Korea on the brain part II: All you can ever know is not always what you want to know
Originally started June 2019.
It turns out you can stand at the threshold of a cracked door far longer than you might expect.
As stated before, I am level expert at filing away unpleasant thoughts and old habits die hard, or not at all if you like the way things are. And I do.
I have to credit the husband for being the first person to repeatedly challenge me on why I have never wanted to learn about my Korean identity. He is a first generation Indian and can switch effortlessly now between his Indian and American cultures. He can be proud of both identities. Of course he would wonder why I didn't want to learn about my Korean identity.
He would send me articles or book recommendations written by other Korean adoptees. Each time, I kindly (and silently) dismissed them and kept on living my life.
Before I returned to the next heritage camp with Alex, I prepared myself more thoroughly on what I might encounter and how I would handle it. No crying this time! (Yes I did and yes it was humiliating) After 2 more summers of camp, where thankfully I had baby Z to take care of...the perfect excuse to disqualify my participation in all parent events...V finally took action. He left an actual book on my night stand.
I let it sit there almost a year and one night decided to start a chapter.
Weeks later I finally finished reading All You Can Ever Know: A Memior written by Nicole Chung.
It turns out you can stand at the threshold of a cracked door far longer than you might expect.
As stated before, I am level expert at filing away unpleasant thoughts and old habits die hard, or not at all if you like the way things are. And I do.
I have to credit the husband for being the first person to repeatedly challenge me on why I have never wanted to learn about my Korean identity. He is a first generation Indian and can switch effortlessly now between his Indian and American cultures. He can be proud of both identities. Of course he would wonder why I didn't want to learn about my Korean identity.
He would send me articles or book recommendations written by other Korean adoptees. Each time, I kindly (and silently) dismissed them and kept on living my life.
Before I returned to the next heritage camp with Alex, I prepared myself more thoroughly on what I might encounter and how I would handle it. No crying this time! (Yes I did and yes it was humiliating) After 2 more summers of camp, where thankfully I had baby Z to take care of...the perfect excuse to disqualify my participation in all parent events...V finally took action. He left an actual book on my night stand.
I let it sit there almost a year and one night decided to start a chapter.
Weeks later I finally finished reading All You Can Ever Know: A Memior written by Nicole Chung.
I say "finally" because it took me for.ev.er...and not because it was a long book. It is only 200ish pages. It took me forever because it was a lot for me to digest. If anyone was ever wondering how it feels to be an international adoptee, Chung articulates it perfectly. Obviously, the details of our stories are different, but she verbalizes the feelings and thoughts that I had growing up and now...precisely. Until reading this book, I did not really know another person existed that had felt the same things I felt or thought the same things I thought as a Korean kid growing up in a white world. I kept it all to myself for my entire life. I accepted them as my burden to carry and deal with. That was just the way it was. The feelings fueled me to be better, to act stronger, to work harder at denying any curiosity about my Korean identity.
Chung writes:
"The strange thing was that, inside, I always felt I was the same as everyone around me. I am just like you, I thought when kids squinted at me in mockery of my own eyes; why can't you see that? When I was young I certainly felt more like a white girl than an Asian one, and sometimes it was shocking to catch a glimpse of my face in the mirror and be forced to catalog the hated differences; to encounter tormentors and former friends and know that what they saw was so at odds with the person I believed I was.
...And wouldn't it be wonderful to go to sleep one night and wake up an entirely different person, one who would be loved and welcomed everywhere? Wouldn't it be wonderful to look at your face in the mirror and know you would always belong?"
As I continued to read, I found myself pausing again and again in utter disbelief that someone was publicly acknowledging and speaking the thoughts right out of those hidden files in my brain.
When I was a kid, I had tried! I tried so hard to belong and show everyone I was just like them, that I came from a family that looked just like theirs! I told kids I was from Hawaii to battle the racist remarks. Other than "Are you from China?" the one question kids asked me most was some variation of "Do you know your real parents?". As a result, I became a champion at sharing "my story" (which was mostly made up from what little information I learned).
I'm just getting to know you?
Awesome.
I've learned how to tell you everything about me up front in a very rehearsed script and put you at ease by making you laugh so that your off the cuff questions will not throw me later.
I already told you, remember?
I did my best to be the best...quietly...careful never to attract too much attention.
I masterfully learned to control everything in my world and present the person I knew would make others most comfortable when dealing with a Korean person such as myself.
I felt accomplished in this and that made me happy.
But of course the unexpected happens and you can't control every single thing (though trust me, I've tried with every fiber of my being).
With each new life transition there were growing pains and I made the readjustments to regain control. I thrive in routines. I need predictability. What might eventually bore a securely attached human being is what makes me happiest. The moments when I've struggled the most in my life are when my constructed, controlled environment was disrupted. Going to a big college away from home, having to leave college and find a career after happily adjusting to college, my Dad getting sick and dying from cancer, not being able to get pregnant and carry my own children to birth...
These events are not unique to just me. Many people have struggled through these things.
But these are the things that triggered those files in my brain to fly open, the thoughts released to tornado around, mercilessly.
They made me feel lost and alone, all over again.
What I have only realized with age is all of those things are also just part of growing up.
People, relationships and things cannot stay the same forever and my childish will to try to keep them that way was getting weaker and weaker.
Chung writes:
"The strange thing was that, inside, I always felt I was the same as everyone around me. I am just like you, I thought when kids squinted at me in mockery of my own eyes; why can't you see that? When I was young I certainly felt more like a white girl than an Asian one, and sometimes it was shocking to catch a glimpse of my face in the mirror and be forced to catalog the hated differences; to encounter tormentors and former friends and know that what they saw was so at odds with the person I believed I was.
...And wouldn't it be wonderful to go to sleep one night and wake up an entirely different person, one who would be loved and welcomed everywhere? Wouldn't it be wonderful to look at your face in the mirror and know you would always belong?"
As I continued to read, I found myself pausing again and again in utter disbelief that someone was publicly acknowledging and speaking the thoughts right out of those hidden files in my brain.
When I was a kid, I had tried! I tried so hard to belong and show everyone I was just like them, that I came from a family that looked just like theirs! I told kids I was from Hawaii to battle the racist remarks. Other than "Are you from China?" the one question kids asked me most was some variation of "Do you know your real parents?". As a result, I became a champion at sharing "my story" (which was mostly made up from what little information I learned).
I'm just getting to know you?
Awesome.
I've learned how to tell you everything about me up front in a very rehearsed script and put you at ease by making you laugh so that your off the cuff questions will not throw me later.
I already told you, remember?
I did my best to be the best...quietly...careful never to attract too much attention.
I masterfully learned to control everything in my world and present the person I knew would make others most comfortable when dealing with a Korean person such as myself.
I felt accomplished in this and that made me happy.
But of course the unexpected happens and you can't control every single thing (though trust me, I've tried with every fiber of my being).
With each new life transition there were growing pains and I made the readjustments to regain control. I thrive in routines. I need predictability. What might eventually bore a securely attached human being is what makes me happiest. The moments when I've struggled the most in my life are when my constructed, controlled environment was disrupted. Going to a big college away from home, having to leave college and find a career after happily adjusting to college, my Dad getting sick and dying from cancer, not being able to get pregnant and carry my own children to birth...
These events are not unique to just me. Many people have struggled through these things.
But these are the things that triggered those files in my brain to fly open, the thoughts released to tornado around, mercilessly.
They made me feel lost and alone, all over again.
What I have only realized with age is all of those things are also just part of growing up.
People, relationships and things cannot stay the same forever and my childish will to try to keep them that way was getting weaker and weaker.
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