I'm currently working on a paper for my Intercultural Communication class in where I'm analyzing the depiction of Sun and Jin on Lost and how that speaks to the Western concept of Whiteness and if their characters support the Asian stereotypes that have been set forth by the media.
This is probably going to sound weird, but sometimes I forget I'm Asian. It's happened to me a lot really. I attribute it to the fact that I was adopted by white parents and grew up in a predominantly white community. However, after doing research for this paper, I feel like I've been made re-aware of my race, and truthfully, I'm not sure how I feel about it. While I was reading articles for this paper, I was reminded of a feature piece I wrote in undergrad about my experience growing up in a white community. I found it, and thought I'd post it here. It is a piece that's over four years old, so don't judge too harshly.
***
I grew up in small Schuylkill County my whole life, particularly the quaint little town of Pine Grove. As the school’s Alma matter states, the town is “nestled in among the mountains, in a vale we love.” In this tiny yet cozy Pennsylvania town, diversity is not something that is common.
Maybe I should back up just a bit. I am South Korean. Both my younger brother and I were adopted when we were each 4 months old. I always chuckle when people ask me if I know any Korean or Korean customs. I was a baby when I left South Korea, so therefore I retained no knowledge of the country and am probably as Americanized as they come.
I was adopted into a Caucasian family. Growing up I always knew that I was different, that I didn’t look like my parents, but at my young age it was never something that troubled my thoughts or kept me awake at night. I grew up hearing the story of the anticipation my parents felt as they waited for me in the airport, and have even watched the video tape of my arrival.
I guess because I was raised in a household that approved of me and my brother’s difference, it had never occurred to me that people outside of my own happy little bubble would treat me differently because of the way I looked.
For the first 4 years of my schooling I attended a private Catholic school located in a neighboring town in my county. This was where I encountered my first experience in dealing with my racial difference.
Because the school was small, it contained kindergarten through eighth-grade. One time while I was a mere first-grader quenching my dire thirst at the water fountain I ran into some of the eighth-grade boys. These boys began to mock me, pulling the corners of their round eyes to mimic the slant of my own almond-shaped eyes. They then proceeded to harass me with chants such as “little Chinese girl.”
At first I was horrified. I had never been teased like this before, and it hurt down to my core. However even as a child I was never one to back down from a fight. I quickly composed myself and replied with, “I’m not Chinese, I’m Korean, and I’m proud of it.” With that I swirled around on my heels and stormed back to my classroom.
For some reason I never told my teacher what had happened, but while riding the school bus home I had to bite back tears. I ran to my mother’s arms and told her everything. She praised me for being brave and standing up for myself, and told me that I should never be ashamed of who I am.
After 4 years of private school my parents began to feel the financial burden tuition caused and enrolled me into the Pine Grove Area public elementary school.
I finished elementary school and entered into the dreaded and awkward years of middle school. While in seventh-grade I joined the girls’ junior high basketball team. I wasn’t very good, but it was fun and I had friends on the team.
The team travelled all over the county to play other schools. One time while playing our rival school, Pottsville, I had another encounter in dealing with my own diversity.
While waiting to take to court for our routine warm-up drills some of the girls on my team was talking to boys in the stands from Pottsville. I was paying them no mind, trying to get into the zone for the big game that lay ahead of me. Apparently the boys didn’t like the fact that the whole team wasn’t enraptured by their zit-faced glory.
They started cat-calling to those who were ignoring them. One of them yelled to me, “Hey you, chinky wonder, what’s your name?”
I’m not sure if he actually meant it to be an insult, but I found it to be completely uncalled for and proceeded to yell and cuss him out. My teammates quickly calmed me down to prevent a fight and an unnecessary scene.
The next time I had to deal with my race was with someone whom I had considered a friend. The other two experiences had hurt, but both dealt with people who I didn’t know or didn’t care to know. So when someone who I had trusted as a friend made a racial comment to me, I was completely blind sided.
I was a member of 4-H and FFA, both deal with agriculture, so one week in the summer I would spend at our county fair with the livestock animals that I had raised all year. This was always something I looked forward to because I got to spend time with my friends from other schools.
Jake was one of these friends…or so I had thought. I had known him for about 2 years. He wasn’t a close friend, but there was a big group of us that all always hung out and did everything together.
I don’t even remember how the subject came up, but one evening we were all discussing race and rights and differences. Jake then looked me straight in the eye and said, “I don’t really like anyone who isn’t white or who doesn’t look like me.”
I couldn’t breathe. I was shocked. I was hurt. And I was extremely angry. I sort of just sat there in a daze. I guess I was waiting to see my other friend’s reactions. That was the part that pained me the most. They didn’t react. They said nothing. They acted like they hadn’t even heard the comment.
I immediately hopped into my car and sped out of there. I drove home with such a speed that I’m surprised I didn’t crash and die.
My younger brother Zak had a similar experience at the fair.
One night all of the younger kids were having a water fight. The fair is in the beginning of August so you always swelter in the heat on the black top, so water fights weren’t uncommon.
Well at one point the water fight became more than just playful and soon words and insults were being thrown at one another instead of buckets and balloons filled with water. The next thing I know is I see my brother running to attack the one boy and his friends straining to hold him back.
It was only after calming everyone down did I learn and understand my brother’s sudden rage. The one boy who my brother was trying to attack had called him a “stupid chink” and told him to go back to China.
It honestly broke my heart to see my brother suffer with the narrow-minded racist people that live in our home county. To me it showed that the idea of white people being supreme was being passed down from generation to generation, to the point where my younger brother had to endure.
Every single experience has hurt me in some way, and it has taken me a long time to be comfortable with whom I am when it comes to my race. My difference was something I had to learn to adjust to. To me I always forget that I’m different, so it’s I slap in the face when someone feels the need to point it out and remind me.
However, even though I hated those experiences, they have helped me become who I am. When I was younger, it was so easy for me to ignore the comments, but as I was growing up, the fact that I was different was something that was always nagging in the back of my mind, eating at my confidence, and hindering my ability to stand up for myself. They have helped me to embrace my difference rather then resent it. They have helped me to feel sorry for those who are ignorant to diversity, because they could be missing out on meeting so many amazing people.
I am Korean, not Chinese, Filipino, or Japanese. And I am proud of it.
