Young Writers Society

Personal Statement: Korean American Pioneers

Korean American. Korean or American, Korean then American, Korean and American. Korean American. There are some who believe that the phrases above all boil down to the same meaning, I do not. Each one possesses a connotation laced into the prepositional word and order. Throughout the stages of my life, I have analyzed my “Korean American” identity differently, attempting to configure my identity to the values I possessed at those specific periods. I take the liberty of assigning and reassigning new meanings to the Korean American identity because it remains relatively young and undefined. Thus, I believe other 2^nd generation naturalized Korean descendants and myself are pioneers endowed with the task of proscribing definition and shape to that amorphous status.

Korean or American

Are you a Commie or an American dog? A deadly question asked at gun point without any explanation of either ideology. Fair enough, I didn’t survive 6-25 or grow up through chaos stricken 1950s Korea, but as an elementary kid, the stakes were the same. I didn’t quite understand what it meant to be Korean or American, only that I could choose one of the two and that social exclusion from either American or Korean kids accompanied that choice. Frightened at the thought of being called a banana or a twinky (I remember disliking its yellow sponginess and disgusting white cream) I befriended other Korean kids living in America. Of course, associating with only Korean American kids didn’t cancel out my American obsessions with KFC macaroni cheese or Cartoon Network, but I was ready to forgive the minor discrepancies to belong to that exclusive Korean clique.

Korean then American

When the minor discrepancies grew too blaringly hypocritical, I modified the extremist position I had undertaken. Instead of dismissing the American from my Korean American identity, I prioritized Korean first and then American second. Disenchanted with my pseudo-Korean status, I poured all of my efforts into upgrading to a real Korean. One effort I still pride myself with was my avowal to learn Korean by overcoming the terrible tongue twists and ignoring the disguised smiles. That, at least, plated its worth in gold. The others (memorizing Korean lyrics, reading Korean comics, and watching Korean dramas) fostered my love for Korean culture, but otherwise encouraged me to prioritize my Korean heritage over my American situation – a folly I now realize could not have lasted much longer than it did.

Korean and American

Prioritizing, I now admit, was another more discreet attempt to choose between the two nationalities. Reflecting on why I felt the need to “prioritize” my identity requires laying bare my trepidation of isolation and estrangement from both nationalities. Desperate to belong, I had ignored the impacts of my American homeland. Attending college and meeting my international Korean peers, I intuitively recognized the barrier. They viewed attending school in America as a temporary visit to obtain a degree; I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. On a more intangible note, American ideals mold my political perspective, ethical conduct, and future visions. The Korean and American counterparts of my upbringing play different, but equally important roles in defining who I am. Consequently, my identity fractures into many separate statements, each one mutually influenced by my Korean cultural heritage and American mentality.

The truth about a Korean American identity is that it is more than a compromise between two distinct nationalities. It is far more complicated than a compromise, because understanding and accepting a Korean American identity calls for testing alternate definitions and incorporating new perceptions to a holistic understanding of what it means to exist as a Korean American. Infinitely more difficult than those blessed by their forbearers to belong to a single developed nationality, Korean Americans need to consolidate their own culture and belong to their own community – one that is neither Korean nor American but located spatially somewhere in between. The duty of a Korean American is to measure where his or her unique identity lands within those loosely figured parameters. Of course, my own experiences reflect that the measured marker continuously fluctuates, at times closer to the Korean sphere and at times the American one. In any case, an identity with two nationalities is both a curse of confusion and insecurity as well as a boon of freedom for self-assessment. This is a burden and an opportunity all Korean Americans are born into.