10 was a big year for me. I learned that I was not "white" when I was 10. huh? Well, in Hawaii I'm part of the Asian majority, so even if I knew I wasn't white, we certainly weren't considered black, so therefore, I thought we belonged to the "white" category.
My family was riding along in our car one day and my dad asked us what we were studying in school. I said that in social studies we were reading about slavery. Then I casually said "I can't believe WE did that to those people." My dad laughed. loudly. He then enlightened me on the fact that if schools were still segregated, that I'd be attending the colored school. It left me speechless. My view of myself and my place in this world was never the same.
Then I began to question why my parents would move to America from a country of their own. They couldn't speak the language enough to fill out forms on their own, or attend parent teacher conferences without me (they worked mostly with Korean clients, so their English is still pretty bad even if they've been here for 30 plus years.) Why live in a place like that? Why choose to? It would be like me moving to Germany and having kids there and trying to have a life. I couldn't wrap my mind around that.
For a long time I'd wonder what that was like. And what would it be like for an American to try and live in Korea? I met a Caucasian pastor who had grown up in Korea. His parents were missionaries. he could speak perfect Korean and knew more about the culture than me. He fascinated me to no end. In fact, because I wanted Hapa kids, but didn't want to give up my stinky Korean food, my ambition was to find a nonkorean guy who grew up in Korea. Alas. The opposite happened. I ended up marrying a full Korean guy who grew up in a place where he was the only Asian student at his high school.
FINALLY, thanks to the blogopshere, I'm able to see for the first time what it's like in the reverse. There are really good blogs out there written by weigook (not Korean) people who live in Korea. Some of them like it very much. So much so that they've married and settled down. Some don't like it too much and are very happy to be leaving or have left never wanting to return. When I see Expatriate's daughter speaking in both languages with her mom in the snippets of video that's put up, I marvel at how similar we are. I speak to Noah in both languages too. And he answers in both. She must be challenged to keep up Hayden's English, just like I'm challenged (and utterly failing) to keep up Noah's Korean. As my mother would say, "same, same."
Not that it's changed me much to finally see what this perspective is like. But it's satisfying all the same. To know that what my parent's went through is not just one way. It's not just the plight of the Asian, or Latina, or Middle Eastern immigrant. That when faced with the issues, Americans and Europeans can't escape the issues my parents deal with.
I did notice though that when Americans (or Canadians) talk about Pizza in Korea, they always wonder why it comes with a container of pickles (never mind the chunks of potato and whole sausage links on them). Some even act like it's disgusting and that the combo makes absolutely no sense. I've titled this post the way I have so that if one of these people actually decides to Google it, they'd find out why. Koreans have a hard time with cheese and butter and other rich western foods. It goes down better for us when there's something to cut through the richness. My parents and grandmother used to come home and eat kimchi after a pasta or pizza dinner out. So the pizza companies give out the pickles for this purpose. Koreans really DO eat the pickles with their pizza. They like to. I personally think the pepperoncini peppers that come with Papa John pizzas here would be better, but pickles are thought of as a western food, so it supposedly goes better with pizza.
While we're on the topic, noticed there was a Mr. Pizza Factory in K town, L.A. Anyone ever been? It's supposed to be popular and good in Korea. I've got to check it out the next time I'm there.
