk and benefit to being an adoptee. And maybe the hardest thing of all to accept is that we don’t get to choose to be an adoptee. It is something we inherit through the decisions of others. Of course, the extent of our struggles varies greatly. Some may never ask the questions that others grapple with their entire lives. Some adoptees have experienced terrible abuse and isolation at the hands of their adoptive families. What reason do they have to participate in something like Voices of Love? International adoption is not the only answer and it is not without errors.
There are no easy answers. And the questions I come back to in this moment are these: what do those children in Korea need? What decision will benefit them most? To be able to grow up in their birth country without a family in the traditional sense? To grow up across the ocean missing out on their birth country, but with a family? No matter what path is taken, there is always risk and always benefit.
I understand what this campaign wants to accomplish. And I understand why. The reality is that Korean society has not embraced the notion of domestic adoption. Yes, domestic adoption does happen. Organizations such as Eastern Social Welfare Society promote domestic adoption, but it’s largely a topic still stained by stigma. It is my understanding that many Koreans who adopt domestically try to adopt an infant as young as possible and may not even tell the child that they were adopted. Bloodlines are paramount. Korea, to this day, is one of the most homogenous nations. Single parenthood is looked down upon because it disrupts that patriarchal lineage which society works so hard to preserve. I think it is a culmination of these societal beliefs that leaves many Korean children in an orphanage or foster care. I can understand why Voices of Love wants to help them because their circumstances are certainly sad.
And yet, I hesitate at the thought of participating in the campaign. Voices of Love is one perspective and one potential solution to a social issue. It is not the only one or, necessarily, the right one. Then again, I have no clue what the ‘right’ one is. Does anyone? It’s complicated. I’m not sure that I would be comfortable turning my life into a PSA and, especially, such a one-sided one. The campaign is asking for 30 second videos. What can be said in half a minute? I love my family. They are, without a doubt, my family. In so many ways, I have had a good life so far. I have had opportunities to thrive and I have been loved deeply. I suspect these words are the kind of words Voices of Love is hoping an adoptee will offer to their effort. They’re all true words, too. The truth is that my life has been good.
But the truth is also that my life has been with struggle. It continues to be. This past year has been one of the hardest for me as an adoptee filled with hurt, frustration and questions. So many questions. There is both risk and benefit to being an adoptee. And maybe the hardest thing of all to accept is that we don’t get to choose to be an adoptee. It is something we inherit through the decisions of others. Of course, the extent of our struggles varies greatly. Some may never ask the questions that others grapple with their entire lives. Some adoptees have experienced terrible abuse and isolation at the hands of their adoptive families. What reason do they have to participate in something like Voices of Love? International adoption is not the only answer and it is not without errors.
There are no easy answers. And the questions I come back to in this moment are these: what do those children in Korea need? What decision will benefit them most? To be able to grow up in their birth country without a family in the traditional sense? To grow up across the ocean missing out on their birth country, but with a family? No matter what path is taken, there is always risk and always benefit.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Angry Asian girl
Ever hear of culture-bound syndromes? They’re exactly what they sound like—a type of affliction specific to a cultural group. They can help to provide a context for why an individual experiences certain behaviors or symptoms. The first culture-bound syndrome that I ever learned about was hwabyung, a Korean syndrome generally associated with a suppression of anger. I don’t even remember how I came across it, but ever since the discovery, I have wondered if it’s even possible for me, a Korean American adoptee, to experience a Korean culture-bound syndrome. Us transracial and transnational adoptees are such a nature vs. nurture experiment. I don’t know if having Korean blood in your veins is enough to be considered part of that cultural group.
What I do know is that, lately, I am angry. A few days ago I had my first ever panic attack, one reported symptom of hwabyung. I should also mention that hwabyung is linked to han. Han is a kind of amorphous Korean concept encompassing anger, vengeance, sadness, despair.. Some say han is an ingrained part of all Koreans due to Korea’s lengthy history of oppression. The resulting emotion is convoluted—angry at being oppressed, yet also saddened by the inevitability of it. I am sure someone else could add more to my description of han. For me, it’s still not the easiest of ideas to pin down, perhaps because there is no literal English translation of the word. And yet, something about it clicks. The lingering sadness of it is familiar.
I had the panic attack following a phone conversation with my mom. She mentioned that one of my aunts thought I was angry with her. I had no idea what they were talking about. This aunt and I had chatted recently online, but I thought it was amiable. I told my mom I was fine and that I had nothing to be angry about. Then I got off the phone and knew that wasn’t true at all. In combing back through that talk with my aunt, she made a comment about wishing I was back home to find a job there. Like maybe I made a mistake by leaving. And that touched on a very sensitive spot. Between her and my mom, I made the sinking realization that they don’t understand the real reason why I left home.
My family thinks I’m choosing to live away from them simply because of job availability. And now that there are openings in my field there, my aunt wishes I would come back home. As if it’s that simple. As if my employment is all that matters right now. Don’t get me wrong—the job search is stressful and of course I want to have a career. But you know what the truth is? I would rather be unemployed and struggling here than living comfortably back in that sheltered little white suburb. To my relatives, that place is home. Do they even realize how small that world is? And how profoundly lonely it is for me? I don’t think they see any fault in my upbringing. Summer culture camp and adoption group parties at major holidays were deemed adequate. Bottom line: it wasn’t enough. But they weren’t taught this. And I, as a child, didn’t know any better. And it all infuriates me. It infuriates me that, deep down, I feel as though I have to choose between my family and affirming the Korean part of my identity. Both are important, but it seems I cannot have both in the same place.
It is what it is. No one can go back in time and infuse more of Korea into my history or my hometown. Or rewrite the adoption education my parents were given before bringing me home. There is no one specific person or source to blame. So, what I’m left with is anger and a lasting bruise that still hurts when pressed. It aches for all those forces beyond your control; for all that never happened, but should have.
What I do know is that, lately, I am angry. A few days ago I had my first ever panic attack, one reported symptom of hwabyung. I should also mention that hwabyung is linked to han. Han is a kind of amorphous Korean concept encompassing anger, vengeance, sadness, despair.. Some say han is an ingrained part of all Koreans due to Korea’s lengthy history of oppression. The resulting emotion is convoluted—angry at being oppressed, yet also saddened by the inevitability of it. I am sure someone else could add more to my description of han. For me, it’s still not the easiest of ideas to pin down, perhaps because there is no literal English translation of the word. And yet, something about it clicks. The lingering sadness of it is familiar.
I had the panic attack following a phone conversation with my mom. She mentioned that one of my aunts thought I was angry with her. I had no idea what they were talking about. This aunt and I had chatted recently online, but I thought it was amiable. I told my mom I was fine and that I had nothing to be angry about. Then I got off the phone and knew that wasn’t true at all. In combing back through that talk with my aunt, she made a comment about wishing I was back home to find a job there. Like maybe I made a mistake by leaving. And that touched on a very sensitive spot. Between her and my mom, I made the sinking realization that they don’t understand the real reason why I left home.
My family thinks I’m choosing to live away from them simply because of job availability. And now that there are openings in my field there, my aunt wishes I would come back home. As if it’s that simple. As if my employment is all that matters right now. Don’t get me wrong—the job search is stressful and of course I want to have a career. But you know what the truth is? I would rather be unemployed and struggling here than living comfortably back in that sheltered little white suburb. To my relatives, that place is home. Do they even realize how small that world is? And how profoundly lonely it is for me? I don’t think they see any fault in my upbringing. Summer culture camp and adoption group parties at major holidays were deemed adequate. Bottom line: it wasn’t enough. But they weren’t taught this. And I, as a child, didn’t know any better. And it all infuriates me. It infuriates me that, deep down, I feel as though I have to choose between my family and affirming the Korean part of my identity. Both are important, but it seems I cannot have both in the same place.
It is what it is. No one can go back in time and infuse more of Korea into my history or my hometown. Or rewrite the adoption education my parents were given before bringing me home. There is no one specific person or source to blame. So, what I’m left with is anger and a lasting bruise that still hurts when pressed. It aches for all those forces beyond your control; for all that never happened, but should have.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Our hidden biases
I recently visited home for a few days and my mom asked if we could go see The Help together. She had already seen it once, but loved it so much she wanted to go again. I agreed to go, although I honestly had no gripping desire to see the movie. It ultimately was a more than decent film and I even got emotional a few times. Through my peripheral vision, I could see my mom getting choked up quite a bit. She has a tendency to get drowsy in movie theaters, but she sat through the entire film spellbound. I found myself wondering why this movie resonated so much with her, particularly as a white woman. What value did it have?
