Finding the Missing Pieces

Looking back, I had a great childhood.  I don’t have a sad sob story and I don’t come from a broken home.  I had fun growing up, but then again a lot of people do.  I grew up in the South – Georgia to be exact.  My mom is Korean, so all throughout elementary and middle school I was teased and tormented.  “Are you Japanese or Chinese?”  I would always get asked that. 

By high school, everyone knew me so my ethnicity wasn’t a question.  I did everything every one else did.  My accent fitted in with everyone as well.  Although, my accent wasn’t as extreme as others – I knew some people who could make a one syllable word into two! 

As an adult, I now realize I’ve spent my entire childhood trying to erase my Asian heritage.  I did everything I could to hide that side of myself.  I did everything in my power not to reveal any of it outside of my home.  I never took the initiative to learn my mother’s native tongue.  I knew a few words to get by, but I could never carry on a conversation with her.  I couldn’t even communicate with my aunt who knew no English!  I ate all kinds of Korean food, but I never learned how to cook it. 

Because I spent my entire life – almost – I lost a bit of my identity.  It took me until now, at age twenty six, to figure this out.  Why is it that when you’re older you slowly start to realize things that could’ve helped out when you were younger?  Why couldn’t I have figured this out when I was sixteen or seventeen or eighteen? 

During my travels and even at home, I’ve seen little girls carry on a conversation with their mothers in a secret language that seems to be all their own.  I know it’s the mother’s native tongue, but from an outsider it looks like it’s a secret language they made up just for them.  It’s like no one else around them matters.  I find myself wishing I had that with my mother.  I don’t even fully understand my mother’s culture!  I’m such a horrible daughter! 

I mean, I know everything my mother taught me, but she never really went into depth about her background or about her culture.  I guess she suspected that in my teenage years I didn’t really care to know.  She must’ve sensed that I wanted to separate myself from her culture as far away as possible. 

Now that I’m married and older, I feel a piece of me is missing.  I know what it is.  I know I’ve lost a little bit of my identity – who I am and where I came from.  I know the American side of me, but I need to rediscover the Korean side.  I know I can go on this quest and I know I can find myself.  It’s just out there waiting for me to find it.  I feel guilty that I’ve waited this long, but I figure there’s no time like the present.  Besides, it’s good that I’m doing it now instead of waiting before its too late, right?