Tag: community

Lily Kim was born in 1972 in Suwon, South Korea, as the youngest of four sisters. Growing up, she recalls having been a rather talkative child who took a keen interest in other people, which she attributes to living in a household with three older siblings. When she was 24 years old, she moved to Los Angeles to study, though she soon found a job as a reporter for Radio Korea. She tells us of certain differences between Korean American media and mainstream media, with the former needing to fulfill journalistic, outreach, educational, and advocacy roles at times. She also describes Korean American media as having a hyperlocal focus, with stories on immigration and public safety catering to the specific needs of Koreatown. As a reporter, Lily has seen how effective journalism produced real and meaningful changes in her community, from the establishment of a police station after the Saigu Uprising to the redistricting of Koreatown so that it could vote as one bloc. Her favorite story from the field, however, is when after she covered a piece on a robbed toy drive, donations from the community poured in to ensure the drive could happen by Christmas.

Vida Marie Misook Adams was born in 1997 in Los Angeles, California, to a Korean mother and a Black father. An only child, she grew up in Koreatown before moving to Canoga Park in the Valley. As a Korean American of mixed heritage, she recalls how she often felt as though her maternal relatives were not as accepting of her, an unspoken racism which was realized in her exclusion from birthday parties and family photos. Yet at the same time, Vida has maintained a strong and profoundly intimate connection with Koreatown, the neighborhood she calls home and where she attributes the happiest days of her life to. Out of every place she’s ever been, she shares how it was in Koreatown that she felt like she “had the right to belong,” taking pride in the community’s history, and expressing an acute sadness at the fact that it has changed so much since her childhood.

Judy Han and Jennifer Chun were both born in Seoul, Korea; both also grew up in the United States. They talk about their individual experiences grappling with Korean and queer identity and the complicated interstitial space they’ve had to navigate in reconciling them. For Jennifer, “Korean American” was something she grappled with later in life; she recounts how in her childhood, perhaps owing to the socialization (and objectification) of Asian girls, she was more concerned with her gender. In college, she found the language and space to reflect on her gender identity, a process that she says is ongoing to this day. For Judy, the lines between Korean and Korean American gender and gender identity were always blurred; everything was so enmeshed with one another. They talk about how they knew they were queer from an early age but waited until college to express their identity for fear of worrying their parents. They sensed that their being queer would oftentimes disrupt Korean spaces, whether the space is church, family, or with others in their community. Though they’ve never wanted to make others uncomfortable, at a certain point, Judy realized that it was on others to put up with them, not the other way around. Both Judy and Jennifer acknowledge that there are “tensions which arise by accident” by being queer and Korean, but that they believe this discomfort can result in change for the better.

​​Jamie Issuh born in 1991 in Champaign, IL, where she spent her early childhood; in the fourth grade, she and her family settled down in Irvine, California, after spending some time in Tennessee and Korea. As a queer Korean American Renaissance woman, she talks about grappling with parts of her identity which felt incongruous with one another—throughout her 20s, she grappled with finding spaces where her Korean heritage and her queer identity could coexist. Having always been an ally, she was surprised at how difficult it was to fully accept herself. She joined @queerasiansocialclub, a social collective focused on empowering the queer and trans Asian American community, in search of a place which could mediate her identities. After moving to Koreatown two years ago, she joined a Korean dance group comprised mostly of imo’s her mother’s age; though she is still finding the courage to be fully out, she has let herself be surprised at the kindness and grace which the imo’s have extended to her and her friends from QASC.

Stephanie Jang was born in South Korea the eldest of three sisters. She describes how, in the 1970s, many Koreans wanted to come to America due to political and economic turmoil; when she was 19 years old, she, alongside her parents and sisters, were one such family to immigrate to the United States after being sponsored by close relative in Massachusetts. Her life as a new “Korean American” began smoothly: she attended college, met her husband, and had a daughter. In 1994, she moved with her husband and daughter back to Korea, where she was put through a series of hardship as the sole daughter-in-law (“myeoneuri”) of her husband’s family, an unsolicited title which came replete with burdensome expectations. After having a second daughter, she decided that she did not want to raise her children in the difficult environment, and so moved back to the United States to start her life anew at the age of 39. Empowered by her education, she pursued a career in business, and then in teaching, and today works as a college counselor as well as a Councilwoman for Palisades Park, taking pride in her work to uplift the Korean American community.

Born and raised in West Point, Utah, Tiffany grew up in a family which was rather distinct from those of her peers. As a biracial woman whose mother was Korean and father was Black, she expresses an overwhelming sense of feeling “different” in an environment which was predominantly of one race and religion. Yet Tiffany relishes in memories of her “very Korean” household, growing up with Korean food and observing Korean traditions, which she owes to her mother.

In high school, Tiffany joined the school newspaper; while in university, she continued to engage with student journalism while studying mass communication. Over the pandemic, she covered a story about local Koreans in Houston sewing masks community members, an experience that she considers pivotal in feeling accepted by the Korean community. Today, she lives in San Francisco working as an award-winning journalist, a career she values for its capacity to help those in need, bring light to unspoken issues, and affirm stories gone untold—stories such as her own.

Soon Young Oh, originally from Gimhae, South Korea, was adopted into a Minnesota family. As an adoptee, she grappled with her racial identity throughout her time in school but found connection through cultural centers in Minneapolis. After visiting Korea and meeting her biological father in Korea, she discovered the complexities of her adoption. Now a mother, she’s committed to instilling her Korean American identity in her 10-year-old son and is active in the Korean adoptee community, seeking connection after a childhood marked by isolation.

One night in Seoul, Tae Kim found himself in a Burger King, struggling to order his meal. Despite being able to speak Korean fluently in his home of Koreatown LA, he quickly found that it just did not translate so smoothly in his new home of Korea. As he tried paying for the meal he didn’t even want, Tae felt the realness of culture shock. Doubt and fear permeated as he began to settle into the new city, leading him to ask friends about finding mental health counseling. To his surprise, his struggle was met with judgment. Certain that he couldn’t be the only one, Tae took action. Starting with a Facebook group to provide a safe outlet for people struggling with their mental health in Korea, it became clear that he really wasn’t alone. So he made an app called “Gideb” where people could remain anonymous and find the right resources and access to the mental health support they need. Now, Tae is grateful to be living in Korea with his wife and son, happily running his company.