My Identity: Who Am I?

This is a paper I wrote for my Asian American class (AAS 110), and it's my response to "Who Am I?". My identity. My being (or not?) Korean-American, a Man, and Queer. Enjoy!

Min-Je Michael Choi
Asian American Studies 110
April 9, 1996
Reflective Essay #2: Who Am I?

Caught in the Middle: Who Am I?

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This is a letter I wrote to my friend, "Kim" (a pseudonym) who is of "mixed race." She wrote me an e-mail letter earlier, and this was my response to it. Italics indicate parts of her letter that I included in my reply. I did not alter the text, though I edited it for the purpose of this paper. I feel that this is a good place to start my essay: Starting with my ethnic identity, and then discussing my gender and sexual identities.
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Dear Kim-
...
I certainly consider myself more Korean than German or Italian--but always American. Growing up being mixed was hard. I felt many feelings that you did/do about being Asian, although I never avoided Asians.

If you ever asked me, I'd say you're more Korean. I mean, "Korean-American." I tell people sometimes (half-jokingly) that you're the only Korean friend that I have. Which is sort of true, therefore sad at the same time: I never did have too many Korean friends. They always thought I was too weird or a reject. Even those Korean people that I talk to and sometimes hang out with, they're mostly all from our Korean church, and that's a weird relationship right there.
...

But I'm pretty sure that much of my dislike for being Asian stems from my incorrect association of my mother with Asianness.

In a way, I have some weird negative association of Korean people with those that I know, mainly church people. And maybe that's why I resent Korean people so much, as I have done in the past. One's experiences shape how they view their ethnicity, you know. And of all the Korean people I know, most of them are immigrants (in Germany, in LA, in NY), and I don't even feel a part of that, because we are in fact not really "immigrants." Our family's situation is pretty weird and unique. I suppose everyone's is. Why do I consider myself an American when I am not "legally" an American (i.e. born here, a citizen here)? But then I'm not really "Korean" by the same argument since I've only lived there for such a short amount of time. Where do I fit in? I don't. My identity is pretty complex and marginalized that way. And oh, am I German as well? I basically grew up in Germany, but of course I'm not "German" either. So it's not that simple, as you can see.

BUT I HAVE DEFINITELY STOPPED MONSTRIFYING MY MOM and associating the way she looks with any hatred I may feel towards other Asians. I am glad that you have come to the point where you accept your Asianness. Now, do you just accept it cause you can't do anything about it or do you also see reasons to like the fact that you are Asian?

That last question.... Like I said, I've been thinking about that for a week since I read this letter... Do I accept it because I can't do anything about it, or because I LIKE it. Hmmm. You see, basically my answer now is neither. And it's making me rethink if I really did accept my Asianness. But then, my accepting my Asianness doesn't mean I have to reject my American-ness (or my German-ness for that matter)...

Well, sometimes I feel that I can't do anything about my being Korean, so I accept it, yes. Maybe it's the way I look (but like I said, most people say I don't "look Korean"). Maybe it's my behavior, my "mannerisms", etc. Yes, it is all this, but that's not all. I have to accept that I am Korean partly because I place myself in that group, in that label. And also because OTHER people place me in that group. If someone saw me (whether Asian or non-Asian), most of them (more like, ALL of them) will know that I am Asian. With 99.9% certainty, right? And maybe it's for that reason that I've accepted that I'm Asian.

But I resent the fact that people group me like this. But people love grouping/categorizing things and people. That's what humans do and always have done. It's not a bad thing in itself, but usually that grouping/categorizing is not done without the involvement of power relations. People who group and categorize are in a place of power, where they have the power to name and stereotype and categorize. I resent that. Which is why I'm so uncomfortable with categorizing myself, or referring to myself as a certain category, such as "Asian" "queer" "punk" "anarchist". But identifying oneself with a group is a powerful thing to do, since you can create unity and solidarity with others that identify with the same group or identity as you...

