Since having J2, each New Year's Day we gather at my mother-in-law's house for the traditional exchanging of bows. I love the tradition, but it's a pretty obvious reminder that I live somewhere in the space between my very white family and my Korean heritage. This year, I managed to watch YouTube videos so I could at least attempt to greet people properly. Most of the time when I speak Korean, Gus just gives me a confused look. My mother-in-law has to tie my hanbok because I continue to fail to be able to do that properly either.
I recently watched the movie Twinsters, a documentary about two adopted Korean women, who discover each other thanks to social media. Again sort of hit over the head by the racial identity stick. How the adoption experience is so incredibly personal to each of us.
Quite frankly, I never would have used the term "experience" to describe my adoption and upbringing. It was just a life. A pretty normal one at that. I wasn't the kid that always felt like something was missing from my life. At least I don't think I was. Notwithstanding the normal teenage angst that transcends race, I certainly never felt like I didn't fit into our family or our community.
In fact, while completely aware that I didn't look like everyone else, I never understood how much that meant to some people until I went to college and started getting recruited by this guy from the Korean Student Association---who I am, to this day, convinced either wanted to date me or get a copy of my political philosophy notes, or both. He sort of acted like he was doing me a favor by providing this group of people that looked like me to hang out with. It was perplexing at best. And perhaps the first time someone had expressly made the point that I was, indeed, different. To be fair, that's where I met Gus (who is not aforementioned Korean guy), so I guess he was actually doing me a favor.
When I married into a very Korean family, I again had that feeling that I truly existed in the space between. And yet, I love the tradition imparted on my children, who greet their grandparents and us daily with a bow. Race and heritage aside, Gus's family are simply really good people---a family I would choose to be part of regardless of what they or I look like (or don't look like).
And then I think, does it matter? Do I need a racial identity? Do I truly need to identify as white or Asian? Can I just be Nina B, population of 1? I mean I'm totally used to the strange looks I get when I stare blankly at someone speaking to me in Korean. I'm not offended when a person tells me that I speak good English. Because let's be honest, I do speak really good English (and I'm good at spelling). I can relate to my fellow adoptees when we joke about some guy on a bus or in line at Target, who asks you how to say "hello" in "your language." HELLO!
Perhaps I have filled the space between by creating my own race---Chunglunds population of 4. Because no matter where I came from or what I look like, this is where I belong. These are my people. This is home.
And there you have it folks. My first stream of consciousness for the New Year. May 2017 bless you with peace of mind, perspective, love, happiness, and all the things you are wishing for. May it challenge you to step outside your comfort zone and create your own space. I'll be over here. With my people.
xoxo, #ninab
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| one of these things is not like the other ... but she is. |
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