Remember the scene in Mean Girls, where Janis shows Cady around the school lunchroom? She is pointing out the jocks, the burnouts, the Asian nerds, the cool Asians, and the plastics. When watching the scene growing up, I remember feeling a sense of pride in knowing that the group I associated with wasn’t contingent on being Asian. Yet, I looked at Regina George and kept wishing that I could be a pale blonde blue-eyed girl. When looking at the perfect American families in commercials that would have picnics on their back porch every night, I would never see a family that looked like mine. Sadly, for the majority of my young adult life, I’ve subconsciously hated the Korean part of my Korean-American identity.
Growing up, I dreaded when someone would ask me where I was from — no, where I was really from. Answering that I was Korean would bring about more questions about whether I could speak Korean (no), whether I’ve ever been to Korea (nope), or if I considered myself Korean since I answered no to both of the above questions (really…). What followed were generally stereotypes that I felt pressured to fall into whether or not they actually applied to me. You could never even imagine all the late nights spent trying to understand the math problems that my classmates expected me to know already because it’s in my “Asian genes.” Or the number of times people attributed my “introverted” nature as being just “another quiet Asian girl.” My desire to break away from these stereotypes led to a complete rejection of my own cultural identity. I stopped eating Korean food, shied away from any conversations about culture/race, and hid behind my group of rambunctious, loud, friends. One time, after taking a picture with my friend, someone mentioned that my “Asian eyes would just disappear” when I smiled. You’d think a small comment like that could be shrugged off as just some not-so-funny joke, but what you’ll find in any photo you see of me after that comment, is the conscious effort to open my eyes just a bit wider.
While representation in media and film has improved throughout the last couple of years, I think it’s still difficult for women of color to find someone just like them to look up to. I get excited watching movies like “Crazy Rich Asians” or “To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before” because they actually cast women of color in those movies. Finally, we have characters like the loveable Lara Jean Covey and the bad*ss Rachel Chu who represent Asian-Americans in popular media. It’s these characters that taught me that it’s okay to be American, and Korean. That I can still identify with my American identity even though I don’t have blonde long hair, and also identify with my Korean identity without being able to speak Korean.
This realization was only heightened once I came to Baylor University and finally got to see another Korean-American female, leading others while fully embracing her identity. For the first time in my 19 years of life, there was someone outside of my family that could engage in conversation about what it’s like to be a female minority in leadership. Rather than shying away from conversations involving race/culture, she would lean into them with the mindset of learning and growing alongside the other person. This strong female not only inspires me but has shown me that my cultural identity isn’t something to hide away but is what makes me uniquely beautiful. She was able to provide a space for me to explore my cultural identity without judgment or shame and ultimately led me to embrace my fully Korean-American self. She helped me realize that this identity I hold gives me a chance to pour into others in ways my peers cannot and allows for other minority groups to see that they are valued and seen just as they are.
Now, as a student leader on campus, I strive to provide brave spaces for others within the community to grow into their own identities because I understand what it feels like to be lost in the in-between. For those of you who are reading this and don’t feel like you’ve fully accepted your own identity, it’s okay. You are still valid and you are still whole. Embrace the confusion and discomfort that comes with exploring your identity, because it’s in this discomfort that growth occurs.