To respond to the second part of your question: Do I see reasons to like the fact that I am Korean? Well, what does it mean to be "Korean"? Does it mean believing in strict sexually divided roles for men and women? If it does, then I don't like "Korean." Does it mean being hospitable and caring about other people? Then I like "Korean." And yes, there are things I like about "Korean" people and culture. Doesn't mean that I don't like certain aspects of "Korean-ness", because I do. In fact, most Korean things, I don't like. But that's because I feel so left out of it. I don't like the fact that Korean people are so patriarchal (esp. korean men), and resistant to change. I don't like the fact that some Korean people are prejudiced against whites, blacks, etc. You get the point. But I like Korean too. I like Korean food (Yummy!!). I like Korean people's determination and I admire their strong will.

And it is also a hard question to answer because now, being Korean is not such a "favorable" thing. I mean, Korea is sort of shameful in the eyes of Western media. Like, the collapse of that Bridge (in Seoul), and the collapse of the SamPoong Department Store. Gives a bad image of Korean people and their apathy and lack of pride put into construction work / building, the way they do business, etc. The North-South relations within Korea is definitely obscured in Western media. It's a hard time to love being Korean and be fully proud of it.

So what is my answer? Well, in fact, I'm not too Korean at all. I was talking to my sister two nights ago, and I said to her, "You know Liz, I don't think I'm Korean at all." I don't fit anywhere. I can't call myself anything. The best I've come up with is "Korean-American," but even that does not fully account for my experiences and for my life. I'm not American, because people tell me so. The government tells me so. I'm not Korean, because I tell myself so. Other Korean people tell me so.

Perhaps I have not fully accepted my "Korean identity". Perhaps I never will because of my marginality. What I can say is that I have not rejected my "Korean identity" in the sense that I avoid Korean people, etc. as I have done in the past. I think I'm over that by now-- you know, internalized hatred. "Korean" is a weird thing. As opposed to other Asian groups. Koreans never had a good image overall as a group. At least not through White eyes. I mean, if someone said something about Koreans, most likely it would not be positive, right? Right. That has a lot to do with why I am having such problems identifying myself as such. Forget my skin color, forget my hair color, etc. It's not ALL about physical/biological things, you know...
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Writing this letter to my friend made me realize the complexity of the "Korean-American" identity as well as other identies that form who I am. Is there a set of identities that I can define myself with? Or is my identity defined by other people and various structural institutions? To answer the question, "Who Am I?" I have to talk about my life experiences and explore how they do not fully fit into any particular named identity category. My identity is "marginalized" as I said in my letter: I find myself at the boundary line, a space in between various identities such as "Korean" and "American." Yet I can adopt these identities, change the meaning, and use it to empower me and create political solidarity with others.

My Korean American ethnic identity is neither Korean nor American. It is not "bi-cultural" either (that is, composed of both Korean and American identities). My feeling of exclusion from the Korean community, specifically the Korean church, created a feeling of alienation. It lead to my inability to assert myself as a Korean or Korean-American person. There were times when I wished that my parents weren't Korean, so that I could be white. The source of this self-hatred was my realization that being white was favorable to being Asian. If I were white, I could hide my ethnicity and be part of the dominant American culture. People wouldn't ask me where I came from. I wouldn't have to subject myself to stereotypes and discrimination based on my ethnicity. People would know how to pronounce my name. This sort of internalized hate was a hallmark of my growing-up experience in America.

Almost all the friends that I made from fourth grade up to my senior year in high school were non-Asians. I had less than a total of five Asian friends, and I rarely spoke to other Asian- Americans in my school. I had the notion that being American was antithetical to being Asian. Everything that represented white American culture seemed more desirable and better than anything Asian. This was reinforced by the media, particularly television, which sent the message of "white is beautiful, white is superior." The depiction of Asian people on television was negatively stereotypical and made "Asian-ness" very unfavorable.