Over dinner following the movie, I decided to ask her how The Help made her feel. She said both sad and happy: sad because people of color had to endure such unfair treatment but happy because society has become more accepting since that time. It suddenly clicked in my head that my mom was alive during the time period portrayed in the movie. She was a teenager then and living in the south, even. It is so easy to take your family for granted, but they can give you the kind of history lessons you don’t get in school. My mom has seen decades of things that I was not around to witness. I realized that I don’t know my mom’s full history and experiences with race. So, I decided to ask her about what she saw back in the sixties and this is what she shared.
Fresh out of high school in Florida, my mom took a job at a Laundromat. One of her co-workers was a young black man whose name she can’t recall now. She said he had a family and that he was a nice person whom she liked working with. She said that the Laundromat was located right near a Burger King where workers would often get lunch, but the establishment refused to serve people of color, so my mom would routinely get the man’s food and bring it back to him. She also recalled a time when her father was late picking her up from a shift. This man wanted to give her a ride home, but ended up not doing it out of fear. He was scared that white men would see them together and beat him up for it or worse. My mom expressed sadness at the ways in which he was so limited and I could see that her emotion was genuine.
I know it’s not some grand social activist story, but I was still touched by my mom’s actions and by her capacity to care about someone whom society said not to. However, it also raises more confusion for me. This simple story rewrote some of my understanding of my mom’s views regarding race. Throughout my life, my mom never had a nonwhite friend. Our community is predominantly white. My mom’s social circles consist of other white people. It really is white suburbia. Crossing color lines doesn’t happen by chance. If you’re going to cross those lines, you do it deliberately. And my mom never really did that. Heck, I never really did that. It’s so easy not to do that, no matter where you live. The city I’m in now is diverse, but glaringly segregated. There are plenty of kindhearted people living in complacent existence. Movies like The Help come along to remind us of the history and the struggles, but then we slip back into our everyday lives which aren’t quite so multicolored. The movie screen is one thing and reality is another one entirely. Have I mentioned that my mom has 'banned' me from ever dating a black guy? And that she has never been able to provide a reason why?
As a woman of color, it is difficult for me to comprehend how my mom chose to bring me into the family, yet can still turn her back on other people of color. She has said she wouldn’t mind me marrying an Asian guy at all. She enjoys my Korean cooking and supports my exploration of Korean culture. She is willing to share me with my birth family should we ever reunite and wants to know them, too. Asian is okay to love. But black isn’t? It’s okay to work with a black man, but not to bring him home. I do believe that she genuinely liked her co-worker at the Laundromat. And that she genuinely felt sympathy for the women in The Help. But those feelings have never translated into cultivating a close personal relationship with a black person. How do all these thoughts and emotions coexist in one person’s mind? How can you simultaneously care about and reject someone?
This is all so convoluted. Is my mom some horrible raging white supremacist? No! But has she in her heart truly embraced all people of color? No. The dating restriction she has given me speaks most clearly to that. As a public matter, race is a no-brainer for my mom. She believes that people of color should be treated no differently than whites, that everyone should be respected and have access to the same resources. But as a private matter, race is not that simple. Out in society, everyone is valued the same, but in our home, a white or Asian husband for me is more valuable over any other. Is race the same for you as both a public and private matter? I’m not even sure what my own answer is right now. At times I have considered one day becoming a foster parent or adopting an older child domestically. Most youth in the child welfare system are not the same race as me and you know what? I do heavily question my ability to provide for a black child what they need when I myself do not even have a close black friend. I’m so imperfect in all of this, too. I don't believe people who say "I don't see color" because we ALL have our biases. Are your beliefs still the same when you’re in your house and when you walk out the door? It’s something for everyone to think about as uncomfortable as it may be.
Over dinner following the movie, I decided to ask her how The Help made her feel. She said both sad and happy: sad because people of color had to endure such unfair treatment but happy because society has become more accepting since that time. It suddenly clicked in my head that my mom was alive during the time period portrayed in the movie. She was a teenager then and living in the south, even. It is so easy to take your family for granted, but they can give you the kind of history lessons you don’t get in school. My mom has seen decades of things that I was not around to witness. I realized that I don’t know my mom’s full history and experiences with race. So, I decided to ask her about what she saw back in the sixties and this is what she shared.
Fresh out of high school in Florida, my mom took a job at a Laundromat. One of her co-workers was a young black man whose name she can’t recall now. She said he had a family and that he was a nice person whom she liked working with. She said that the Laundromat was located right near a Burger King where workers would often get lunch, but the establishment refused to serve people of color, so my mom would routinely get the man’s food and bring it back to him. She also recalled a time when her father was late picking her up from a shift. This man wanted to give her a ride home, but ended up not doing it out of fear. He was scared that white men would see them together and beat him up for it or worse. My mom expressed sadness at the ways in which he was so limited and I could see that her emotion was genuine.
I know it’s not some grand social activist story, but I was still touched by my mom’s actions and by her capacity to care about someone whom society said not to. However, it also raises more confusion for me. This simple story rewrote some of my understanding of my mom’s views regarding race. Throughout my life, my mom never had a nonwhite friend. Our community is predominantly white. My mom’s social circles consist of other white people. It really is white suburbia. Crossing color lines doesn’t happen by chance. If you’re going to cross those lines, you do it deliberately. And my mom never really did that. Heck, I never really did that. It’s so easy not to do that, no matter where you live. The city I’m in now is diverse, but glaringly segregated. There are plenty of kindhearted people living in complacent existence. Movies like The Help come along to remind us of the history and the struggles, but then we slip back into our everyday lives which aren’t quite so multicolored. The movie screen is one thing and reality is another one entirely. Have I mentioned that my mom has 'banned' me from ever dating a black guy? And that she has never been able to provide a reason why?
As a woman of color, it is difficult for me to comprehend how my mom chose to bring me into the family, yet can still turn her back on other people of color. She has said she wouldn’t mind me marrying an Asian guy at all. She enjoys my Korean cooking and supports my exploration of Korean culture. She is willing to share me with my birth family should we ever reunite and wants to know them, too. Asian is okay to love. But black isn’t? It’s okay to work with a black man, but not to bring him home. I do believe that she genuinely liked her co-worker at the Laundromat. And that she genuinely felt sympathy for the women in The Help. But those feelings have never translated into cultivating a close personal relationship with a black person. How do all these thoughts and emotions coexist in one person’s mind? How can you simultaneously care about and reject someone?
This is all so convoluted. Is my mom some horrible raging white supremacist? No! But has she in her heart truly embraced all people of color? No. The dating restriction she has given me speaks most clearly to that. As a public matter, race is a no-brainer for my mom. She believes that people of color should be treated no differently than whites, that everyone should be respected and have access to the same resources. But as a private matter, race is not that simple. Out in society, everyone is valued the same, but in our home, a white or Asian husband for me is more valuable over any other. Is race the same for you as both a public and private matter? I’m not even sure what my own answer is right now. At times I have considered one day becoming a foster parent or adopting an older child domestically. Most youth in the child welfare system are not the same race as me and you know what? I do heavily question my ability to provide for a black child what they need when I myself do not even have a close black friend. I’m so imperfect in all of this, too. I don't believe people who say "I don't see color" because we ALL have our biases. Are your beliefs still the same when you’re in your house and when you walk out the door? It’s something for everyone to think about as uncomfortable as it may be.
Friday, July 22, 2011
Location, location, location
Well, I took the plunge. I am now living, officially, away from home for the first time. The lease is signed. I opened a bank account, changed my address on my license and all those good things. I am a little nervous, mostly because I have yet to secure employment, but it’s exciting to be here, too. A number of months ago, I wasn’t sure I’d have the guts to make this move. After a lot of tears, sleepless nights and discussions with my mom, here I am. They sure call them growing pains for a reason, don’t they?
There are a number of reasons why I chose to make the move and I will freely admit that one of them is to connect more closely with Korean culture and other adoptees. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how difficult it can be connecting with Korean adoptees when you don’t live in a big city. The area I’m in isn’t huge, but it is definitely a step up from my tiny suburban hometown which has no significant Korean community or adoptee organization to speak of. Where I grew up is not a bad place to live by any means. It just doesn’t provide what I need anymore. My Korean heritage has become so important to me and the thought of living anywhere that stifles my ability to explore it..hurts. It’s isolating. I needed to break out of those confines.
And I know I’m not the first one to feel this way. Based solely on my own observations, I have noticed something about the Korean adult adoptees I know. Those who are more interested in their heritage tend to live in bigger cities where there is greater diversity and opportunity. Those who are not as interested tend to live in smaller communities where there are fewer opportunities to explore their birth culture. It kind of makes sense. I don’t want to be one hour away from the nearest place that serves soondubu jigae, but someone who never acquired a taste for it wouldn’t miss it!
