lost in translation

Lost in Translation

There is something unique about being Asian American; you never fully belong anywhere. In America, people always ask where you’re from. In Asia, you’re considered a “banana,” yellow on the outside but white on the inside. It’s not that you choose this life in limbo, if you had it your way, you would always belong. Perpetual immigrant or culturally depraved, they assume the worst and though you kick and scream, you can’t change their mind.

My younger brother speaks very minimal Korean. He was having lunch with his friend and her mother. The two were talking about how to raise a child in America who could still speak Korean. Assuming he could not understand, the mother said in Korean, “never speak English in front of your children or else they’ll turn out like him.” They had no idea that he not only understood but was immensely hurt by this comment. Already excluding him by talking in Korean, they hammered the blow by implying that since he was not fluent, he was not truly Korean. But my brother, Elliot, acted as a true Korean and swallowed his pride out of respect for his elder and did not shame her by revealing her faux pas.

Throughout my life, I have encountered the sad truth that people do not consider me to be as American as they are. Sometimes, they exclaim, “Your English is amazing!” Often, they demand to know where I’m from and no, “Milwaukee” will not satiate their curiosity. The questioning continues: “where are you really from?” or “where are you parents from?” This is the only country I know, the only one I love. I have been to Korea once, for ten days when I was fourteen. Yet, in their eyes I am first Korean, then American.

When people talk about diversity, there are distinct groups that come to mind. People don’t consider those in-between groups, or people who span groups. When you speak of a diverse workplace, do you consider the Korean Adoptee? How about someone who is half-Korean, half-Ecuadorian? Is she a two-for-one special for demographic charts or a completely separate entity?

I cherish my Asian American friends because there is a special bond of understanding that does not have to be painstakingly explained. Common experience allows us to hit the fast-forward button on our friendship.

Diversity is important because at a certain point, sympathy is not enough. To truly represent someone, you must understand them. I understand these people, the ones that fall through the cracks, that don’t neatly fit into census questionnaires. I understand their complexity and their struggle to voice their experience because I have been there, and I’ll always be there.

I cannot represent every Asian American, but I can bring my unique experience and share it with you.

from my real journal

trying to clean/pack my room, getting ready to move out and on to minnesota.

while i was rummaging through my stuff, i stumbled across my journal from last summer. a very brutal and honest entry, and i feel like i knew myself better then.

here we go. warning, pg13.

thursday july 23 2009 | 3:07 am, desk

have been having trouble falling asleep lately.  pretty weird- i haven't experienced insomnia like this for a while.  usually i can't spend enough time sleeping.

lately things have been weird. i feel myself being apathetic to almost everything.  nothing stresses me out or makes me very upset.  everything just seems a bit drab and blah. i spend a lot of time doing mindless, meaningless stuff.

it's not even boredom.  it's just something to fill my days with.  the future seems so gray and unclear. i feel the same as i did when i was applying to college.  no... a lot less enthusiastic and less confident in my abilities.

i've been feeling pretty mediocre lately.  sub-par, even.  just decent at school, average looking, my soul feels very ugly.  i feel like everyone is shamed by me. i think my reputation far outweighs my character.

is that all i care about, in the end? as long as the outside of the cup is clean everything is all right? if college is the way i'm going to live for the rest of my life there needs to be some changes.

i feel like the living dead right now. clocking in and out everyday, it seem.s

this isn't really contentment, it's apathy.  i'm apathetic about my future, i'm satisfied with my spiritual front and the physical seems a bit hopeless.

how am i supposed to lead a fellowship? why do they have so much confidence in me? how have i not progressed at all?

the head knowledge is growing but i'm afraid that my heart has grown colder. blue in the face about to drown.  that's what my spiritual life is, if i'm honest.

what makes me any different from non-Christians? i still want the same things, i'm still horridly sensitive to what people think of me.  God seems to be on the backburner almost all of the time.

