Tuesday, October 25, 2016

The Cultural Hybrid: A Confused Identity

“Where are you from?”  For many people, this is a simple question to answer.  My mother, for example - born and raised to adulthood in Alabama, her parents and other family members still living there; she doesn’t have to think twice when answering that question.  But for many of us, there is no easy answer to this question.  Where am I from?  As in…where I was born?  Or where I spent the most years?  Or where I call home?  Or where my family lives now?  What do you mean when you ask, “Where are you from?”

You see, my family and I moved to South Korea when I was three years old.  They prayerfully left their family and friends to move to a foreign land as missionaries, and I received the unexpected and amazing gift of culture, experience, and perspective I never would have had if they had not answered God’s call.  Korea is my home.  It will always be my home.  It is not, however, my parents’ home.  And that is why I am what you call a Third Culture Kid.  Basically, I grew up being exposed to three separate cultures – my parents’, that of the country in which I lived, and that of the expatriate community living in that country.  And, as most TCKs will tell you, that makes it very difficult to identify with, well, anyone completely.

When I moved to the States to attend university, the “where are you from” question was asked in almost every conversation.  We were all getting to know each other, and “where are you from” is a natural thing to ask.  Most of my fellow students had it easy.  If they were from out of state, they named the state they were from – Georgia, Tennessee, Virginia.  If they were from in state, they named the city or town – Mobile, Montgomery, Homewood.  Such responses were usually met with a response of recognition and delight.  “Oh, my cousin lives there!”  Or “I went there for my best friend’s wedding. It was so beautiful!”  Or the best, “You are kidding me! Do you know so-and-so?”  So natural.  So friendly.  A conversation starter.

When they asked me, I would glance awkwardly around, trying to decide what to say.  After all, what did they really want to know?  And then I’d finally blurt out, “Korea. I am from Korea,” holding my breath to see what they would say.  The response to this was usually blank stares.  Occasionally, the conversation would lead down a productive path, discussing differences in culture or what kind of missionary work my parents did.  More often than not, however, I got the kind of responses that made me want to crawl in a hole and disappear – not because I was embarrassed, but because it made me feel so utterly…different.  Comments like, “Wow, you don’t LOOK Korean.”  Or “That’s where we fought the Vietnam War, right?”  Or “So does that mean you can talk Chinese?”  Or my all-time favorite, “Korea. Now, what part of Alabama is that?”  How could I hide my incredulity?  My astonishment at their ignorance?  After a few months of these responses, I changed my answer.
Stranger: “Where are you from?”
Me: “My grandparents live in Fayette. It’s northwest of Tuscaloosa.”
Stranger: “Oh, I know Fayette! My brother lives up near there….”
Me: Sigh of relief. Awkward conversation avoided.

Ironically, I fell into the “where are you from” trap myself once.  We were having some sort of freshman party out on the quad, and I saw this Asian girl from afar.  She looked Korean, and I was drawn to her.  I hadn’t seen an Asian face in months.  I just had to know if she was Korean.  I started imagining all the things we could share with each other.  Conversations in Korean, memories of Korea, Korean food, inside jokes that nobody else would understand.  Maybe she went to a Korean church and I could go with her!  Maybe her family lived nearby and I could hang out with them!  Maybe we could sit on the floor and eat kimchi jjiggae together!

I ran up to her, practically jumping on her in my excitement, and blurted out, “Hi! I am Jamie! Where are you from?”  Yeah.  Totally NOT the right thing to say.  She glared at me and snapped, “Atlanta. Why?” then turned and stormed away.  I remember just standing there, rooted to that spot while the disappointment and loss swept over me.  How did I just make such a ridiculous mistake?  How could I have been so insensitive?  How could I have just alienated the only Asian on campus?  What is WRONG with me?

Now that I am older and wiser, I am better able to answer the “where are you from” question.  I can usually deduce from the preceding conversation whether the person I am speaking with wants a quick and uncomplicated answer, a detailed and personal response, or something in between.  As such, I can tell them where I am currently living, that I grew up in Korea, or where I was born here in the States.  It helps that the stark fear and apprehension I once felt upon hearing this question is no longer an issue, and I can nonchalantly address the question without making others feel like they have mistakenly opened a can of worms.

Growing up overseas has affected me in many more ways than just confusing me about where I am from, however.  It has defined who I am.  I know I look like your typical white girl, but inside I mostly feel Korean.  Culturally, I identify much more with Koreans than I fear I ever will with Americans.  Koreans, in general, have a more profound respect for authority, age, and experience.  The language and customs are designed to show respect to elders through speech patterns, body language, and even names.  Koreans also tend to put a greater emphasis on education and hard work.  Traditional Korean architecture is stunningly beautiful, as is the natural landscape of the country.  When I sing the national anthem, I feel immense pride referring to the great mountains, rivers, and national flower of Korea.  Not to mention the fact that I have a great appreciation for all forms of Korean art, music, dance, and most of all…cuisine.  I yearn for Korean food so much that my body actually feels sick if I have gone too long without eating kimchi. 