I don’t know that I can say I regret growing up a Korean child in such a non-Korean place. Can you regret decisions you didn’t make? I don’t really hold a lot of resentment, but sometimes it makes me sad to reflect on the ways in which I was isolated as a girl. Aside from the fellow adoptees I knew through adoption group, I had no Asian friends. I couldn’t use chopsticks or speak a lick of Korean. I didn’t have any Asian adults as role models growing up, either. And now, at 25, it seems I’m trying to make up for lost time. Now I think about the youngest generation of Korean adoptees. Some of them are probably growing up in small, non-diverse areas just as I did. Are they getting what they need? Is it different today than when I was young? I hope so, but I don’t know enough to be sure.
Deep down, I know I won’t settle in my hometown again unless/until my mom ages to the point of needing me there. She’s my mom. I’ll always come back for her. But when I think to the long-term of where I want to spend my life, I want to live someplace that I love where I can be the person I want to be. If I ever have children one day, I want us to live somewhere that I can adequately share my roots with them..because my roots will become their roots as well. And even if they end up not being interested, they at least deserve to know that their heritage is always there for them, ready for them to embrace it at any moment.
There are a number of reasons why I chose to make the move and I will freely admit that one of them is to connect more closely with Korean culture and other adoptees. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how difficult it can be connecting with Korean adoptees when you don’t live in a big city. The area I’m in isn’t huge, but it is definitely a step up from my tiny suburban hometown which has no significant Korean community or adoptee organization to speak of. Where I grew up is not a bad place to live by any means. It just doesn’t provide what I need anymore. My Korean heritage has become so important to me and the thought of living anywhere that stifles my ability to explore it..hurts. It’s isolating. I needed to break out of those confines.
And I know I’m not the first one to feel this way. Based solely on my own observations, I have noticed something about the Korean adult adoptees I know. Those who are more interested in their heritage tend to live in bigger cities where there is greater diversity and opportunity. Those who are not as interested tend to live in smaller communities where there are fewer opportunities to explore their birth culture. It kind of makes sense. I don’t want to be one hour away from the nearest place that serves soondubu jigae, but someone who never acquired a taste for it wouldn’t miss it!
I don’t know that I can say I regret growing up a Korean child in such a non-Korean place. Can you regret decisions you didn’t make? I don’t really hold a lot of resentment, but sometimes it makes me sad to reflect on the ways in which I was isolated as a girl. Aside from the fellow adoptees I knew through adoption group, I had no Asian friends. I couldn’t use chopsticks or speak a lick of Korean. I didn’t have any Asian adults as role models growing up, either. And now, at 25, it seems I’m trying to make up for lost time. Now I think about the youngest generation of Korean adoptees. Some of them are probably growing up in small, non-diverse areas just as I did. Are they getting what they need? Is it different today than when I was young? I hope so, but I don’t know enough to be sure.
Deep down, I know I won’t settle in my hometown again unless/until my mom ages to the point of needing me there. She’s my mom. I’ll always come back for her. But when I think to the long-term of where I want to spend my life, I want to live someplace that I love where I can be the person I want to be. If I ever have children one day, I want us to live somewhere that I can adequately share my roots with them..because my roots will become their roots as well. And even if they end up not being interested, they at least deserve to know that their heritage is always there for them, ready for them to embrace it at any moment.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
An American in Seoul
I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m only about two weeks away from departing for Korea! I know I haven’t really discussed this on the blog in many months. Too many things have been on my mind, but right now I am absolutely focused on my trip. After much debate, I chose to do an adult adoptee tour which will be for ten days. Coming to that decision was incredibly difficult for me and I may have to dedicate a different post to this later. I felt very conflicted for a while which is another reason why I failed to blog anything about it. At this moment, however, I am mostly excited to be going and busying myself trying to prepare.
I’m preparing in some pretty standard ways, like finding travel-sized containers for toiletries and getting a converter plug, but the biggest thing for me has been preparing to adapt to Korea. There is so much I don’t know. I am a foreigner to my birth culture. However, I won’t look like a foreigner in Korea at all. My mentee even told me that I am the average height of a Korean woman. People will expect me to be like them when I’m just not in so many ways. It’s already happened to me multiple times in the US, so in Korea I can only imagine it will happen tenfold. And Korea really does have such a homogenous population. How can I blame them for assuming? To come across an ibyang (Korean word for adoptee) is probably not a typical experience.
So, really, preparation for me has been about learning to be ‘more Korean’. I’m not going to lie: a big part of me wants to fit in. Maybe that is a juvenile thing to say, but it’s honestly how I feel. I do not want to be stumbling through every day in Korea as this glaringly American foreigner having no idea about language or cultural norms, especially when I am Korean myself! I’ve been cramming Korean language lessons into my head, learning about manners and even put my ears on a strict diet of Korean music only. If this sounds a little ridiculous, it probably is. I kind of feel like this is middle school all over again when I had to have gel pens, wear flared jeans and watch South Park just so I could discuss it with other kids at school.
The thing is, TV shows and fashion are just trends that fade away, but Korea will always be a part of me. Maybe all this determination to learn about the culture is a phase. Or maybe it’s something more than that. Maybe it’s a path leading to a better sense of who I am. Some KADs seem so confident and grounded in their sense of self while others seem to be in a perpetual identity crisis. I’m….somewhere in that fray. Learning Korean is getting a little frustrating, but I have always loved learning languages. And k-pop over the past year has slowly made its way into my regular music rotation. There is definitely a pleasure that comes from having these pieces of Korea in my life. I don’t pursue these things solely out of obligation, but because they bring an extra level of joy to my life. They might not necessarily make me ‘more Korean’, though, whatever that even means. And, at the end of the day, what’s wrong with me being American? I am American and that’s not something I can simply erase when I arrive in Seoul. Like Korea, America will always be a part of me, too. It’s always been my dominant culture and, while it’s certainly not perfect, there are things about being American that I love.
I am a Korean American adoptee. It’s only taken me up to this point to really stand back, look at each word and think ‘what the heck does that mean, anyway?’. I have a feeling it’s a question I will spend my whole life answering.
I’m preparing in some pretty standard ways, like finding travel-sized containers for toiletries and getting a converter plug, but the biggest thing for me has been preparing to adapt to Korea. There is so much I don’t know. I am a foreigner to my birth culture. However, I won’t look like a foreigner in Korea at all. My mentee even told me that I am the average height of a Korean woman. People will expect me to be like them when I’m just not in so many ways. It’s already happened to me multiple times in the US, so in Korea I can only imagine it will happen tenfold. And Korea really does have such a homogenous population. How can I blame them for assuming? To come across an ibyang (Korean word for adoptee) is probably not a typical experience.
So, really, preparation for me has been about learning to be ‘more Korean’. I’m not going to lie: a big part of me wants to fit in. Maybe that is a juvenile thing to say, but it’s honestly how I feel. I do not want to be stumbling through every day in Korea as this glaringly American foreigner having no idea about language or cultural norms, especially when I am Korean myself! I’ve been cramming Korean language lessons into my head, learning about manners and even put my ears on a strict diet of Korean music only. If this sounds a little ridiculous, it probably is. I kind of feel like this is middle school all over again when I had to have gel pens, wear flared jeans and watch South Park just so I could discuss it with other kids at school.
The thing is, TV shows and fashion are just trends that fade away, but Korea will always be a part of me. Maybe all this determination to learn about the culture is a phase. Or maybe it’s something more than that. Maybe it’s a path leading to a better sense of who I am. Some KADs seem so confident and grounded in their sense of self while others seem to be in a perpetual identity crisis. I’m….somewhere in that fray. Learning Korean is getting a little frustrating, but I have always loved learning languages. And k-pop over the past year has slowly made its way into my regular music rotation. There is definitely a pleasure that comes from having these pieces of Korea in my life. I don’t pursue these things solely out of obligation, but because they bring an extra level of joy to my life. They might not necessarily make me ‘more Korean’, though, whatever that even means. And, at the end of the day, what’s wrong with me being American? I am American and that’s not something I can simply erase when I arrive in Seoul. Like Korea, America will always be a part of me, too. It’s always been my dominant culture and, while it’s certainly not perfect, there are things about being American that I love.
I am a Korean American adoptee. It’s only taken me up to this point to really stand back, look at each word and think ‘what the heck does that mean, anyway?’. I have a feeling it’s a question I will spend my whole life answering.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Still work to be done
Sigh. I have recently learned of two instances of racism directed towards Asians. One has made national coverage and the other hit much closer to home. Both have left me offended and frustrated. It doesn’t matter who the target is; racism is never okay. It especially worries me that these incidents have come right now when Japan is working through a horrific crisis. When people should be responding with compassion. With sensitivity. How are these things too much to ask?
