While passing through the streets of Jeonju (전주), blending in is not much of a challenge, so long as no one attempts to strike up a conversation for too long. Eyes straight ahead, resting blank face, just as a Korean would.

Ostensibly, Fulbright English teaching assistantship grantees are deemed worthy of the role for a litany of reasons. But one prominent one is because we were deemed representative of America enough to act as a part of an United States initiative that some might call a form of soft-power diplomacy.

In short, I am here to be the American.

But what makes me American? Is it the food I eat? The language I speak? The vague idea of a foreign culture that I represent? Or is it simply the passport that I carry, or maybe the educational system that molded me or the non-Korean friends I have? But I am also distinctly Korean-looking in Jeonju.

I am American. I am also Korean.

It’s a puzzling change from college, where many Korean-Americans — and Asian-Americans, for that matter — find themselves sprinting towards their native heritage, to Asian-American social and cultural organizations, to discussions of having an Asian country hyphenated in front of being called “American,” to debates over Asian demasculinization or fetishization, to the point where some even feel the need to overcompensate in showing the rest of America how much pride they take in being [insert ethnic group]-American.

Insert a Korean-American here, however, and the pressure shifts. It’s much tougher to spoon-feed yourself Korean culture here in small, controlled doses in the same way I could in Los Angeles or Boston whenever I wanted. And that is especially true for Korean-American Fulbright teachers here, who cannot “play the foreigner card” and retreat from uncomfortable situations the same way a blonde, blue-eyed or African-American might be able to.

There is no room for 문화차이 — cultural differences — for those of us who look just like everyone else waiting at a street corner, and I shouldn’t expect to be cut any slack. Sometimes I wish that I had that option, though.

Simultaneously, there is still a clear dichotomy between my Korean heritage and American upbringing that I am (contractually) obligated to maintain. Within fifteen minutes of meeting my high school’s principal on Friday for the first time, he told me not to use Korean with his students and to make sure to show his students all I knew about American culture. But I’ll be giving an introductory speech to the other 60 teachers first thing Monday morning — in Korean.

I don’t think I’ve ever been mentally stretched so forcefully both ways before. One side reminds me to consciously be not-Korean, while the other to try to become more Korean. Both need equal attention but neither is going away anytime soon.

At the moment, scattered thoughts and rough ideas are floating around — bits and pieces of what I hope will become a clearer answer through my experiences teaching Korean students in an immersive and authentic Korean context.

For now, carrying a specific mindset is what defines me as an American. That I can be what I want and who I want. That I intrinsically have potential for almost anything, and with effort, my potential can be converted into reaching whatever goals set before me.

One goal is emerging already: finding the right space for my identity to occupy and to determine how much I should allow my identity to be molded by Korea, because in the end, I am still American.
 

Growth takes time.  ||  Cascading Bonsai, 2017

Thoughts

Senator J. William Fulbright, the namesake of the Fulbright Scholarship Program: a documented segregationist but a United Nations supporter; an American statesman stuck in a domestic racial past but a visionary for a global future. History is full of contradictions.

Because of her: Eighty one years — a book by fellow Fulbrighter Eunice Yu, documenting her great-grandparents’ 81(!!) years of marriage. Only 5% of couples in the U.S. reach their 50th anniversary, but they had been married since age 18.

Open ended question to the Korean-Americans out there: does “마룻바닥” only mean wood floor, or can it be any type of floor in the main room of the house? Apparently it’s different for native Koreans versus Korean-Americans.

For Fun

Mapping out what’s under New York City, one sewer at a time. Link

36-year-old superintendent turned Olympic hopeful. Maybe I’ll see him in Pyeongchang! Link