and no one's the wiser. why? because the truth is, if I don't care about my spiritual life then no one else will either.

knowledge without application is lethal. i feel like i've been drinking diet coke convincing myself that it'll keep me alive.

what is this? who am i? does nothing phase me anymore? shock me?

is grace not as amazing as it used to be?

a lot of times, i feel like my heart is so much worse than nonchristians. at least they sin out of ignorance. like little kids, they don't know any better.

but i do. i've tasted and i've seen that the Lord is good. but i forget and i return to my vomit and my shitty double life that is disgusting and so unfulfilling.

why? why do i do this to myself? i commit spiritual suicide all the time.  mentally, everything's there.  this is stupid; don't do it; you'll regret it.

but my heart has no discipline.

how do you teach your heart to love the right things? how do you refine your character? being godly, truly righteous - seems impossible.

and i don't think i'm getting any closer.

i'm pretty disappointed with how my college years have turned out. barely getting through classes, lip service for prayers, all an intricate show.  so many games ... so many lies.

i really lived one day, one moment at a time.  just doing whatever i wanted in that breath, not really caring what the consequences might be. only in those harsh realities did my true heart come to the light - for all to see just how ugly it really is.

i have such an ugly heart. i am so ashamed of my selfishness, of my ugliness.  so i build walls of lies around it. to protect it and hide it and deceive people with pretty layers hoping they'll believe it's my true heart.

but sadly, i have deceived them. unmerited good reputation.

but my real heart is so lonely and, deep within it is so desperate for help.  desperate for love - someone to love it for what it truly is.

and God is the only one who is willing to do that.  He loves my heart - and He sees everything.

still incomprehensible.

but it's about time to not just act, but BE grateful.

because not living for God is the same as being dead within.

God is life, love righteousness, wholeness, goodness.  The only way to have a beautiful heart is through Him.

The Kingdom of God is within you.

The Kingdom of God is where God is King.

-end journal entry-

some of my present reflections:

i know this girl very well.  I think that I'm almost exactly the same.  Except, during this year I did some crazy things and I finally broke and unleashed some of the ugliest parts of me to the light. And, incredibly, the ones that I thought would be destroyed by the truth stood by me and continued to love me.

I still have this intense complex of hiding my true feelings from everyone.  Even those who know me the best, or perhaps because they know me so well know that it takes a million attempts to see what is really going on inside.

I don't really know where this came from, but I'm finally realizing now that maybe it wasn't such a good idea. So, even though these reflections justly attribute the cry for a need of God, I think I missed out on the joy of relying on friends and trusting them to love you back.

I'm not afraid of death and I don't care too much about public speaking.

My deepest fear is that if people knew me for who I really am, they would all leave and not love me.

So, my reaction is to shut everyone out. To put on the smile, to say the right thing, to be the right person.  I don't even give my friends a chance to love me because I never tell them when something is wrong. Or when everything is wrong.

I often "explode." About once a month, or two if I'm particularly adamant about the "keep everything inside" bit, I cannot contain it anymore.  And I'll tell one, solitary person. Usually, the receiver of this will be my sister or Brian.  Both have responded, you cannot do this to me. I cannot take a month's worth of your issues and roll them into a hug and make you feel better. Please, tell me as they come up.

I don't think I've been fair to either of them.  I really expect these two people to be everything, to allow me to be sane and continue to live my insane life.  But, as much as i love them and know how much they love me, I want to rely on my friends more.

I have had the joy of being relied on.  It is incredibly intense and it is so difficult - but it's such an honor to be let in to the innermost parts of someone's heart.  I hope I can learn to open up more and rely more as well.  Friendship is a two way street; but I've been very much a dead end.

It's kind of sad, realizing this with only a few weeks left with my dearest friends.  But, better now then after I'm already gone.

