Written

Staggering through the front door, the soft touch of my bed fills my mind. Six straight hours of classes had turned my brain into soup, threatening to drip out of my ears if my blankets didn’t cover them first.

I should be writing a personal statement for a doctoral program I’m applying to. I should be writing a one-page fluff essay talking about how much my dreams are important to me, how I’d be a good fit for the doctoral cohort, and how much I want to pursue an advanced degree.

Like many Asian American Pacific Islanders (AAPIs) across the country, we at KoreanAmericanStory.org are left shaken and mourning as there continues to be an uptick in anti-AAPI violence and hate. We mourn together over the recent tragedy in Atlanta where 8 people were killed—six of whom were Asian, including four women of Korean origin.

My mother was born in Korea and immigrated to the United States when she was in sixth grade. You think being the new kid in middle school is hard?

It’s been six years since that sunny February afternoon in San Diego where I had my last conversation with my dad. That Starbucks table outside on Main Street across from Tacos El Gordo where we just had lunch together before driving to LAX for the flight back to Seoul. Filled with awkward silences, we gazed at the cars headed toward I-5.

The trailer reminded me of our own family’s time of owning a dry cleaners on the Northside of Chicago, 1981-82, a brief time due to the fact it was my mother’s attempt at finding another income generation but proved to be too much to sustain. It was envisioned that my mother and halmuni could operate it during the morning and daytime, but with my assistance after school as the translator and intake help.

During my freshman year, on weekends, I would take the subway from Morningside Heights, looping around 42nd Street and back up to the Upper East Side to work at a newspaper and magazine store owned by the Chois.

The process of creating a book, regardless of the target audience, is deeply involved and requires a plethora of patience and many hours of revisions.

My name is Brian Bomster-Jabs, and I am a Korean Adoptee. I was adopted when I was 5 months old and grew up in Baltimore, Maryland. When I arrived, I had a brother waiting for me.

I rarely felt beautiful growing up. Maybe it was because of the painful red bumps that would erupt on my face overnight. Or the clunky metal braces stamped onto my teeth.

May 3rd was the day my family immigrated to the US, now twenty-four years ago. It’s also the day the last little flame of the riots of 92 went out, now twenty-eight years ago. Time is weird, isn’t it?

When Anne Frank was about my age, she documented her life hiding in her attic from 1942 to 1944 in her diary. During the horrific World War II time, she was not only confined to a small space but lived in fear. Getting flour for a birthday cake was a luxury and she had limited supplies of everything.

This acclaimed debut novel deserves all the great attention and accolades it’s received. Both a turn-the-page thriller and a literary investigation of a family’s survival from trauma, both recent and decades old, the writing elevates the story into deeper understandings of the nuances in family relationships and how they seep into every act of living.

In her startling debut novel, Jimin Han captures several genres at once—a terrifying thriller, a coming-of-age story of first love, a historical novel of 1980s Korea and Korean Americans, and a work of literature with an interesting structure and use of point-of-view that only ramps up the tension.

The accolades for this fine, epic novel are deserved. In her second novel, author Min Jin Lee follows members of a family (and many equally fascinating ancillary characters) from the Japanese Occupation era in Korea, to the Korean diaspora in Japan, up to 1989.

When Ilse Marques Kim, a former model from Brazil, was laid off from Korea Air’s cargo department at LAX, she struggled to find work for over a year.

When asked how it makes her feel to be known as the “Original Dreamer” she responded, “I’m not sure it matters… some undocumented immigrants today are saying that they think the Dreamer rhetoric is something that throws our parents under the bus because it’s exclusive to a certain number of immigrants. We have to fight this one thing at a time and eventually we will fight for comprehensive immigration reform because that’s what this country really needs.”

This past July, Karen was elected President of KALAGNY. In her short time in the position, Karen has already brought a renewed energy and vision to the over 30 year old association.

Everyone says food is the universal language of love. Somehow I missed it. My family and I immigrated to the US when I was 8 years old and since then, all I could remember was that our days were a blur.

It happened to me on a day in early July 1950. I was a student in the first grade of Bosung Middle School located in Hyaewha Dong, Seoul, Korea. At this point, I will explain Korean political and military situations.Korea was emancipated on August 15, 1945, out of Japanese occupation for 35 years since August 29, 1910. Korea has been divided between South and North Koreas soon after the Japanese Surrender on August 15, 1945, and South Korea established the Democratic Government on May 10, 1948, under the leadership of President Syngman Rhee. There was the complete and permanent division of the Korean Peninsula across the latitude of the 38th Parallel North and hostilities between these two divided Countries including the frequent military clashes.

It happened in the year of 1950 during the summer, possibly in late July. My mother, sister, and I were treading in a lonely country road heading to the village of Yongmun, Gyeonggi-do, where my sister and her family were living.

As the parent of an Asian American child, do you brace yourself for that moment? Or what about as the parent of a Black child in America?

Scenario one: Young boy’s mother dies of a long drawn out illness; just a few months later, his father also dies of a sudden and quick illness.

Why is it that every time a racist act or gesture is made against an Asian person we feel the need to excuse or give the benefit of the doubt to the transgressor?