Who I'am

It seems after 36 years I would know who "I'am" but I do not. It seems like every time I felt close to what I thought would me evolved to something I did not recognize or even like. Growing up with insecurities, low self-esteem and uncertainty seemed traits only I had, denying being an child of a immigrant parents made me this way. I remember clearly talking to the school counselor in 7Th grade about trying to kill myself.

My best friend had wrote an paper about her friend who wanted to kill herself...I was that friend so I had to go meet with the school counselor. I was nervous and scared...I don't think I actually drank that day, although at the time it's what got me through these painful years. All I remember was that she (counselor) told me she understood that my pain stemmed from my parents being immigrants....she pissed me off because this was my own self-hatred and had nothing to do with my parents (so I thought). She explained that she too was a daughter of German immigrant parents and she too knew of my pain. I felt anger and hatred for her, what did the hell did she know, she was white she could not know how much I hated being Korean. It wasn't my parents but me, my own self loathing of my small nose, almond eyes, and dark hair not my parents.

I did not understand at the point what impact it had on me and my brothers that my parents were never home. That being a immigrant from Korea did have a huge impact on what we were and who we would become. I never thought of myself as the typical smart Asian student...please I was far from it. My second older brother was smart in that he was very good in math but I did not have that gift. Nope, the only thing I enjoyed doing was reading, writing and drawing. Although I dreamed about being a dancer, singer or an actress. But maybe the Asian in me kept my future in check. It wasn't realistic besides not everyone could make it nor be successful in it. Besides it's not like I had any true talent.

My parents always encouraged us to get good grades, however they did not know how to help us, they did not give us the tools because they did not know. They were too busy trying to survive in a country that was not theirs, raising their children in a culture so different from their own all while scrapping together every cent to buy a home. In the eyes of society they succeeded, they came to the United States with not a cent to their names but accomplished the American Dream. They bought their own home without any help from public assistance. They worked hard for everything the had...they bought cars for their kids when they turned 16 even though they never went out to dinner by themselves. They sacrificed their own lives for their children and family although at the same time they were destroying themselves. It's their self sacrifice that has gave us our lives, this chance.

Looking back at my parents lives (as well as other family members) I understand they have lived their lives from a very different time, not just culturally different. They were from the old school generation who experienced the war, hunger, basic survival so unlike the experiences we faced. To say that we were just influenced by different cultural ideologies and understandings would be a stretch. They were trying to adapt to a new world, new ideas all awhile trying to keep the familiar, trying to instill the virtues and beliefs of yesterday to their children who painfully tried to fit into today.

To say I was the only one to feel the pain and self doubt would be a lie, after coming upon so many personal blogs on the web about other Korean American people, ones who had similar experiences as mine if not the sheer doubt and pain of being different, not being accepted. I realize who "I'am" today results from these experiences, the experiences of my past, of my parent's past, that we are all intertwined together. That the foundation of who we are extends from them and coming from immigrants that do not know their place in a new society it is hard to pass on confidence and ability to their children. But even so many immigrant parents do just that, they pass on roots, foundation of self through tradition those we may have fought so hard against while growing up but now embracing as adults. Some lucky ones have embraced theirs sooner but most have not understood until they too became parents.

Once we became parents we were able to feel the love, fear, pain and joy it meant to have a extension of ourselves. All the dreams and hopes we may have lost long ago were reborn with this new chance. So we slowly began to understand our parents, slowly the words that seemed so repetitive and annoying became wise and precious. We began to understand the words sometimes that seemed cruel or cold came from a warm place of love. Love for us, the love our parents showed us were neither through words or even embraces but through actions, commitment and always standing by us after pushing us down. It is their love for us that kept us going even though we thought we were so alone, they stood beside us.

I realize this now that even though I had my son at 20, not married my parents never kicked me out. They could have after all, parents do it all the time, disowning their children. I wasn't following their rules and did what I wanted but they never abandoned me...sure there were many expressions of disappointment and shame from my mom but they never lost hope in me. They continued to love me not in words or by hugs because that wasn't their way but by keeping me close, supporting me in ways I did not understand.

The parts of me I did not understand or hated became my source of strength and power. From my understanding of my past, my parents history can I face the future, my children's future.