This year was one adventure after another, of varying shapes, sizes and degrees. Usually bringing laughter or tears or fear or excitement, and ending with a lesson learned or a treasured memory or a blend of the beauty and pain that comes with growth. No matter how seemingly unrelated or trivial, Papa hand-strung each of those snippets of time, place and experience together to reveal more of who He is, and who I am in light of that, to me.
One big, thick, thread that ran through many moments of every, single month was the revelation that I am a misfit. And the stinging, unavoidable question that accompanies it: Where do I belong? As the year progressed, I became increasingly uncertain about the answer to that question, beginning to believe that it was nowhere. Month after month of feeling hyper-conscious of how you stick out in the country you’re in will do that. Which is a reality when you’re an American traveling around the world.
But being a Korean-American (or let’s be real, any non-white minority) traveling around the world in a group of predominantly white Americans brings a whole ‘nother layer to the picture. Everywhere we went, I was aware of extra attention directed at me. Sometimes positive, sometimes negative, sometimes neutral. But always for the same reason: because I was Asian. Or more accurately, a single Asian with 4-6 other white-Americans. It came at me in a variety of ways:
- Children or teenagers (or “grown men”) yelling “ching-chong-ching-chong” as I walked by in the road in Haiti
- People at church inquiring about me to my teammates, pulling their eyes into a squint to describe me since there was a language barrier, in Peru
- Stares upon stares in Malawi, Zambia or Zimbabwe
- Being called or assumed to be Chinese, most of South America and Africa
- Being told “You’re not a real American. She’s a real American”, in reference to a teammate, in Malaysia
- People lingering to talk to me, and getting excited upon finding out I was Korean-American, and then proceeding to question me about KPop or celebrities or how to say certain words in Korean, almost every country
It wasn’t fun, encountering the ignorant perceptions that people around the world have of America, and of Asians within that context. It wasn’t fun feeling like I was put into a spotlight purely because of my Asian features, especially since I’m distinctly uncomfortable with attention anyway. It wasn’t fun feeling like my ethnic background was all there was to me, that that was the only thing about me that made me worth talking to. But at the end of the day, I couldn’t get angry about their ignorance, because their perception of Asians and Americans has been largely shaped by the Western world and its media.
And that’s really where my struggle lay. Because as not fun as the above experiences were, it would have been bearable if I felt that I at least “belonged” or “fit into” the group of people I was with. But I didn’t. Not when we commonly referred to ourselves as the “white people” coming into the town. Because the message I was getting was that American=white, and if I’m being lumped into that group, it’s because I’m American and also because my ethnicity is being ignored or rendered invisible.
So from the start of the Race, long-buried questions of identity and belonging began to bubble up. For the first time in my life, I found myself resenting being Korean, and that was horrifying. And I asked myself “where is home? Do I have a home country that I can claim and that claims me?” Korea, with its strong spirit of nationalism, would probably claim me, but I don’t claim it. So that’s out. I’m finally starting to claim U.S.A. as “my country”, but it doesn’t feel reciprocated, except on my passport. I feel the mutual “claim” in Northern Virginia, but when I look at the country as a whole, and the experiences I’ve had in different parts of Virginia alone, I definitely feel like a foreigner. Because I’m regarded as a foreigner. And let’s be real, I feel that way in Korea, too.
Ultimately, it was as if the message “I don’t belong here” or “MISFIT” had been embedded into my skin, almost a “glow in the dark” style. That’s what it felt like.
And then God Truth-slapped me in the face. With this:
The question isn’t “where do you belong” but “Who do you belong to?”
Because if I rest my heart and mind and entire being in the knowledge that I belong to the Lord and only to Him, then I’m set. There’s no need to feel offended or annoyed when my Korean-ness is pointed out and spot-lighted, or to feel frustrated when the Korean half of me is erased away. The revelation that He uncovered back in Russia, that my “home” is in Him, and thus I will always simultaneously be “at home” and never “at home” anywhere I go on this earth, was taken to another level, into my state of belonging.
Because the reality is, we’re all misfits. Being incessantly badgered with that reminder in the physical realm helped me to remember the spiritual truth. That there is nowhere on this earth I can go to and feel like I “belong”. There is no group of people that I will feel like 100% of me belongs to 100% of the time. And that’s okay. Because 100% of me belongs 100% of the time to Jesus. The Biggest Misfit who lived on this earth, so that we wouldn’t have to be eternal misfits.
I’m thankful for the gift of having a dual identity of race and nationality. Because it will never let me forget Who I belong to, and that I do not belong to this world. I’m thankful to be Korean, because you know what? I like it. Especially the food. I’m thankful to be American, because it’s shaped me to be who I am, and I like who I am. I’m just thankful to be me, and that Papa knew what He was doing when He created me and set the stages of my life into motion. I’m thankful that He’s the One I come from, and thus fit to and belong with. Always.
Thus concludes this chapter of my adventures as a misfit. As always, thanks galore to all of my fabulous supporters. You are all rockstars in my book!! (Really.)
