Afflicted by Archaic Beliefs

By Anonymous / Summer 2022

Ten years ago, when I heard that my student visa to study in America was accepted, I was ecstatic. Like many other Asian parents, my Korean parents wanted the best life for me. They saw the expanse of wealth in America and wanted me to build my roots there. They wanted me to achieve the American dream. Being the only son in my family, I also had the responsibility of supporting my family and my sisters back in Korea. I felt the pressure of their hopes and dreams. With my parent’s blessing, I came to America, hoping to seek great fortunes. I knew I had to excel in my studies and support my family back home. My first task was apartment hunting, which proved to be far more difficult than I had anticipated. Besides the bulk of renting paperwork to get through, I also faced difficulties communicating with others. People would often have trouble understanding my English and would laugh at my accent, even though I tried as hard as possible to be comprehensible. It was a humiliating ordeal, but I had to pull through for the sake of my and families future. I realize now that at that moment, I gained a deeper awareness of my identity as a Korean American and the struggles I would face in the future.

After quite some struggle, I eventually got a room in a building complex designed for students. I remember facing culture shock in the first years I stayed there. I met people from various backgrounds, many of which had an Asian heritage. I came to realize that I lived a very sheltered life. I never knew how people struggled due to their skin color or ancestry. I realized the nature of their struggles when my accent was the butt of the joke at one too many gatherings. I did not feel comfortable surrounded by the white community and their racist jokes. My Asian friends and I would often stick together to avoid harassment and would practice our English later at night by watching English serial dramas. I had to make a choice then. I could take the blue pill and believe that by being more Americanized, I would feel at home, or take the red pill and realize that my differences would always set me apart in the American community. I had to swallow the bitter pill when I visited Chinatown during the first five years of my stay in America. I had been homesick, and the stress of studying and finding proper employment had been building up. To relieve the stress, some of my friends and I decided to visit Koreatown near downtown Los Angeles. What I saw there revealed another flaw in American society. I had expected to see extravagant displays of wealth in the Korean markets; however, I saw urban poverty among the Korean workers. Compared to the American markets, the workers here did not seem to be faring well. It seemed to me that they had failed to achieve the American dream. Although I enjoyed my time there, I was struck by despair at the state of Koreatown. It was as if they were excluded and set aside where nobody could see their struggles. 

Unfortunately, due to family complications, I had to return to Korea after the first five years in America. However, I still had hope that I could achieve the American dream, so after completing my military service, I rejoined UCSD last fall to get my degree. Initially, we had online classes, but I came back to America this summer to take classes in person. The first thing I noticed when I came back was a deep sense of alienation. I was no longer seen as a Korean; instead, I was categorized as a ‘Chinese.’ Suddenly, I did not exist anymore. To Americans, I was an outsider, a person of Asian descent that brought a disease to their home. Although I never faced violence directly, I saw on media how racist aggressors would harass people on the streets, call them ‘chinks,’ and yell at them to return to their homes. I would argue that I have lived in America for many years and would like to call it my home as much as any other American. I would like to know, how many years does it take for one to be American? After hundreds of years, African Americans have still not achieved civil equality. Where do I, a Korean who hopes to settle in America, fit in? My fear and anxieties have resonated in my mind for the past few months. I cannot help but be reminded of my initial years in America when I sought solidarity among other Korean students, who, like me, also felt a profound sense of strangeness after returning to America. My fears culminated in reality when a few months back, I read about the Dallas shooting of three Korean women. The media categorized it as a hate crime. It shook me with terror right down to my core. I believed that once the pandemic was over, racism and violence against Asians would dampen in intensity. However, I realize now that it was my misconception.

When I came back to America, I had hoped to bring my family here once I had settled, but my experiences here have made me second guess my goals. I would not want my traditional Korean family to live in America. I do not think the American society would celebrate their differences; instead, it would only alienate them further. I have realized that although America might be one of the most advanced countries, it is still afflicted by archaic beliefs that endorse racial oppression and marginalization. The American dream my parents hoped that I would achieve is not based on reality. This dream is available to only those who fit a certain criterion of whiteness; all other minority groups are silenced and oppressed, be it African Americans, Chinese, Indians, or Koreans. As I am writing this piece, I hope to give voice to the plight of all marginalized communities and aim to raise awareness about the injustices taking root from conscious and unconscious racist actions and beliefs.