Korean-American. Korean first!
Being a Korean American, I was taught to uphold my Korean culture in high regard. My parents, who both came from Korea, wanted me to realize how important being connected with my culture was, especially since we are thousands of miles away from South Korea. They would teach me the value of money and other ideals that are norms in Korean society. They would always stress the fact of immigration and exactly how hard it was to adapt to a new country and strive in it. Luckily for my sister and I, we did not have to experience migrating to another country. It was through the stories of my father and mother where I began to grasp the idea of immigration and the struggles that come with it.
My father would always tell me “Money is not something that you can just spend as if it grows on trees. Do you know how much money I had in my pockets when I came to America? 200 dollars.” I must’ve heard him say this at least 200 times in my young life, especially when he found me asking for money more often as I grew older.
The story of my father making it in America is a prime example of the “American Dream”. He left Korea at the age of 24 after his father passed away and was rejected from the Korean Harvard, Seoul University, not once but twice. He came to New York City with just 200 dollars in his pocket, the clothes on his back and a bag. He could barely speak English and did not know what to do. Through hard work, determination and years of attempting to perfect his English, my father successfully built a frame and windows business culminating with interactions and business deals with famous designers and artists such as Dolce & Gabbana and Vera Wang. He really did take advantage of the “American Dream” and created a life for myself, my sister and my mother that couldn’t have been possible in South Korea.
My mother has almost a different story. She left Korea when she was just a teenager and moved to Sao Paolo, Brazil as her father obtained a well-paying job there. During her 13 year stay in Brazil, she became fluent in Portuguese and even started college at Brazil. However, with her father passing away, her whole family packed up and moved to New York City where she worked in a textile factory with her mother working at a sewing machine. Unlike my father, my mother had basic knowledge of English and could hold a conversation in not one, but three languages. The transition for her coming to New York was easier because of the fact that she spoke English well enough. For my sister and I, it is a completely different situation.
As previously stated, my sister and I never had to experience migration to another country. In fact, we’ve moved homes once. We moved one avenue in Elmhurst, Queens. The transition for us was very simple. The only things that changed are the layouts of our house and how we would get around to the same places that we had been going to for years. Certain places were closer and others were farther. However, this transition from moving was simple. There was no drastic change as there was for my mother and father. They had to travel thousands of miles to a new place they would call their home and my sister and I traveled no more than a thousand steps to a new place we would call home.
Even though we live under the same roof, my family’s migration story differs on many different levels. My father probably had a harder time with immigration and the transition into a new place as he came to the United States with many limitations and really no friends or family to depend on. My mother came with her family, which helped her, and she had skills that my father didn’t possess. My sister and I lived in New York City all our lives in a two-block radius. The change was minimal. But the fact is everyone has their own migration story, whether filled with pain and suffering or just simple and plain.
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