Pepperoni Pizza & Thin Mints: Thoughts on Growing up Korean in the US
Pepperoni pizza and thin mints. That’s what I was eating the first time I remember clearly understanding that being Asian made me less than ideal. “Don’t worry kids! You might be yellow on the outside, but you can still be white on the inside!” The adoption camp counselor’s voice was so cheery and enthusiastic, as if she was sharing an exciting new discovery with us. In that moment I was suddenly aware that not only did I look different, but I was also supposed to feel and act white to belong or be ideal. It was the summer I turned five.
As a Korean American adoptee, I’ve struggled a lot with feeling “othered” in almost every area of my life. Raised in Iowa, America’s Heartland, I longed to look like my blond haired, blue eyed family and friends. I saved my dollars in hopes of one day being able to have “white girl eyes” like my friends, I carried a parasol for at least three summers so I wouldn’t get more tan. I prayed every day that God would make me look like I stepped out of an American Eagle advertisement. I also hated going to Korean language lessons and “culture camps” and the Korean Methodist church my mom wanted me to attend on Saturday’s. Around other Koreans I was never Asian enough. I stumbled through the language, didn’t know how to eat the food and always felt too “Americanized” for those settings. Despite those feelings in Korean settings I desperately wanted to feel connected to my heritage and the culture I came from.
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Over the years I’ve experimented with a whole range of ways of dealing with this “othering”, none of them particularly healthy. At times, I’ve made jokes at my own expense, thinking if I was the first to laugh at myself, it made it okay or made it better. I’ve developed and perfected an arsenal of witty comebacks and sharp retorts to dismiss or combat racist interactions like “Sure, I’ll go back to my country if you can tell me which one I’m from” relying on previous experiences to ascertain that the person probably won’t guess Korean first. I’ve also experienced being fetishized as an Asian woman, boyfriends and potentials conditioning their love on my “Asian-ness”. In the workplace I’ve been told with a wink that being Asian and female would work to my advantage if I was interested in dating a white, male executive.
From micro-aggressions to all out insults, I’ve become so numb to the language used to describe me or the words tossed my way either carelessly or out of spite. I’ve been told in a comforting tone, “Well you don’t look like super Asian. I bet your birth father was white.” And conversely I’ve heard the same comment as an insult, “I bet you’ve got a white daddy! American soldiers love their Asian women.” Compliments such as “wow, your English is so good!” ring in my ears and happen with such frequency that I barely notice them anymore. Questions like “but what’s your real name?” or “oh Boston? But where are you really from? Iowa? But what about, you know, before that?” don’t even phase me anymore. I’m so conditioned to doing the quick calculations in my head to do the math backwards so that I can answer the question the asker is really asking and condition my response based on my capacity in that moment to engage and explain. Smile. Explain. Smile. Deflect.
Last year during pandemic lockdowns I began the super in depth process of opening my adoption files in South Korea. The rise in anti-Asian sentiment related to the outbreak of COVID-19 all of a sudden amplified my Asian-ness. I found myself experiencing a familiar identity crisis, but in a much different way, a way I was not entirely prepared to address. People who I considered friends have called COVID-19 the “China Virus” and worse on social media, but if addressed are always quick to say “oh, but I don’t even think of you as being Asian.” Statements from strangers like “Go back to your country” have caught me off guard time and time again and every time I want to yell back “this is my country”. The uptick in these comments over the past year is alarming. The social media sentiments that are casually and directly anti-Asian have made me reevaluate my circle and make adjustments on several occasions. I find myself feeling like I was that five years old kid at summer camp again, wondering just how true the banana analogy was and where I truly fit in. Am I Korean enough? Am I American enough?
It can be really uncomfortable and exhausting to have to unpack some deep levels of personal trauma to do the work to further inclusion and equality. As I expressed to a friend this week, it frequently feels like opening a shipping box that’s been filled to the top, being compelled to unpack it and present the contents in an attractive or approachable way and then having to put it all back in the box the way it was. It’s a monumental task, the uncertainty of how the content will be received by the audience is anxiety inducing, and we all know things never go back in the box exactly the same way they came out of it.
I might not have figured out exactly where I fit into the picture, and maybe I never will. But what I know for sure is that I am someone who cares deeply and passionately about other people. I believe that everyone should have the opportunity to lives free from oppression and hate and fear. I’m grateful to have the opportunity to engage in this type of work through advocacy in the foster care system, and by working with parents and families of transracial and transnational adoptees. I’m also fortunate to work for a company and a leadership team that shares the same values of inclusion and belonging and chooses to demonstrate it in daily practice, in our culture, in our people and teams and through financial investment into organizations and causes that further the work of equality for all.
It feels like I should have a strong call to action here, but after what has been an emotionally taxing week it feels more like a quiet encouragement. There are millions of resources and stories out there. Take some time to research, to review, to reflect. Listen to stories and experiences that are different from yours and find ways to get involved that make sense for you. If you’ve read this far, thank you for listening to a part of my story too. If you want to connect and continue the conversation, my inbox is always open!
All my love,
Kristi | 이현진
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