![]() ![]() ![]() I intend to do the work in learning my own place. While I’m still trying to figure out how to merge my past and my present, I know the first step is to acknowledge that the problem exists. What’s clear in all of this is the rampant violence against Asian people. Domestic terrorism and hate-driven violence have plagued our nation and continue to do so. ![]() The hate crimes that have swept the country have forced me to realize how important the platform I have is and the responsibility that comes with it. I will no longer remain silent about my lived experience. What did I do to perpetuate these cruel stereotypes?Ĭould I have done more for my community? Could I have spoken out more? What was I afraid of? And now I can’t help but wonder what I did to contribute to the violence against Asian Americans. I failed to defend my heritage in fear of retribution. I’ve willfully ignored the racism and microaggressions directed towards me and my people. Through it, I’ve realized that I never stood up for my Korean heritage. With the continued rise in horrific hate crimes towards my community, I have been in deep introspection by recalling my own experiences, unpacking my past, and trying to understand it all. I remember even beating everyone to the punch by making Asian jokes before anyone else would.Īll the while, my mother held our collective pain – the feelings of displacement and shame – and carried the burden on her shoulders, blaming herself. If you never learn about your own history, how can you really exist? Trying to fit in at school, I chased the American dream by being a star athlete, all the while suppressing my Asian identity. At school, I never learned about my Korean American history – or Asian American history at all. A truth that at my young age, I didn’t know how to protect her, and it broke my heart.Ĭomments from friends about my house smelling funny because of my mother’s home-cooked Korean meals and kimchi caused me to carry shame. It demeaned her and in turn triggered something in me that I’ve long buried deep inside. I remember people talking down to my mother as if she didn’t belong. But there was always pain in these interactions. My earliest memories are with her, out in the world among friends and strangers. With that, I’ve been thinking a lot about my mother. Over these past few months, I’ve reexamined my roots. What could be more American than having a father who risked his life to serve and protect my country? I always thought of myself as a proud American citizen who was grateful for my civil liberties. He dedicated most of his life to our freedom. ![]() We were born in Juneau, Alaska and spent our childhoods at military bases: Camp Humphreys in South Korea, Fort Hood in Texas, and Stork Barracks in Germany.įor two years, my father was deployed and fought for our country, leading soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan. Soon after, they welcomed me and my two sisters, Patricia and Tammie. My parents fell in love despite the negative connotations attached to their union. My parents met in Korea when my father was stationed there as an Army soldier. In light of the recent horrors, I am compelled to share my story. I am conflicted by my racial identities and the trauma that comes with that. And I question whether I am enough at all. I’ve often been told that I’m not Asian enough. ![]()
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