The first instance I am referring to is this video of Alexandra Wallace, a UCLA student making blatantly racist comments about her Asian classmates. Wallace reportedly apologized and said, “I cannot explain what possessed me to approach the subject as I did.” Her delivery of the commentary seemed rather biting and deliberate to me, but I am swimming in a sea of angry bias at the moment. I thought her words were extremely hurtful and judgmental. I have to question her judgment in even posting such a video without expecting to get in some degree of trouble. What really gets me (well, the whole thing gets me) is her quick comment at the beginning of the video that her rant is not directed towards her friends. ‘Friends’ AKA her Asian friends who are clearly not like the other ‘hordes of Asian students’ at the college? A friend once made a similar side note to me when complaining about international students at our school (who are mostly Asian). “Not you,” she added, as though that made the rest of what she said okay. It didn’t. It doesn’t.
The second instance was relayed to me by a friend who teaches preschool. She told me she recently had to stop her 3 and 4 year olds from pulling their eyes into slants. To hear this just made me sad. I had classmates do that to me in grade school, too. Who continues to teach this ignorance? Who continues to allow it? We are all responsible for ending these unacceptable behaviors. We cannot just rely on someone else to do the job. There might not always be someone else. I asked my friend if there were any Asian students in the class and she said yes, one. A little boy who also happens to be adopted from Korea. My heart ached a little.
There was a time when I didn’t care about race and I thought those who did were making a big stink over something already largely resolved. How wrong I was! I remember just a few years back when the picture of Miley Cyrus pulling her eyes into slants was released. I told myself, “She’s young and just messing around. She didn’t mean to offend anyone.” Even if she didn’t mean to hurt someone, she clearly did. Maybe people keep pulling stunts like this because they think they can get away with them. I guess, in a sense, they do get away with them. What more has been asked of Miley Cyrus or Alexandra Wallace than to make a public apology? They get a slap on the hand and say they’re sorry, then the world moves on to the next controversy. What is an appropriate, natural consequence for racist behavior anyways? Yeah, I don’t have a sure answer, either.
I used to worry about sounding like a whiner for bringing these things up. Being viewed as whiney is just never good. But this isn’t whining. This is demonstrating that I am not some static stereotype. I am a human being who feels justifiably hurt when racism is directed at me or others who share my background. No one deserves that kind of treatment. This is me responding honestly to a reality and an injustice. I think about that little preschool boy and I want to be a part of creating something better. There is so much left to do.
The first instance I am referring to is this video of Alexandra Wallace, a UCLA student making blatantly racist comments about her Asian classmates. Wallace reportedly apologized and said, “I cannot explain what possessed me to approach the subject as I did.” Her delivery of the commentary seemed rather biting and deliberate to me, but I am swimming in a sea of angry bias at the moment. I thought her words were extremely hurtful and judgmental. I have to question her judgment in even posting such a video without expecting to get in some degree of trouble. What really gets me (well, the whole thing gets me) is her quick comment at the beginning of the video that her rant is not directed towards her friends. ‘Friends’ AKA her Asian friends who are clearly not like the other ‘hordes of Asian students’ at the college? A friend once made a similar side note to me when complaining about international students at our school (who are mostly Asian). “Not you,” she added, as though that made the rest of what she said okay. It didn’t. It doesn’t.
The second instance was relayed to me by a friend who teaches preschool. She told me she recently had to stop her 3 and 4 year olds from pulling their eyes into slants. To hear this just made me sad. I had classmates do that to me in grade school, too. Who continues to teach this ignorance? Who continues to allow it? We are all responsible for ending these unacceptable behaviors. We cannot just rely on someone else to do the job. There might not always be someone else. I asked my friend if there were any Asian students in the class and she said yes, one. A little boy who also happens to be adopted from Korea. My heart ached a little.
There was a time when I didn’t care about race and I thought those who did were making a big stink over something already largely resolved. How wrong I was! I remember just a few years back when the picture of Miley Cyrus pulling her eyes into slants was released. I told myself, “She’s young and just messing around. She didn’t mean to offend anyone.” Even if she didn’t mean to hurt someone, she clearly did. Maybe people keep pulling stunts like this because they think they can get away with them. I guess, in a sense, they do get away with them. What more has been asked of Miley Cyrus or Alexandra Wallace than to make a public apology? They get a slap on the hand and say they’re sorry, then the world moves on to the next controversy. What is an appropriate, natural consequence for racist behavior anyways? Yeah, I don’t have a sure answer, either.
I used to worry about sounding like a whiner for bringing these things up. Being viewed as whiney is just never good. But this isn’t whining. This is demonstrating that I am not some static stereotype. I am a human being who feels justifiably hurt when racism is directed at me or others who share my background. No one deserves that kind of treatment. This is me responding honestly to a reality and an injustice. I think about that little preschool boy and I want to be a part of creating something better. There is so much left to do.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Small town girl blues
Well, it’s time for those famous two words that every college student craves to hear: spring break. One of my professors optimistically wished us a week of ‘sunning and funning’. She has a sense of humor. I say that since most of us will be spending said week in cold, rainy New York. I’m heading back to the hometown for some quality time with family, high school friends and my favorite local Greek restaurant. And I will get to snuggle my sheltie and celebrate her second birthday with her. All of these things are good things. Great things, even.
But. (And you knew a ‘but’ was coming.) In my heart of hearts I am not excited about it. In fact, I seem to be heading towards something closer to depression than elation. This sinking feeling has slowly, quietly crept its way in and I can’t deny it any longer. This is only a taste of things to come..of a future that I’ve realized I really, really don’t want.
After I graduate this May, I will be moving back home. Temporarily, at least. I made this decision a long time ago and, for a while, actually looked forward to that decision. I did not warm up to the city I currently reside in for school right away. I missed home, missed my mom who was ill at the time and missed the kisses from my dog. I chose to move back home post-graduation because, frankly, my mom is aging. She’s 68 and lives alone. Without getting into too many details, her physical and mental health have not been well over the past number of years. I first stepped into caregiver shoes at 19 and it really does come down to me. I am her proxy, her advocate, the one responsible over all others for her. I can’t stray too far. And, for a while, I was okay with that.
But it’s been almost two years since I moved out here for graduate school and suddenly two years doesn’t seem long enough. I’m not ready to leave. This is the first place I’ve lived in my young adult life that I’ve felt so free and able to be me. I have had many fulfilling experiences since being here that have contributed beautifully to my growing sense of identity. I started mentoring a few international students from Korea which has been incredible. They are such sweet people and we have learned so much from each other. I also started meeting up with other Korean adoptees around my age in the area. To find company where you can candidly talk about homeland tours, birth family searches and awkward racial experiences is a gift. A complete gift. Here, there are Korean restaurants, markets, churches..even a noraebang house (which I have not yet embarrassed myself at, but maybe soon). Here is a place I’ve found myself belonging and content in. It’s so much more than I ever had before.
In comparison, my hometown is much smaller and much less diverse. There is no opportunity for me to embrace my KAD identity there. There is nothing Korean there! And maybe I didn’t notice so much as a child, but today I resent it a little. It makes me feel hurt and sad that my heritage does not exist there, that I had to grow up in a neighborhood which I singlehandedly diversified. My mom doesn’t even know any Asians other than me and a handful of KADs from our adoption group. I need to live someplace where I can actually feel culturally relevant and validated. I love my mom more than I’ve ever loved any other human being on this earth. It's been just the two of us against the world for as long as I can remember. Why isn’t that love enough to make me want to stay? I talk of moving back as if I have no other choice which is not entirely true. We always have choices. It's just that being in the throes of a 'life sucks' moment makes them a little hard to see. Sometimes being a transracial adoptee feels like trying to walk in two different directons at once.
But. (And you knew a ‘but’ was coming.) In my heart of hearts I am not excited about it. In fact, I seem to be heading towards something closer to depression than elation. This sinking feeling has slowly, quietly crept its way in and I can’t deny it any longer. This is only a taste of things to come..of a future that I’ve realized I really, really don’t want.
After I graduate this May, I will be moving back home. Temporarily, at least. I made this decision a long time ago and, for a while, actually looked forward to that decision. I did not warm up to the city I currently reside in for school right away. I missed home, missed my mom who was ill at the time and missed the kisses from my dog. I chose to move back home post-graduation because, frankly, my mom is aging. She’s 68 and lives alone. Without getting into too many details, her physical and mental health have not been well over the past number of years. I first stepped into caregiver shoes at 19 and it really does come down to me. I am her proxy, her advocate, the one responsible over all others for her. I can’t stray too far. And, for a while, I was okay with that.
But it’s been almost two years since I moved out here for graduate school and suddenly two years doesn’t seem long enough. I’m not ready to leave. This is the first place I’ve lived in my young adult life that I’ve felt so free and able to be me. I have had many fulfilling experiences since being here that have contributed beautifully to my growing sense of identity. I started mentoring a few international students from Korea which has been incredible. They are such sweet people and we have learned so much from each other. I also started meeting up with other Korean adoptees around my age in the area. To find company where you can candidly talk about homeland tours, birth family searches and awkward racial experiences is a gift. A complete gift. Here, there are Korean restaurants, markets, churches..even a noraebang house (which I have not yet embarrassed myself at, but maybe soon). Here is a place I’ve found myself belonging and content in. It’s so much more than I ever had before.