Coming to Cornell marked the beginning of a drastic change in my ethnic identity. But the change was not sudden. It was only recently that I had overcome my hatred of my ethnicity and of Korean Americans. Before, I didn't want to be friends with, or date, or intend to marry a Korean American person. Now I am more open about it. Never did I realize that overcoming my internalized racism would be such a hard thing to do. In the article, "Sleeping With the Enemy?" Ming-Yeung Lu states that loving someone of the same ethnicity as him was a "deeply liberating and affirming event" (Out/Look 1992, page 32), and a "revolutionary act." It is revolutionary because it signaled that one has overcome internalized racism, which was fed by dominant white culture and made invisible to one's eyes.

As I said in my letter, I have not yet fully accepted a Korean American ethnic identity. That is not to say that there is no chance of solidarity with other Korean Americans. There is commonality in our experiences, no matter how unique our individual experiences may be. This is because social institutions construct identities for us as a group. Because I am categorized as "Korean American" by others, I will be treated similar to other Korean Americans. This commonality of experiences can unite us politically as a group, and in this aspect, I can adopt and then redefine my Korean American identity.

My identity also includes my gender, which has been shaped by the patriarchal structure that my family is a part of. The ideology of patriarchy includes patriliny, in which sons are valued over daughters because of their potential to continue the patriline. As the older sibling and as the son in my family, I was valued more than my sister. I unknowingly benefited from the patriarchal structure, because I didn't have to have my self- esteem damaged by differential treatment from my parents. Even today, my sister claims that my parents care about me more than her. She sarcastically asks my parents, "Why don't you ever care about what I do? Because you can just marry me off, and I'll have no significance to this family...."

Only after I came to college did I start to question my male privilege and challenge my upbringing. Many times I find that my gender, a result of traditional gendered socialization, is restrictive to me as a human being. I feel that I can only experience half of what is potentially available for me as a human being, because I live as a man in this society, and not as a woman. There are certain boundaries, such as gender, that I am not supposed to cross as a male in this society.

Though I was brought up to be a man, I feel that I do not embody the notion of masculine and manhood, and thus I feel that I don't have a simple gender identity. Part of it has to do with the racialized definitions of masculinity and femininity in America, in which the "ideal" is always represented by white people. Again, television and magazines reinforce this stereotype: Through institutionalized racism, they perpetuate the stereotype of the strong, masculine white man, and the silent, effeminate Asian man.

Part of my complex gender identity has to do with my sexuality. As with gender, I have difficulty finding a name to describe my sexual identity. The film "Fated to Be Queer" that we saw in class provided a chance for me to relate my experiences to that of other non-heterosexual Asian men's experiences. Most notable was the discussion of ethnic and sexual identity in the film. Most men felt that their ethnicity came before their sexual identity, partly because ethnic issues were of more immediate concern for them. One man stated that Asian queers have problems coming out because the notion of homosexuality, just like the notion of masculinity, is racialized. The "ideal" gay man is white, and Asian queers do not see themselves in the same category as white gay men.

In the same way, I have difficulty relating to American notions of the "gay man." What is my sexual identity, then? If I were to name that identity, it would be "queer" or "non- heterosexual" but that does not do me justice. My sexuality is far more complex than that. For example, my notion of sexuality is that it is fluid, and that it can be changed and reshaped by experiences. In contrast, most people view sexuality as a static, unchanging part of a person. This is why I would not call myself "gay" for example, because it implies that I cannot be bisexual or even heterosexual.

Just like my Korean American identity, I would adopt a queer identity to create political solidarity among other queer people. Our experiences vary greatly, but there are some common experiences that unite us. These experiences are a result of greater structural forms of oppression, such as heterosexism or racism.

So my answer to "Who am I?" is not a simple one. I find myself caught between various identities, because no existing category can account for all of my individual experiences. There are, however, some overlapping experiences that serve as points of solidarity. Solidarity is the basis for adopting a certain identity and tailoring it to fit my life experiences. This is the power of taking a named identity category and defining it for oneself.

Last Updated/Modified: 4/19/1996