Don’t get me wrong, I have pride in my United States culture, too.  After all, I am a US citizen.  I feel pride in our history and the beliefs our country was founded on.  The natural beauty of the country is varied and unique.  However, there is always a part of me when I am here that misses home.  There is always a part of me that doesn’t quite feel right – that doesn’t quite fit in.  I realized this fully the first time I returned to Korea after leaving for university.  As I stepped off the plane, after that fourteen hour flight, I felt an enormous weight lift from my shoulders.  I almost dropped to my knees to kiss the ground like Kevin Costner does in Robin Hood.  I didn’t, because let’s face it, I was in an airport and thousands of microscopic international germs could have been infesting the carpet under my feet, but I sure felt that way.  And it has been that way every time.  I step off the plane in Korea and a feeling of normalcy returns.  Korea is the place I know.  Korea is the place that knows me.  Korea is home.

Nothing could be more clear to me than this when I started teaching in Alabama after my years in university concluded.  It was hard enough to be in a foreign place as a university student, but I had my studies to distract me, and, let’s face it, everyone feels a little displaced in college.  Once I was out in the real world, however, I simply couldn’t cope.  Parents and teachers who made excuses for students’ lack of effort?  Students who didn’t study for tests or do their homework?  Parent-teacher conferences in which I literally understood about fifty percent of what the parent was saying because her grammar was so deplorable?  Eventually, I cracked.  I ran back home where things would make sense again.  I ran back to Korea.

And now, here I am, eleven years later, living in Connecticut.  Of all the places in the world that I would end up.  Connecticut.  I am here because my stepdaughers’ mother decided to live here.  That’s it.  I have no familial connection to this place.  As far as I am concerned, this is about as foreign a place as I have ever visited.  Thankfully, I do speak the local language, I recognize most of the foods at the grocery store, and I am licensed to drive here.  But, it is not home.  Here, I am what is called a hidden immigrant.  I look like a local.  I sound like a local.  I blend in pretty well, despite my slight southern accent.  But in my heart, I feel I have very little in common with those around me.  If I had long black hair, olive skin, and a slight Korean accent, people would understand my discomfort or lack of cultural understanding.  If I started a sentence with, “Where I come from…” people would expect to hear me describe a cultural difference.  There might even be a little grace if I misunderstood a common expression or misinterpreted a body signal.  Instead, my hesitation or confusion is just assumed to be social awkwardness.  Oh, to look on the outside the way I feel inside.

So, where does this leave me?  Well, I have come to see living in Connecticut as I would living in any other foreign country – a cultural and personal learning experience.  As I emerge slowly from my shell and share my life story with others, I learn more about the great things Connecticut has to offer.  I also learn that there are many others living here whose homes are elsewhere.  I am finding that my connections to others do not have to be cultural, but can be personal and reach beyond cultural differences.  You would think this would have been a lesson I’d learned long ago, but I think God finds ways to stretch us and broaden our understandings through each phase of life in His own timing.


And above all the confusion I have felt over the years, I have mostly felt a great sense of gratitude.  I am grateful that my parents answered God’s call.  I am grateful to have been able to grow up in Korea.  I am grateful to have a second language floating around in my head.  I am grateful to have many Korean and expatriate friends with whom I can still communicate frequently.  I am grateful that I was able to return to Korea as an adult to live and learn and grow.  I am grateful that my family shares a love of Korea and Korean culture.  I am grateful that my husband lived in Korea as an adult and shares a love of Korean cuisine.  I am grateful for the cultural foundation I built in Korea, because it has driven me to educational excellence.  I am grateful for the friends I have made who do not share my cultural confusion, but who love me as I am regardless.  I am grateful for every road God has led me down, because those paths have brought me here and have made me who I am today.

2 comments:

  1. What an interesting story, with so much information, I would have never thought of or known
    Thank you so much for your vulnerability to share YOUR story.
    It is a beautiful one.
    I was born and raised in America and always lived in Connecticut. My husband has often said, "that is so boring!" (smile)
    My son and daughter in law lived in Japan for several years. One thing that I captured readily, when we visited, was the respect that the Japanese have for their elderly.
    It is a particular age group that my heart is softened to.It saddens me greatly to see and hear of the elderly here, being not respected and even worse mistreated.
    I have volunteered in Nursing Homes and came to know what beautiful people they are.They deserve honor and respect.
    I noted your mentioning that you would've kissed the ground arriving in Korea,if you could.
    In my heart,I have a tremendous desire to visit Poland,which is the birthland of both sets of my grandparents.
    I couldn't explain how I know this... deep in my heart, but when I get off the plane in Poland, I shall weep, as if I was home!
    Thank you again. It was so well written.
    Lin

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