In comparison, my hometown is much smaller and much less diverse. There is no opportunity for me to embrace my KAD identity there. There is nothing Korean there! And maybe I didn’t notice so much as a child, but today I resent it a little. It makes me feel hurt and sad that my heritage does not exist there, that I had to grow up in a neighborhood which I singlehandedly diversified. My mom doesn’t even know any Asians other than me and a handful of KADs from our adoption group. I need to live someplace where I can actually feel culturally relevant and validated. I love my mom more than I’ve ever loved any other human being on this earth. It's been just the two of us against the world for as long as I can remember. Why isn’t that love enough to make me want to stay? I talk of moving back as if I have no other choice which is not entirely true. We always have choices. It's just that being in the throes of a 'life sucks' moment makes them a little hard to see. Sometimes being a transracial adoptee feels like trying to walk in two different directons at once.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
A meaningful experience
Do you think a transnational adoptee needs to acknowledge their birth culture?
Maybe this sounds like a ‘duh’ question, but I like thinking about these types of questions because they can be so easily taken for granted. I pose this question because, through the blogosphere and various media, I have noticed many APs or future APs eager to integrate their child’s birth culture into the child’s life as much as possible. I’m neither agreeing nor disagreeing. I’m simply curious. What informs us that this is the ‘right’ thing to do? What is a parent’s best hope for their child in making that decision?
My mom started integrating Korea into my life seemingly from the start. We were attending a local adoption group before I was out of diapers. The group was open to any family with adopted children, but ended up largely composed of KADs. We had parties at holidays, celebrated the Lunar New Year and many of us went to culture camp together during the summers. For us kids, it was really just time to have fun with friends. Or, if I’m being very honest, it was time for us to all feel awkward together trying say words in Korean and do a fan dance. By the time I was in middle school, most of my ‘generation’ had dropped out of the group and I didn’t want to go anymore, but my mom kept dragging me until I was about 15. I think she had a harder time letting go of it than me. I really didn’t care anymore. A parent might see this adoption group as a positive thing, but from the adolescent’s perspective, I didn’t see the point (and I really didn’t enjoy how wearing hanboks further flattened my nonexistent chest). If my mom had shoved Korean culture down my throat every day, I think I would have become highly resentful.
Today I am very interested in my heritage, but when I look back, I have to wonder if my mom’s choices to keep me involved in the adoption community affected where I stand now. I’m not really sure that it does. I don’t think that integrating a child’s birth culture into their life is necessarily a predictor for how they will feel about that culture as an adult. And for those who don’t recognize their heritage, are they any worse off than someone like me? Does it matter? I know one other KAD who stayed in the adoption group as long as me and today she’s rather indifferent. She’s married with a family, teaching and comfortably settled in suburbia. She has a good life. Never been to Korea, no plans to go or search for birth family. Does she need some more Korea in her life? I know other KADs just doing their thing and I don’t see anything wrong with it. Maybe one day they will feel differently. Maybe they won’t. I think we have just as much a right to pursue our birth culture as we have a right not to.
At the end of the day, I think we’re all just trying to find some measure of acceptance. Of belonging. The activities I did in adoption group didn’t mean nearly as much as simply being with other Asian kids with white parents. As for playing yut, making mandu, knowing how to write my name in hangul.. Some KADs just don’t give a damn about those things and I say it’s okay! Exploring my Korean heritage is turning out to be meaningful for me, but I’m only speaking for me. Adoptees, like anyone else, all find their own paths to fulfillment.
Maybe this sounds like a ‘duh’ question, but I like thinking about these types of questions because they can be so easily taken for granted. I pose this question because, through the blogosphere and various media, I have noticed many APs or future APs eager to integrate their child’s birth culture into the child’s life as much as possible. I’m neither agreeing nor disagreeing. I’m simply curious. What informs us that this is the ‘right’ thing to do? What is a parent’s best hope for their child in making that decision?
My mom started integrating Korea into my life seemingly from the start. We were attending a local adoption group before I was out of diapers. The group was open to any family with adopted children, but ended up largely composed of KADs. We had parties at holidays, celebrated the Lunar New Year and many of us went to culture camp together during the summers. For us kids, it was really just time to have fun with friends. Or, if I’m being very honest, it was time for us to all feel awkward together trying say words in Korean and do a fan dance. By the time I was in middle school, most of my ‘generation’ had dropped out of the group and I didn’t want to go anymore, but my mom kept dragging me until I was about 15. I think she had a harder time letting go of it than me. I really didn’t care anymore. A parent might see this adoption group as a positive thing, but from the adolescent’s perspective, I didn’t see the point (and I really didn’t enjoy how wearing hanboks further flattened my nonexistent chest). If my mom had shoved Korean culture down my throat every day, I think I would have become highly resentful.
Today I am very interested in my heritage, but when I look back, I have to wonder if my mom’s choices to keep me involved in the adoption community affected where I stand now. I’m not really sure that it does. I don’t think that integrating a child’s birth culture into their life is necessarily a predictor for how they will feel about that culture as an adult. And for those who don’t recognize their heritage, are they any worse off than someone like me? Does it matter? I know one other KAD who stayed in the adoption group as long as me and today she’s rather indifferent. She’s married with a family, teaching and comfortably settled in suburbia. She has a good life. Never been to Korea, no plans to go or search for birth family. Does she need some more Korea in her life? I know other KADs just doing their thing and I don’t see anything wrong with it. Maybe one day they will feel differently. Maybe they won’t. I think we have just as much a right to pursue our birth culture as we have a right not to.
At the end of the day, I think we’re all just trying to find some measure of acceptance. Of belonging. The activities I did in adoption group didn’t mean nearly as much as simply being with other Asian kids with white parents. As for playing yut, making mandu, knowing how to write my name in hangul.. Some KADs just don’t give a damn about those things and I say it’s okay! Exploring my Korean heritage is turning out to be meaningful for me, but I’m only speaking for me. Adoptees, like anyone else, all find their own paths to fulfillment.
Friday, January 21, 2011
The mythical sesame paste
I just got back from a Korean grocery store where I confused the heck out of its owners. Today being my actual Airplane Day, I was feeling a sense of occasion and decided to invite one of my close friends over for some nice home cooked Korean food. I picked my personal favorite dish--japchae (stir fried noodles with beef and veggies). Now bear in mind that I'm crazy. I've never made japchae before. The only Korean food I've made to date was some mandu dumplings in Korean culture camp when I was a kid and then one semi-experimental grilled beef kebab and kimchi dinner with (a lot of) help from my aunt Jan. So, not a lot of experience there. I don't even cook that much in general (hate to admit it, but it's true). The recipe calls for blanching spinach? What? Hopefully I don't burn the apartment complex down tonight. That would be swell.
Anywho. I stopped at this grocery store which I've been to a handful of times, but always felt kind of shy in. Today I was the only customer in there and one of the owners immediately greeted me in Korean. Although I understood what she said and knew how to reply, I just said "Hi" back not wanting to draw attention to my undoubtedly awkward accent. I browsed the store with my little list and found most of what I needed for the recipe. The one thing I couldn't find? Sesame paste. I went up to the man behind the counter and asked if they carried said item. He had absolutely no idea what I was talking about. We perused through the aisle with sesame seeds, sesame oil and various pastes, but no sesame paste. He went and asked his wife who also was unfamiliar with sesame paste. I told him I was making japchae for the first time and simply following my recipe book. He shrugged and said that he didn't know about cooking with the paste. I figured if he and his wife didn't use it, then my japchae should be fine without it. Now I am questioning the authenticity of my cookbook! I went to Wegmans for a few more items and they also did not carry sesame paste. I googled 'sesame paste' when I came home and it apparently is used in some East Asian cooking. Go figure. Sounds like I'm not missing out on much, though.. I need to go to that grocery more often. The man was nice and wished me luck with the meal. I found myself wanting to explain to him--being an adoptee and all, hence having to use a cookbook and not a Korean omoni's or halmoni's wisdom. But that could have been potentially awkward. It occurred to me that I don't really know what any Koreans or Korean Americans think about KADs..if anything at all.
Well, guess it's time for me to start on my cooking endeavor. Oh boy. I'm going to use Maangchi's recipe since she doesn't use any cooking terms that leave me completely nonplussed! Hopefully my japchae turns out edible, but we have a frozen pizza and alcohol if my efforts go south.