I love you Esther, Krystal and Hannah. I love you for rolling around with me, for taking care of me, for listening to my angry tirades and for just being around.  I'm sorry that I never let you in and that I hermit myself in my room and never call you.  Thank you for the times that you've let me take care of you and have trusted me with everything that you are.  I know it's late, but I'll try to return the favor. I love you, and I don't think that anyone knows me like you guys do.  Core Four may be a dorky name, but you have always been in my life.  Even when I try to push you out. I'll try to invite you in, more. :)

T minus 14 days.

reflections on zinn's a people's history of the united states

I can’t get through ten pages of Howard Zinn’s History of the United States without the weight of injustice bearing down on my soul.

I love this country and US history has been a subject that lifts my spirit in any time.

“History belongs to the victors” could not be more true.

In this horribly honest depiction of America, I am forced to face realities that I knew were true.  History books tend to smear and smudge the more difficult parts to face, much in the same way that people point out the faults in others loudly but quickly and quietly rush over their own vices.

The bloodshed and the sorrow of so many, undocumented people is astonishing.

What’s more astonishing is the fact that the US is so young, and that we are not as far removed from those vicious slaveholders and the genocide of American Indians as we would like to pretend.

We hide in the shadow of ignorance and claiming if we don’t see it, or acknowledge it, it does not exist.

Don’t get me wrong – the US has taken great strides forward in human rights and progress in a relatively small amount of time.  But this progress is so slow and so slight that it is such a small hope.  So many lies, false promises and downright cheating have taken place in our nation’s history. – why should I continue to put my trust in men?

Reading this book makes me run to the Creator.  We’re a huge nation of Lord of the Flies, destroying each other until someone comes to save us.  I believe in Christ and I believe that he does not condone any of these atrocities.  Many have been committed in His name, but that is just another tragedy of our nation’s history.

Beyond the initial shock and outrage, followed by grief, I do have hope for this country.  However misguided and perhaps for manipulated purposes, America is founded on Christian belief.  Far from France, the US can never truly separate Church and State.  It’s on our money, it’s in our schools, and our very law is built on Judeo-Christian values.

From the macro comes the micro.  I can’t judge and criticize these sins of our Fathers without being prepared to face my own demons.  I say that I want to change the world, use my life to make it a little more just and therefore more of what God intended and less of how we messed it up.  But, like Thomas Jefferson who was torn between his ideology that all men were free but owned slaves until the day he died – I have competing interests in my heart.

Law is a powerful thing, and much of me is afraid to wield it.  Selfishly, I want to use it to make a killing, so I can provide for both the family that raised me and build an inheritance for the one to come.

But, inside, the battle rages and I think – for what? So we can have everything while others have nothing; so we can perpetuate this cycle of oppressor and oppressed?

Isn’t dreaming the American Dream (or, more specifically, the Korean American Dream) of building empires and enjoying wealth and “blessings” just selfishness, extended?

I have such high hopes.  Politically, I want to be Liberal and my heart bleeds for the poor. But, I am held back by Conservative roots and a desire for “order.”

I am so afraid of losing my soul to money, or more accurately, to power.

Whoever has the most toys when he dies doesn’t win – he lost everything.

“He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose.”

I hope I can live up to Jim Elliot’s words and have a faith that is more than pie in the sky, but everything I live for.  As a finance major, sometimes I doubt and want to hedge my bets and have the security of money.  But, I believe God calls me to stop hedging and truly trust that everything will be OK because He is in total control.

My friend died this week.  She was twenty one; she was going to be a Senior at Columbia and she was a beautiful person.  As I processed through her death, everything that I whined and complained about in the past week seemed so trivial and petty.  Even my dreams seemed so incredibly too small.  Just within my own sphere, not stepping on top of others, but politely ignoring their troubled existence.

I don’t think I’m going to figure out any of this soon – but I’ve been reminded of my own mortality.  Hopefully, like America’s struggle to be the nation that it aspires to be I, too can slowly transform into someone that God dreams me to be.

Man, I still have 500 pages to go.

discipline...

a personal statement