Identity crisis. This is how I define my childhood.
Like I am in the middle of the Venn diagram, I had and still have no clue where I belong.
In the middle, I wonder, I should have just stayed in one part of the world.
On the left side of the world, the people there clearly look like they don’t want me.
“Just because you live in this country, doesn’t mean you got to act like an American! You’re just an Asian.”
I was 14 years old when I heard this from someone, who was a total stranger.
“Hey, by the way, don’t eat my dog.”
This was my every day ‘hello’ from my classmates, and I’m pretty sure they still think this is funny.
“Corona, Corona, Corona”
The old white man from Costco screamed at me for exactly 3 minutes and 14 seconds. He must have been awfully bored waiting for the line.
“Speak English, this is America.”
I got yelled at by the random Karen in the middle of the street.
On the right side of the world, the people here think I’m a weirdo.
“Hey, you said you’re from America? Wow, what a Yankee.”
Korean teenagers gave me a cute nickname, which totally, makes me feel neurotic.
“I’m sorry if you got offended, you’re not a real Korean anyway.”
By the way, I am a full Korean. I don’t know how that person come to that conclusion.
“EW, stop speaking English with your friends. It sounds disgusting and weird. Are you bragging that you’re from America?”
I don’t know what language I should speak now.
Born in a peaceful little town, I was the only Asian kid in the block.
Raised in a friendly neighborhood, I was the only English-speaking kid.
“What kind of Asian are you, kid?” I was the only one people asked this question when I was 4.
“So that’s why you cannot get along with your peers?” I was the only student that had to justify my introversion.
Back and forth, my life was consist of living in two completely different countries.
Exactly 6,536 miles from where I was born,
exactly 6,536 miles from where I was raised.
Even though transferring is now an ordinary life event for me, still, it makes me cry every night, usually at 3 am, thinking where do I actually belong and why am I here.
Getting detached from the land you once lived in, provokes an unusual kind of nostalgia.