Anywho. I stopped at this grocery store which I've been to a handful of times, but always felt kind of shy in. Today I was the only customer in there and one of the owners immediately greeted me in Korean. Although I understood what she said and knew how to reply, I just said "Hi" back not wanting to draw attention to my undoubtedly awkward accent. I browsed the store with my little list and found most of what I needed for the recipe. The one thing I couldn't find? Sesame paste. I went up to the man behind the counter and asked if they carried said item. He had absolutely no idea what I was talking about. We perused through the aisle with sesame seeds, sesame oil and various pastes, but no sesame paste. He went and asked his wife who also was unfamiliar with sesame paste. I told him I was making japchae for the first time and simply following my recipe book. He shrugged and said that he didn't know about cooking with the paste. I figured if he and his wife didn't use it, then my japchae should be fine without it. Now I am questioning the authenticity of my cookbook! I went to Wegmans for a few more items and they also did not carry sesame paste. I googled 'sesame paste' when I came home and it apparently is used in some East Asian cooking. Go figure. Sounds like I'm not missing out on much, though.. I need to go to that grocery more often. The man was nice and wished me luck with the meal. I found myself wanting to explain to him--being an adoptee and all, hence having to use a cookbook and not a Korean omoni's or halmoni's wisdom. But that could have been potentially awkward. It occurred to me that I don't really know what any Koreans or Korean Americans think about KADs..if anything at all.
Well, guess it's time for me to start on my cooking endeavor. Oh boy. I'm going to use Maangchi's recipe since she doesn't use any cooking terms that leave me completely nonplussed! Hopefully my japchae turns out edible, but we have a frozen pizza and alcohol if my efforts go south.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Airplane Day
I guess there really is no one official name for the anniversary date of adoptees being united with their adoptive families, is there? A few people I know call it ‘Gotcha Day’ which is cute. My mom decided to be quite literal and call it Airplane Day (because I came over on a plane..haha). So, that is how I know it. My Airplane Day is January 21st. This year, as in other years that I’ve been in college, we will be unable to celebrate it together, so we did an early celebration a few days ago while I’m still on break. We typically do something pretty low-key. This year we went to one of my favorite local restaurants for hibachi. I would have picked Korean cuisine, except that there are sadly no Korean restaurants near us. My mom also insisted on getting me a gift of some sort as she always does, so I received a pair of dainty teardrop earrings which are my birthstone. I’ve realized at any rate that all my favorite and most-worn pieces of jewelry are from my mom because they were given with great sincerity and affection. She always wants me to be happy on Airplane Day. I don’t expect anything, so I just appreciate what she does.
As an adult, Airplane Day is honestly not too exciting anymore, but as a kid it was something special. I have to say that my favorite Airplane Day was when I was in first grade. For most of my childhood, my mom always tried to get me a gift related to Korean culture. That particular year we celebrated with my grandma (yes, the cute grandma who STILL insists on setting me up with the married worker at the nursing home). It was a joint celebration since Grandma’s birthday falls one day before my Airplane Day. My mom and I gave Grandma a necklace with an amethyst stone which is her favorite gem. She and my mom gave me my first hanbok—a pale pink number with multi-colored accents and printed with delicate gold foil designs. It was love at first sight. I felt as though I had never seen a more beautiful garment in my entire (6 years) of life! It sounds corny to say, but receiving that hanbok made me swell with pride at being Korean and knowing that I came from a country that produced something so elegant. I tried it on almost immediately and felt like a princess in it. Probably would have slept in the dang thing except that it really was not that comfortable. I no longer own a hanbok that fits me, so I look back on this memory as an especially precious one. The thing I’m learning now is that embracing my heritage extends far beyond Airplane Day. Any and every day is a good day to celebrate where I came from and be proud of it. I’m still figuring it out..
As an adult, Airplane Day is honestly not too exciting anymore, but as a kid it was something special. I have to say that my favorite Airplane Day was when I was in first grade. For most of my childhood, my mom always tried to get me a gift related to Korean culture. That particular year we celebrated with my grandma (yes, the cute grandma who STILL insists on setting me up with the married worker at the nursing home). It was a joint celebration since Grandma’s birthday falls one day before my Airplane Day. My mom and I gave Grandma a necklace with an amethyst stone which is her favorite gem. She and my mom gave me my first hanbok—a pale pink number with multi-colored accents and printed with delicate gold foil designs. It was love at first sight. I felt as though I had never seen a more beautiful garment in my entire (6 years) of life! It sounds corny to say, but receiving that hanbok made me swell with pride at being Korean and knowing that I came from a country that produced something so elegant. I tried it on almost immediately and felt like a princess in it. Probably would have slept in the dang thing except that it really was not that comfortable. I no longer own a hanbok that fits me, so I look back on this memory as an especially precious one. The thing I’m learning now is that embracing my heritage extends far beyond Airplane Day. Any and every day is a good day to celebrate where I came from and be proud of it. I’m still figuring it out..
Friday, January 7, 2011
Race matters (well, to some of us at least)
I’ll be the first to tell you that I haven’t had to fight for a whole lot in my life. I’m 24 and I’ve been a student for the majority of those years. Academia is territory where I’ve always thrived and I’m soon to be a master’s level social worker. I’ve always had food to eat, clothes to wear, a roof over my head and a loving family. I have my own car and the means to entertain myself at restaurants, movies etc. And all of these things are a hell of a lot. They’re more than many people have or will ever have. You could say that given the life I’ve led so far, I’ve had the luxury of being able to choose my battles. For most of my life, I’ve been a quiet, reflective person who preferred to be unobtrusive, to not make waves or argue. Heck, I don’t even really enjoy debating for fun. If you keep your mouth shut, no one can tell you you’re wrong or stupid because they’ve yet to have any evidence.
But when it comes to race, I’ve realized that I don’t want to keep my mouth shut and I feel as though I’m beginning to face the consequences. Ever since I started this blog, I’ve taken myself on an exploration I never dared to pursue before. I came to reject the colorblind perspective and recognize that issues raised by transracial adoptees are incredibly important. I came to value my identity more and more, to be proud to be a minority woman. From my perspective, I am growing into the person I want to be and it means the world. What I hadn’t planned on was the reaction of others around me regarding this change. I keenly feel that a few friends have distanced themselves from me and I suspect that they are not comfortable with my interest in race issues. It’s probably different when you’re white. One thing I’ve learned over time is that many (not all) white people are much more comfortable adopting the colorblind perspective and are self conscious about being viewed as racist (can't blame them given history). I’m not here to point fingers. My belief that race matters is just that: a belief. It is not a universal truth and probably never will be. I guess I just never expected some of my own friends to pull away over this. I’ve tried to be sensitive and I never, ever push my beliefs onto others. Maybe I didn't try hard enough. I feel hurt because I read their distancing as a rejection of this part of me which I am finally embracing. It makes me step back and question myself. Am I wrong for believing this way? Is it worth losing friendships over? I value my relationships so much, but I also value being true to myself.
I’m starting to think that this is only the beginning of my struggle. Standing up for race issues feels like an uphill battle. The reality is that a whole lot of people just don’t care and don’t see the point. But to me, there will always be a point. We may have a black president in the US now, but that does not make up for the overrepresentation of black children in the child welfare system or black individuals in prison. That does not make up for the blatant racial profiling in Arizona. That does not make up for the uncertainty I have felt at numerous times in my life when someone else targeted me/mistreated me and I never knew if it was because I was Asian, but always wondered. If you read my last post, then you should know that this is definitely not a request for pity. It’s a request for people to open their eyes, see each other for who we are and love anyway. No, we are not all the same! We are beautifully different and why can’t we just celebrate those differences? I’ll get off my soapbox now.
But when it comes to race, I’ve realized that I don’t want to keep my mouth shut and I feel as though I’m beginning to face the consequences. Ever since I started this blog, I’ve taken myself on an exploration I never dared to pursue before. I came to reject the colorblind perspective and recognize that issues raised by transracial adoptees are incredibly important. I came to value my identity more and more, to be proud to be a minority woman. From my perspective, I am growing into the person I want to be and it means the world. What I hadn’t planned on was the reaction of others around me regarding this change. I keenly feel that a few friends have distanced themselves from me and I suspect that they are not comfortable with my interest in race issues. It’s probably different when you’re white. One thing I’ve learned over time is that many (not all) white people are much more comfortable adopting the colorblind perspective and are self conscious about being viewed as racist (can't blame them given history). I’m not here to point fingers. My belief that race matters is just that: a belief. It is not a universal truth and probably never will be. I guess I just never expected some of my own friends to pull away over this. I’ve tried to be sensitive and I never, ever push my beliefs onto others. Maybe I didn't try hard enough. I feel hurt because I read their distancing as a rejection of this part of me which I am finally embracing. It makes me step back and question myself. Am I wrong for believing this way? Is it worth losing friendships over? I value my relationships so much, but I also value being true to myself.
