Dear South Korea,

With tan skin, straight, black hair, and squinty, brown eyes, you’ve branded me. I can’t take these qualities off and place them in a box under my bed to take out one rainy day to reminisce about a special moment or person. I never had the choice to carry these things with me, but somehow they end up embodying my whole life. You’ve given me the burden of being the one that doesn’t belong with the others. Have you ever considered this? You think you’re the good one, don’t you? You think you’re the better of two halves. Just because you’re not a totalitarian dictatorship doesn’t imply that you’re doing any better.

Compared to your northern neighbor, you’re a polite republic, with a sense of tradition and modernism. You’re the tip of a peninsula, but you might as well have been an island. Your borders are emphasized with the cold shoulder given by the North and bodies of water on the other sides. You’re completely isolated; you’re unlike the others. You, too, are the one that doesn’t belong. You’ve had a hard life, but you never gave up and became the great country you are today. You accomplished all of this, and yet, you’re a consistent bit of pressure continually weighing down on me.

Without you, I could be a “normal” American student. I wouldn’t feel responsible to represent you in your entirety. I wouldn’t have to hear the question “Where are you from?” in its stinging, accusing tone. I wouldn’t have had to come home one day to a family weakened by bullies and inconsiderate people - people who believe that it is okay to write a letter demanding a family to go back to where they’re from. And this family was crushed to a point where running away from that community was the only option. But I was born in the States. I was born as an American. I was born as a citizen of the United States, the supposed melting pot.

Except, I can see the judgment in their eyes anyways, sizing me up as if to find out which level of threat to place me at. They point out the differences and won’t let them go. These people, my peers, joke around by pulling at the corners of their eyes. Its all good fun until it continues a bit too long. Then, the questions about stereotypes come to the surface, and the uncomfortable atmosphere is tangible. Silence overtakes conversation; empty space is chosen over eye contact. Sweaty palms leave handprints on the cool tabletops. These are the things I blame you for.

I’m not the type of person who complains a whole lot. I’m more like that person who tolerates things and holds them inside as long as possible - there’s no use in ruining someone else’s day. But I’ve had enough. I never thought one person could carry an entire country on her shoulders. Your culture has instilled in me a need for success in school, church, and life in general. You’ve told me to keep up the good grades and bring up the bad, to give back to the community, to respect my elders, and to even stand and take the beatings of workouts, lessons, and love gone wrong. Everything I am can be traced back to you.

Is it right to blame you? Am I allowed to be dramatic and blame you for all of the problems and obstacles in my life? Probably not. Yes, you’ve given me more challenges and difficulties to overcome than the average kid, but it wouldn’t be fair to set the blame on you, just as it is not fair to judge someone by their ethnic background. I’ve discovered how to brush off the offensive comments, to laugh full-heartedly at the jokes, and to learn from my experiences and try not to let it ever be replicated in others’ lives. You’ll always be a part of me, because I’m one hundred percent you. Thanks for contributing to my open-mindedness to the world. Thanks for pushing me with that bit of responsibility of representing you with all I am. And most importantly, thanks for my unique identity.

Thank You,

XXXXXX