After my freshmen year of high school, it hit me: why do I want good grades? I finished numerous assignments dispassionately as my parents reminded me after each report card to try harder. Since then, it has been an uphill battle to perform in classes that I have little interest in while in college.
I don’t go to church, I’m not involved in any Asian-oriented clubs, and I don’t even know Korean yet. Whenever I do see “good” Korean American students on campus I can’t help but feel envious, how proud their parents must be, and how uniform their life must be. I searched for this sense of belonging within this community but came to a realization that I have little in common with them. Growing up in a predominantly White community, as someone who looks Asian but is half-White, was a time of character development that people who grew up similarly can understand.
My mom confessed to me that she doesn’t worry about my brother because he’s an engineering major. She has offered me to help run her hair salon so that I have a way of making money after I graduate. Though this is said with pure intentions, her suggestion wrapped as a gift is a sting to my ego. Despite my life being nascent, there is a throbbing voice in my head telling me that I’m already a failure.
Staying creative is my sole outlook to hinder that negativity. Although this feeling isn’t consistent, it has flamed with the closure of my academic career nearing. Everyday tasks have felt like climbing mountains, but with each push, I can feel it slowly washing over.
Where I lack in as a good Korean American student, I have an abundance of wit, honesty, and empathy.