I’m starting to think that this is only the beginning of my struggle. Standing up for race issues feels like an uphill battle. The reality is that a whole lot of people just don’t care and don’t see the point. But to me, there will always be a point. We may have a black president in the US now, but that does not make up for the overrepresentation of black children in the child welfare system or black individuals in prison. That does not make up for the blatant racial profiling in Arizona. That does not make up for the uncertainty I have felt at numerous times in my life when someone else targeted me/mistreated me and I never knew if it was because I was Asian, but always wondered. If you read my last post, then you should know that this is definitely not a request for pity. It’s a request for people to open their eyes, see each other for who we are and love anyway. No, we are not all the same! We are beautifully different and why can’t we just celebrate those differences? I’ll get off my soapbox now.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Anti-pity party
So. I was recently skimming through a Christian ‘guide to life’ that a cousin gave me for Christmas and it has me a little less than enlightened. One section of the book discusses infertility and brings up adoption as a possibility for couples which is fine by me except that the book takes the stance of referring to adoptees collectively as orphans. A few lines in particular struck me: “We know that God is very concerned for the orphans. Whether a Christian couple decides to pursue adoption or not, it is clear we have a biblical mandate to care for those without family.” Hmm. Last time I checked, many adoptees have living biological relatives. It’s not like we were just dropped from the sky. We came from somewhere, from someone. I know the term ‘orphan’ does not mean the same thing to everyone, but it seems to have a largely negative connotation to me. For me, it’s a very vulnerable and pitiful-seeming word. Thank goodness no one, to my knowledge, has ever called me an orphan. My reaction would NOT be pretty.
I refuse to be viewed as a charity case simply because I am adopted. Unfortunately, I know that there are others out there who believe differently. I will never forget telling a girl in middle school that I was adopted and watching her face contort in sadness. She said, “Omigosh, I’m so sorry!” You’d think I just told her my dog got run over by a car. Really? Even if her reaction was genuine, it irritated the heck out of me. Being an adoptee is NOT a deficit! It’s simply a part of who we are. Owning up to this identity comes with challenges and baggage, but who doesn’t have challenges and baggage? The thing about pity is that it blinds us. If we pity others, we focus on weakness and fail to see the inherent strengths which all individuals possess. If I pity myself, what kind of person do I see when I look in the mirror? I have always had a strong adverse reaction to pity and nowadays I suspect that being an adoptee plays at least some part in that.
I refuse to be viewed as a charity case simply because I am adopted. Unfortunately, I know that there are others out there who believe differently. I will never forget telling a girl in middle school that I was adopted and watching her face contort in sadness. She said, “Omigosh, I’m so sorry!” You’d think I just told her my dog got run over by a car. Really? Even if her reaction was genuine, it irritated the heck out of me. Being an adoptee is NOT a deficit! It’s simply a part of who we are. Owning up to this identity comes with challenges and baggage, but who doesn’t have challenges and baggage? The thing about pity is that it blinds us. If we pity others, we focus on weakness and fail to see the inherent strengths which all individuals possess. If I pity myself, what kind of person do I see when I look in the mirror? I have always had a strong adverse reaction to pity and nowadays I suspect that being an adoptee plays at least some part in that.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Dear Ki-hong
Today for no particular reason I’m thinking of Ki-hong. He’d be about 30 years old now. Ki-hong was a pen pal of mine whom I met on my trip back to Korea. As a part of our homeland tour, we visited his high school. We all put on a big talent show which was quite fun. The boys actually showed off viable talent skills like tae kwan do and samulnori music while our tour group had to think of impromptu acts that were more amusing than..well..talented. I’m pretty sure my ‘talent’ was singing Old McDonald Had a Farm with a group of people holding paper bag puppets. Eh.
At the end of the show, we had a chance to mingle with the students and kind of paired off. We brought gifts for the students and they brought gifts for us. I still have the sun pendant that Ki-hong gave me. He was 16, a skinny kid with short hair and silver glasses. He was very interested in American culture and we agreed to write each other when I returned to the states. Looking back, I wish I had been more grateful for him and the experience because at the time, frankly, I wasn’t. Why? Because I was young and stupid. I think I’ve mentioned previously that I didn’t have a strong interest in my Korean heritage during adolescence. For me, writing to Ki-hong was interesting to a degree, but I also felt weirded out by the six year age gap between us. I guess I just wasn’t sure how to address him or if I should consider him a peer. And his curiosity about America was not matched by me in return about Korea. Needless to say, I am the one who stopped writing. I think he wrote me once or twice more after I stopped responding before his letters stopped, too. The crappy truth is that I just didn’t care enough.
Today I wish I had cared more, that I had kept writing. I know it's not uncommon to take aspects of your life for granted as a child. And that we all make mistakes because we're just a bunch of imperfect humans. I still have a few letters from Ki-hong written on stationary with an image of a cartoon baseball player. For a number of years, those letters were lost. I uncovered them a few years back and considered trying to write to the address on the envelope, but this was over a decade later. I don’t know where Ki-hong lives now, what he does for a living, if he has married and had a family. He seemed like a shy, yet very earnest person. When I really think about it, trying to write him after all these years would only be to my benefit as I am the regretful one.
Ki-hong, wherever you are, you'll probably never read this or even remember me. I just wish to say I’m sorry for being young and stupid. I couldn’t help it, but I hope you’re out there having an amazing life. I’d also like to apologize for sending you a Hanson cassette tape, but my mom wouldn’t let me buy you a Metallica one at the time (she saw the word 'bitch' in one of the track listings, so that was the end of that.) You sent me the goodbye album by Seo Taiji and Boys which I actually still enjoy when I can find a tape player. If you ended up tossing the Hanson, though, I don’t blame you.
At the end of the show, we had a chance to mingle with the students and kind of paired off. We brought gifts for the students and they brought gifts for us. I still have the sun pendant that Ki-hong gave me. He was 16, a skinny kid with short hair and silver glasses. He was very interested in American culture and we agreed to write each other when I returned to the states. Looking back, I wish I had been more grateful for him and the experience because at the time, frankly, I wasn’t. Why? Because I was young and stupid. I think I’ve mentioned previously that I didn’t have a strong interest in my Korean heritage during adolescence. For me, writing to Ki-hong was interesting to a degree, but I also felt weirded out by the six year age gap between us. I guess I just wasn’t sure how to address him or if I should consider him a peer. And his curiosity about America was not matched by me in return about Korea. Needless to say, I am the one who stopped writing. I think he wrote me once or twice more after I stopped responding before his letters stopped, too. The crappy truth is that I just didn’t care enough.
Today I wish I had cared more, that I had kept writing. I know it's not uncommon to take aspects of your life for granted as a child. And that we all make mistakes because we're just a bunch of imperfect humans. I still have a few letters from Ki-hong written on stationary with an image of a cartoon baseball player. For a number of years, those letters were lost. I uncovered them a few years back and considered trying to write to the address on the envelope, but this was over a decade later. I don’t know where Ki-hong lives now, what he does for a living, if he has married and had a family. He seemed like a shy, yet very earnest person. When I really think about it, trying to write him after all these years would only be to my benefit as I am the regretful one.
Ki-hong, wherever you are, you'll probably never read this or even remember me. I just wish to say I’m sorry for being young and stupid. I couldn’t help it, but I hope you’re out there having an amazing life. I’d also like to apologize for sending you a Hanson cassette tape, but my mom wouldn’t let me buy you a Metallica one at the time (she saw the word 'bitch' in one of the track listings, so that was the end of that.) You sent me the goodbye album by Seo Taiji and Boys which I actually still enjoy when I can find a tape player. If you ended up tossing the Hanson, though, I don’t blame you.
Friday, November 12, 2010
My own Jenny and Juno
The amount of information I know about my birth parents is small enough to take up half a postcard. Maybe less, actually. All I have is a handful of numbers and generic descriptors to go by. She was described as ‘outgoing’ and he as ‘shy’ as well as ‘a lover of music’. And as far as numbers are concerned, she was 5’3”, 100 pounds, and he was 5’7”. (Despite growing up on a different diet and not being athletic at all, I’m quite close to my omma’s size now.) Of this modest pile of trivia, however, I always come back to age. At the time of my birth, she was 16 and he was 17. They were kids. I always knew the ages of my birth parents, but as a child, naturally, teenagers seemed old to me. It wasn’t until I became a teenager myself that I realized just how young and inexperienced teenagers still are. When I turned 16, my first thoughts weren’t on my driver’s license, but on my lack of readiness to bring a child into the world. And I realized that that is exactly what my omma did. Perspective sure is an interesting thing, isn’t it?
