Gyopo

At a recent RUF large group, our pastor gave a message on John 1. What he said really stuck with me - Jesus Christ gives us a new identity, a new community, and a new purpose.

Going to study abroad in South Korea had been my dream for many years. It's hard to explain why. I grew up in an English-speaking family but heard Korean spoken by my grandparents on both sides of the family. My grandparents are all immigrants from Korea and moved to the U.S. for a variety of reasons to raise their families. Growing up with my parents both working full-time, my grandparents were babysitters for my sister, brother, and I for much of our childhood. They taught us Korean songs, made us Korean food, taught us basic phrases like "thank you" and "good morning," and shared Korean games and traditions with us, like Yut Nori and bowing to one's elders on New Year's (sebae). It was just another part of my life, our normal home life - little pieces of Korea integrated with my mostly American life, and wrapped up with the love and warmth that filled our family, unified spiritually in Christ across the cultural gaps.

I think all those little pieces basically just piled up in my heart and became meaningful pieces of who I am. Each piece of culture took on a positive association from the memories they were connected with. And so I developed a deep curiosity about and love for Korea without ever having been there, and a sort of emotional warmth for Korean people, because they reminded me of my family. I wanted to know what kind of people I came from, what their values and traditions and idiosyncrasies were. I wanted to know if this place that I had heard so many stories about actually existed.

The way South Korea altered my view of my own identity was really unexpected. I went there thinking that it would be so cool seeing so many people who looked like me, at least ethnically - same hair color, general skin tone, average height, etc. But when my family and I got there, all I could think about or see was how much we seemed to stick out. When everyone seemed to be wearing long pants and long-sleeved blouses and suits at the height of summer -- and NOT SWEATING -- my family and I were dressed in the lightest garments possible to fight the humidity. While my hair was perpetually unruly and frizzy, the perfect perms surrounding me was a constant reminder of how un-perfect my hairstyle was. And, most of all, the minute I opened my mouth to say something, I felt my cover was blown. I'm just a gyopo (교포, overseas Korean) and a wegugin (외국인, foreigner). I felt constantly self-conscious of my American accent and repeatedly humiliated by my inability to understand or respond fluidly to employees in stores. I truly had never anticipated feeling like this. I knew I might face some insecurities in a new country meeting new people, and also had heard that a stigma might exist around gyopos, but I hadn't really considered that even just walking around would make me feel so insecure. (Side note and a bit funny: a lovely Reddit post which I find quite accurate on how Koreans can spot gyopos...)

That's when I started to really understand that my identity does not rest in being Korean, or even Korean-American. I realized that I had been jealously trying to defend this sense of self, making me panic when I felt that that identity was being threatened. Because I realized that I'm not as "Korean" as I thought I was, and that identity I had built up for myself was falling apart.

One thing that a guest speaker said at the last church service I attended at Seoul Union Church, which I had joined during my study abroad program, stuck with me. He said that his father had told him this when he was struggling with his identity as a Korean-American too. Am I Korean? Am I American? His father told him that it's not important if you become a Korean, or if you become an American. What's most important is that you become a person.

Realizing and reminding myself that my identity doesn't rest in being Korean-American and proving my Korean-ness brought a great relief. Instead, my identity rests in being a child of God, saved by His grace alone, and no one can take that away. I don't need to prove myself or measure up to the standard for others to accept me -- God has accepted me just the way that I am.

As I heard someone say before, we don't need to protect our tight little core of self-worth and guard it jealously. God's got you! So we can be free to give ourselves away, to love with abandon, and to go to whatever community or place He calls us to.

Gyeongsan