Tag: identity

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.

Lori Song, 65, was born and raised in Los Angeles to Korean and Japanese parents who arrived in L.A. from Hawaii in the 1950s. She has a twin brother who looks just like her, and a younger brother as well; with regards to her mixed heritage, she describes herself as a “fourth generation person on both sides.” From as early as she could remember, Lori recalls how she had always felt a sense of relief when cross-dressing, and remembers how transformative the first time she wore women’s clothing from head to toe had been. She recalls, too, how difficult her teenage years were (though she states that “teenage years are hard, no matter the era); eventually, Lori decided to give one last shot in “trying to be a man,” but knew, deep down, that it wasn’t who she really was. Slowly, she began coming out to her friends and family, and although some responses have been more lukewarm than others, she feels joy in how today’s younger generation are accepting of her as who she is. Recently, Lori began hormone therapy, and although she says that changes have been slow because she started later in life, she encourages us to “be brave enough to just do your thing,” no matter how young or old we might be.

Matthias Chu, 25, was born and raised in Maryland. His story is one that resonates with many Korean American young adults, with the stresses and pressures of school and adulthood on his mind while also being of the age where he’s coming into his own identity. Part of this journey, he explains, has been navigating through his relationship with Christianity and the church, from interacting with students who attend church to having difficult conversations with his parents about his faith. Another part of the journey has been learning to navigate stress productively while not getting hung up on overthinking. Matthias talks about the guilt he feels from the difference in faith with his parents, as well as dropping out from college and working for two years; in both cases, he explains that he feels bad knowing what his parents want him to be, versus how he sees himself. Nonetheless, he feels grateful that as he grows older, his relationship with his parents has improved and that talking to them has become easier—despite the personal hardships and challenges that come with maturing as an adult, Matthias’ relationship with his family has always taken precedence.

Jacky Lee was born in Incheon, South Korea, in 1957. She recounts her early childhood memories living in Korea with her mother and younger sister, recollecting in vivid detail specific moments spent with family while noting that many of those earliest memories are becoming harder and harder to remember. When Jacky was five years old, she and her younger sister were adopted by an American couple who were stationed in Japan while serving in the Air Force. Though living in Japan presented its own set of challenges—she had to learn a new language, for one—Jacky describes feeling a particular bond with her adoptive mother owing to their skin color, and overall recollects her time in Japan fondly. After the family’s period of service was over, they relocated to California where her parents started a church; it was in America that Jacky felt for the first time a conflict in identity, where she was bullied by the other children at church for her appearance. Resentful that her parents were unwilling to talk about her past in Korea and her biracial heritage, Jacky talks about the confusion and shame that accompanied questions she had for herself. In her thirties, however, while visiting a Korean beauty supply store, a worker recognized her as being Korean; for the first time in her life, she felt able to slowly reclaim bits of her Korean identity. In 2014 she visited Korea with a group of other biracial Koreans, where she rediscovered a love for the land of her birth mother. Jacky went back to Korea in 2017 to nurture this connection, and ever since she’s identified herself as Korean, Black, and proud.

Milton Washington, now residing in Harlem, New York, carries a poignant story of resilience and identity, starting with his early life in South Korea. Born to a Korean mother who worked in South Korean military camptowns, Milton faced rejection not only for being mixed Black and Korean but for being the child of only one parent. The rejection forced the mother and son to move from their village near Incheon to Dongducheon. Years later, Milton was eight years old and found himself living at an adoption agency after his mother could no longer take care of him. One day, a car pulled up, and a Black family from America stepped out to adopt another child. Milton ran into the vehicle belonging to the family and refused to leave. Feeling an instant connection, this family adopted Milton. As an adult, Milton reflects on the geopolitical forces that impacted his mother’s life and other people’s heartbreaking and inspiring stories to persist and live.

Andrew Ungal Kim takes us on a poignant journey from his early years in Gyeonggi-do, Anyang-si, Korea, where childhood was spent playing soccer and badminton with neighborhood friends. Moving to a town just outside of Baton Rouge, Louisiana, at age 14, Andrew was initially enthralled by the American dream but soon confronted the reality of adapting to a new country with a different culture and language. As he navigated this challenging period, Andrew grappled with both his station as a new immigrant to the country, as well as a self-reckoning with his own sexuality. Raised in a Christian environment, he initially tried to suppress his feelings through prayer, hoping they would eventually fade away. However, at 27, he met someone in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and fell in love, forcing him to accept his true self.

Andrew’s journey also reflects the complexities of being open about his sexuality. While he had a nine-year relationship, he struggled to reveal it to his own side of the family and friends, causing a sense of isolation. Eventually his mother discovered the truth, challenging their relationship. Through it all, Andrew is grateful for the acceptance he found in some corners of his community (including some members of his congregation), emphasizing the ongoing process of self-discovery and the importance of understanding and embracing one’s true identity.

Albert Kim was born in the US and spent most of his childhood in Orange County, California. Attending a private school with a small Korean population, Albert had a tough time dealing with the microaggressions of his peers and fitting in at school, challenges he faced for most of his childhood. While studying at Arizona State, Albert decided to move back to Korea, where he finally felt more comfortable and accepted– feeling at peace for the first time. Albert believes that his identity as a Korean-American has allowed him to be more well-rounded and empathetic as a person, especially towards other minorities that face discrimination.

Michael Song moved to Korea at the age of 22 after experiencing difficulty finding employment in the US. Born and raised in LA, Michael was immediately immersed in Korean culture upon starting full-time work in the country. This experience went beyond culture shock, providing Michael with an understanding of his parent’s immigration experience in the US and a new context for decisions they made when he was younger. Now, Michael strives to find a balance between his personal journey and cultural and societal expectations.

Christine was raised as an American in a white family— far from where she was originally found, a train station in Daegu, Korea. Despite feeling fortunate for her loving adoptive family, she still felt and looked different, influenced by classmates that bullied her.

Years later, in 2018, Christine saw an online post about a welcome home program. Inspired by the documentary Lion, in which a man found his family on Google, she discovered the Korean American Adoptee Facebook group and was able to travel to Korea for the first time. The feeling of being home removed an unknown tension she had felt in the US.

The following year, she received confirmation from a DNA test that she has a sister living in Belgium. Reunited through the internet, they immediately felt a connection. They met for the first time in Korea, in an emotional reunion that prompted monthly trips to Belgium before COVID. Having reunited with her homeland and family, Christine has found satisfaction and peace in her Korean American identity.