One of Many, But One of a Kind
I am an immigrant living in America. More specifically, I am an immigrant to New York and there’s nothing really unique or special about that. I’m just one of the several millions of people that immigrated to New York over the past few centuries. However, if there is something different about me, it is in the reason for immigration. Some people come to New York because there is poverty or starvation where they lived. Other people come to flee religious persecution. Still others come for better education or more opportunities for success. Overall, most people come to New York with hopes for a better life. But my family wasn’t seeking an upgrade in our lives when we immigrated to New York. My parents chose to give up their life of comfort for a life of sacrifice and toil. For us, immigration was more of a downgrade.
I was born in South Korea in 1993 and I had a pretty good childhood. I’m not saying that our family was one of the elites of our society, but we had enough to be satisfied. Our family was financially stable; both my parents were teachers and back then, being a teacher was a pretty stable job. We lived in our own house that my dad and my grandfather built, and my grandparents lived very nearby in the same town so I spent time with my grandparents everyday. Since we lived in a slightly rural area, there were fields and mountains nearby, and I would be able to interact with nature. I had friends in my preschool and I had fun at my Sunday school. I was comfortable in my own skin. I had a normal life that was stable and comfortable. I had a clear identity and roots as a Korean. I was vibrant and happy.
This period of my life ended when my dad said that we’re going to take a trip to New York City. I knew that my dad had gone a few trips to New York before and I thought that my dad was taking us there to visit. It was a very sudden decision and we quickly packed very few of our belongings and prepared to leave for New York. We said goodbye to my grandparents and left for New York in February 2000. I was pretty excited because I had never left South Korea before and I also never went on a plane ride. I was also excited about being in New York and seeing the famous skyscrapers and bridges that I’ve only seen in pictures that my dad or aunt brought home.
We arrived at JFK airport at night and we had dinner at some pastor’s home. Then we went to a church elder’s house, where we would be staying for a few weeks. However, not soon after we settled in and unpacked our belongings, my dad told my sisters and me that we were going to be staying in New York. He explained that God had called him to serve as the chief staff of campus ministry in New York as part of a Christian organization. When I heard his words, I was stunned. I now realized that everything I left behind in Korea, I left behind for good. My older sister was very upset and my younger sister was only 2. I was only 6 and I had just graduated from preschool. Even though I was upset, I chose not to show it because I knew it was not an easy decision that my parents had made and I did not want to make it any more difficult for them. But it was difficult to ignore feelings of confusion and sorrow.
That night, I had trouble falling asleep because of the time difference and jet lag, and I ended up staying up all night. At 5:30 AM, my parents woke up to go to early morning prayer service at the church that we would be attending now, and since I was already awake then, I decided to follow them to the service. After the service was over, everybody went to a place called Dunkin Donuts and there, I was able to get my first taste of American food and drinks: a donut and a Snapple juice drink. They were sweet in my mouth and gave me hope that perhaps New York City wouldn’t be so bad after all.
My troubles started when it became time for me to enter school. For a few weeks, my older sister and I didn’t attend school so that we would have some time to settle in, but that couldn’t last forever. So after those few weeks ended, we were enrolled in an elementary school in the middle of the school year and I was put in 1st grade. This wouldn’t have really been a problem except for the fact that I didn’t know English. To make things worse, the neighborhood that we settled in was in the Bronx. This meant that the other kids were mostly black, Hispanic, and white. There were practically no Asians in the school and no other Koreans that could help me adjust. I looked around me and nobody looked or talked or acted like me. In fact, they stared at me and said things that I could not understand. It was then I truly understood that I was an immigrant. This wasn’t home.
Because I had a hard time with English, I was put in an ESL class. There, I felt more comfortable because other kids in the class had trouble with English too and the teacher was more patient with my lack of English skills. However, that didn’t mean all my problems were over. Even as my English was getting better, some kids in the school picked on me and made fun of me because I was Asian. They stereotypically called me Chinese and imitated speaking in Chinese, even though I was Korean, and one kid liked to bother me by pinching me. During this period of not being able to communicate with others in English, I became more introverted and timid. I spent a lot of my time reading books to keep me happy and I had little to no social life in school. Even after I became more fluent in English, I made very few friends in school and rarely opened my mouth in class. I hated working as a group because that meant that I would have to talk to other kids. I remember at one point, I was so timid that I was afraid to ask the teacher if I could use the bathroom.
During these lonely times, church was the only place I felt comfortable. In this crazy immigration life where everything was foreign to me, the only aspect of my life that resembled home was church. I met other Korean kids my age that became my friends. I often stayed late at church because my dad served as the young adult group pastor and the young adults would play basketball or have a bible study. Every week, I looked forward to going to church because all my friends were at church and I truly felt happy when I was there.
As time passed, English no longer became a problem for me. I was able to read and write and speak and understand English without a problem. In time, I became assimilated to the American culture. However, immigration had taken its toll and something important to me became unclear: my identity. As a Korean-American who immigrated at an early age, I didn’t know how to think of myself. Was I Korean or American? I was currently living in America but I was born and grew up in Korea. This confusion, along with the loss of self-confidence that resulted from being alone and anti-social, proved to be big obstacles in truly adjusting to life in America and it took many years for me to overcome them.
Now, in 2012, I can say that I am comfortable living in New York. I’ve lived here for 12 years and I have grown accustomed to life in New York City. I am still not a U.S. citizen, but I am pretty close in the naturalization process, since it’s been a few years since I became a permanent resident. But I am still an immigrant. I can’t forget that a part of me is still left behind in my hometown in South Korea. I also can’t help but wonder how my life would be different if I had stayed in Korea. I’m aware of what I’ve lost, of what I could have had, and I realize that I’ve changed as a result of immigration. But in retrospect, I also realize that immigrating to New York was also God’s blessing in disguise, and I am proud that my parents were willing to sacrifice a life of comfort and stability to live the hectic and difficult life of immigration for the sake of serving God. Perhaps what we had to go through as immigrants may not have been very special, but as the individual who had to face the challenges of immigration… it was pretty special.
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