Many Stories, One Community
Note: At the beginning of the fall semester of my junior year at Tufts, I shared (a piece of) my story with two groups of incoming freshmen students during their orientation. I shared my story on a panel with four other incredible students who also shared their stories. We all talked about a variety of influences that shaped who we are today: family, friends, school, race, gender, class, and other social identities, and so on. This is my story.
Hi! My name is Esther Kim. I’m the child of two first-generation Korean immigrants who both grew up poor and immigrated separately by themselves to the U.S. in the 1980s. They left their families and homes for similar reasons: in order to find work and greater financial security. My parents individually made their way to Quincy, Massachusetts, where they both attended a Korean Presbyterian church and where they eventually married, too. It’s at this moment where my story begins. I grew up in this church community that consists of mostly first-generation Korean immigrants and their second-generation Korean American children, like me. I first received messages about what it means to be Korean, to be a woman, my Korean American identity, and what it means to be successful in this society, here in this community.
After church service on Sundays, some of the moms in our church would sit around a table and talk about-and compare-their children. One mom would show off her daughter’s academic achievements: how she won the school spelling bee; how she got a 2400 on the SAT’s; or even better, got into Harvard University. Another mom would rave about how tall, beautiful, and skinny her daughter is. Even at home, my dad would ask me, “How tall are you? Are you 170 centimeters yet?” As if 170 was this magical number, a telltale sign of someone who was considered physically beautiful and outstanding in our community.
After hearing these numbers and names repeated over and over again by my parents, by people in my church, and by stereotypes in the media of the successful Asian nerd, or the exotic Asian girl with long, black hair, I internalized these messages as true statements about myself and about who I’m supposed to be in this society. These terms and stereotypes became markers I used to measure my self-competence: Whether I was smart enough, Korean enough, beautiful enough.
For me, compared to my Korean and Korean American friends and their parents, including my mom and dad, I saw myself as being not fully Korean, regardless of what other people would say to me. I don’t speak Korean fluently, and by other first-generation Korean parents in my church, I’m still viewed as Americanized, not truly Korean. But on the other hand, I attended a predominantly white school from kindergarten throughout high school in my hometown of Hanover, Massachusetts. And my majority white school friends saw me racially as Asian, and not as being truly American, like how they viewed themselves. Their white privilege was something that I did not possess, growing up as the only Asian American girl in my grade. So, I grew up with all these mixed messages about who I’m supposed to be, in terms of my race, gender, and so on.
Coming to Tufts, one of the most life-changing lessons I’ve learned here at Tufts so far is this: The transformative process of learning requires an equally transformative, if not more challenging process of unlearning. Unlearning all those messages that told me I cannot define for myself who I am.
Coming to Tufts has helped me to begin to explore my identities and experiences, and open my mind and my heart to let people see who I really am. Right now, I’m double-majoring in Clinical Psychology and Child Development, and minoring in Asian American Studies. At Tufts, I took courses on Asian American history, identity formation, and the intersections of various social identities. Here, I begin to finally put names to my experiences and my family’s experiences living in the U.S. I learned about internalized racism and how my upbringing in a Korean church was not merely coincidental or random, but was part of the history of U.S. immigration and Asian American experience. I learned that I wasn’t the only person dealing with these issues of identity. At Tufts, through my classes and in building friendships, I have the space to confront these intersecting narratives and figure out who I am as someone who now intentionally self-identifies as Korean American, Asian American, woman, middle-class, and Christian among other identities.
For me, the feeling of having my existence and experiences validated and acknowledged as significant, empowers me to love myself for who I am, not just the ways in which society deems me as successful or beautiful.
Freshman year, I remember having a dinner date with my friend, a junior who I met through Tufts Christian Fellowship. Our “conversation” turned into a three-hour long bonding session in Dewick. By the time we finished talking, Dewick was practically empty, and my mug of tea had long grown cold. Though we were sitting in an open, previously chaotic environment full of strangers and distractions, my friend gave her sole attention to me, as I told her about my life. With one conversation, such a huge place like Tufts where I still felt I didn’t know a lot of people, became more familiar, more like home to me. My friend wasn’t comparing me to her other friends, other Korean American and Asian American girls at Tufts, or whoever else. My friend wanted to get to know me, and I trusted her and felt safe enough to share with her about my life, my family, my experiences growing up in church, my questions and struggles, and everything else underneath the sun. My friend’s presence in my life as someone who listened and someone who truly cared about my well-being, is an example of the acceptance and love I’ve experienced since becoming a member of the Tufts community.
I am coming to realize that this ongoing process of reconciling my past with my present seems painfully vulnerable and overwhelming at times. But, it’s helping me see myself as a whole person, not just a haphazard collection of incomplete, isolated parts. For me, the reality is, I felt judged by my parents and by people in my church community. But I’ve also realized that I’m not alone in these experiences. Thinking back, I realize that my parents and the people at my church were also in need of someone to talk to and share their life with. We were all searching for a sense of belonging without even realizing it. I am so blessed to find people here at Tufts through student organizations like Tufts Christian Fellowship, Love146, and the Asian American Peer Leader program, part of the Asian American Center, who have affirmed my inherent self-worth and encouraged me to continue wrestling with the messiness that is the intersection of my identities.
Sophomore year, I was an Asian American Peer Leader, and I am co-Program Assistant for the same program. In this program, I was able to share what I’ve learned at Tufts with incoming freshmen to help them make their transition to college and begin exploring topics like identity and community for themselves. This is my story of how I’ve become the person I am today, and what I’m doing in response to this self-awareness and empowerment.
I want to welcome you to this Tufts community, and I encourage you to learn from each other, share about your lives, and validate each person’s belonging in this community. Thanks.