I recently watched a 2005 Korean movie called Jenny, Juno. The protagonists are 15 year old classmates Jenny and Juno who are dating and soon find themselves dealing with pregnancy. It’s not a very serious movie at all. In fact, I’d say it falls more into the vein of sugarcoated romantic comedy. Which is..interesting given the subject matter and cultural context. From what I understand, South Korea has some of the world’s lowest teenage pregnancy rates. It kind of makes me wonder, if the rates are low now, what were they like in 1985-1986 when my omma was carrying me? What was the experience like for her and my appa? Jenny, Juno just made it all look too easy. Granted it IS a fictional movie taking place in a much more recent time period. I didn’t go into this expecting a factual documentary. That would be like watching The Princess Diaries to understand how a monarchy works.
Jenny, Juno may not have been a life-changing masterpiece, but it still made me think. It made a million different questions trigger in my head which I may never know the answers to. I found myself wondering about the context in which my birth parents lived during the pregnancy. Did they discuss what to do? Did my appa even know? Did their families offer any support? I even found myself lingering on minute things. What kind of foods did my omma crave while she was pregnant? What music did she listen to? What current events was she hearing about on the news or in the paper? I have an imagination that can run like a cheetah. Creative writing is one of my life’s great loves. I could paint a whole picture of what my omma, appa and their environment were like the year I was born. It would probably be far from accurate, but it’s something. My aunt once told me her own conjecture about my birth parents: that they were just two teenagers who fell in love or at least thought they were in love. That’s the kind of story that speaks to the optimist in you, that you want to believe. Maybe they had a love that was as innocent as Jenny and Juno’s. If I never know the answer, I will at least always hope they did.
I recently watched a 2005 Korean movie called Jenny, Juno. The protagonists are 15 year old classmates Jenny and Juno who are dating and soon find themselves dealing with pregnancy. It’s not a very serious movie at all. In fact, I’d say it falls more into the vein of sugarcoated romantic comedy. Which is..interesting given the subject matter and cultural context. From what I understand, South Korea has some of the world’s lowest teenage pregnancy rates. It kind of makes me wonder, if the rates are low now, what were they like in 1985-1986 when my omma was carrying me? What was the experience like for her and my appa? Jenny, Juno just made it all look too easy. Granted it IS a fictional movie taking place in a much more recent time period. I didn’t go into this expecting a factual documentary. That would be like watching The Princess Diaries to understand how a monarchy works.
Jenny, Juno may not have been a life-changing masterpiece, but it still made me think. It made a million different questions trigger in my head which I may never know the answers to. I found myself wondering about the context in which my birth parents lived during the pregnancy. Did they discuss what to do? Did my appa even know? Did their families offer any support? I even found myself lingering on minute things. What kind of foods did my omma crave while she was pregnant? What music did she listen to? What current events was she hearing about on the news or in the paper? I have an imagination that can run like a cheetah. Creative writing is one of my life’s great loves. I could paint a whole picture of what my omma, appa and their environment were like the year I was born. It would probably be far from accurate, but it’s something. My aunt once told me her own conjecture about my birth parents: that they were just two teenagers who fell in love or at least thought they were in love. That’s the kind of story that speaks to the optimist in you, that you want to believe. Maybe they had a love that was as innocent as Jenny and Juno’s. If I never know the answer, I will at least always hope they did.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Dressing the part
There is something to be said for being able to identify media figures who look like you. I still remember once overhearing a fellow KAD’s mom say, “Caitlin just started asking me why she didn’t have more yellow clothes. I couldn’t figure out why until she said she liked the yellow Power Ranger.” Caitlin and I were in third grade at the time and Power Rangers were all the rage. I purposely woke up half an hour early every school morning just to watch it. It was campy, action-packed without being scary and it had an Asian in it. Yes. Trini, the yellow ranger. (Did someone have a sense of humor or what?) I know this is a very random anecdote to remember, but it goes to show that children do pay attention to their representation in the world around them. I remember watching Captain Planet and wanting to be like Gi who was an Asian character in the cartoon. Her element was water, so you can bet I eventually procured a Planeteer water ring and wore it proudly. These little things meant something. Why else would I remember them, right?
I guess what really got me thinking about this is the onset of Halloween today. The costume options out there are full of stereotypes galore. Do you ever consider the race of a character when choosing what to dress up as? Surprisingly, I did not choose to be Trini or Gi for Halloween in third grade. I dressed up as a Native American girl. Classmates never compared me to Trini or Gi, but they did comment that I looked ‘kind of’ like Pocahontas. Hey, I took what I could get. Better that you slightly resemble someone than no one at all. Another year I considered being a lady from the colonial era, but then I thought, “Wait, were there Asians in the US at that time? Probably not.” Yes, this is me and my random, race-involved thought process. Apparently I had no problem being a Native American for Halloween, but being an anachronism was clearly out of the question.
Anyways, I just wanted to post a little food for thought. I’m so nostalgic now! I’m not dressing up this year, but I’m suddenly liking the concept of a Gi Planeteer costume. The yellow ranger would be way too hard to pull off (not to mention most Power Ranger costumes are made for children). Oh heck, I think it would just be fun to be a zombie. Zombies surely represent all racial and ethnic backgrounds. I mean, when the zombie apocalypse comes, no one is safe.
I guess what really got me thinking about this is the onset of Halloween today. The costume options out there are full of stereotypes galore. Do you ever consider the race of a character when choosing what to dress up as? Surprisingly, I did not choose to be Trini or Gi for Halloween in third grade. I dressed up as a Native American girl. Classmates never compared me to Trini or Gi, but they did comment that I looked ‘kind of’ like Pocahontas. Hey, I took what I could get. Better that you slightly resemble someone than no one at all. Another year I considered being a lady from the colonial era, but then I thought, “Wait, were there Asians in the US at that time? Probably not.” Yes, this is me and my random, race-involved thought process. Apparently I had no problem being a Native American for Halloween, but being an anachronism was clearly out of the question.
Anyways, I just wanted to post a little food for thought. I’m so nostalgic now! I’m not dressing up this year, but I’m suddenly liking the concept of a Gi Planeteer costume. The yellow ranger would be way too hard to pull off (not to mention most Power Ranger costumes are made for children). Oh heck, I think it would just be fun to be a zombie. Zombies surely represent all racial and ethnic backgrounds. I mean, when the zombie apocalypse comes, no one is safe.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
It's all Korean to me
I've recently started dabbling in Korean..yet again. I wish there were some logical, cyclic pattern to this language exploration, but there isn't really. Over the past few years, I've randomly had urges to learn the language. Today I still don't know much more than I did a few years back. I always pick up in the same place and end up re-tracing old circles. Real productive, huh?
I suspect that my productivity constantly gets hindered because learning Korean has literally no practical value in my current life. I'm not travelling to Korea anytime soon (though I badly wish I were). In my daily life, I do not encounter people with whom I need to communicate in Korean. I've done previous coursework in Spanish and ASL. Unfortunately, however, I don't remember nearly as much as I would like in either. The knowledge fades with a lack of use. I feel that learning Korean could potentially amount to nothing.
But. I also think learning Korean is something of a right for me. It's one way of making me feel more closely connected to the culture I lost. Language is a crucial part of any culture. It says so much, literally. And I do admire the Korean language. I like sound of it. There is a somehow musical quality about the way it is spoken..the inflections and such. If I ever find the devotion to keep studying and speaking Korean, I think it could be a very meaningful experience. Not to mention I could more easily watch Korean dramas/movies and listen to Korean songs. Right now I am hooked on the music from Boys Before Flowers (popular K-drama). I wish I could sing along. Maybe this sounds silly to say, but it can be mildly frustrating loving a catchy song and not being able to actually sing it and understand it. Unless I really immerse myself, I very likely will never achieve fluency in Korean. But it's always good to have something to work towards.
I suspect that my productivity constantly gets hindered because learning Korean has literally no practical value in my current life. I'm not travelling to Korea anytime soon (though I badly wish I were). In my daily life, I do not encounter people with whom I need to communicate in Korean. I've done previous coursework in Spanish and ASL. Unfortunately, however, I don't remember nearly as much as I would like in either. The knowledge fades with a lack of use. I feel that learning Korean could potentially amount to nothing.
But. I also think learning Korean is something of a right for me. It's one way of making me feel more closely connected to the culture I lost. Language is a crucial part of any culture. It says so much, literally. And I do admire the Korean language. I like sound of it. There is a somehow musical quality about the way it is spoken..the inflections and such. If I ever find the devotion to keep studying and speaking Korean, I think it could be a very meaningful experience. Not to mention I could more easily watch Korean dramas/movies and listen to Korean songs. Right now I am hooked on the music from Boys Before Flowers (popular K-drama). I wish I could sing along. Maybe this sounds silly to say, but it can be mildly frustrating loving a catchy song and not being able to actually sing it and understand it. Unless I really immerse myself, I very likely will never achieve fluency in Korean. But it's always good to have something to work towards.
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