Today was the first of four days I'll be spending in Albany, NY at Camp Mujigae. Camp Mujigae is a camp for Korean adoptees that was founded in 1986. This year 75 Korean adoptees aged infant-18 are attending. Along with them are countless volunteers, students from South Korea, and parents making the entire camp possible.
Today was also the first day since I was around 2-3 years old that I was surrounded by other Koreans. I have no memory of the last time I went to a Korean adoptee event, just a couple of photos of me as a small toddler at a couple of them. To say it was slightly overwhelming would be an understatement.
I saw myself in every little girl running around. I thought about where I was at that point in my life and I thought about what my life would have been like if I had had a community like Camp Mujigae. I thought of the girls at my elementary school who told me that no one would ever love me because my real mother didn't want me. I thought of the kid who shouted at me to go back to my own country at my jr. high school. I thought of every moment I have ever felt alone.
I thought of the little girl who sat in front of the bathroom mirror pulling at her eyes and face, trying to figure out how to look more "normal". I thought of the girl who fought through an eating disorder in silence because she didn't look like other Asians in media. I thought of the teenager who chose to get a crease in her eyelids while under for surgery in the hopes that it would make her look "normal" only to end up with them coming out uneven and making her even more self conscious.
Every insecurity, every moment of hurt came rushing back and I couldn't help but think, what could have been different if I had been involved in something like this.
It was strange to see people who looked like me, I've lived in such a white world that for a very long time I saw myself as white. I avoided looking in mirrors because if I couldn't see myself, I could pretend that I fit in with everyone else. I would watch makeup tutorials and then angrily give up because I had a monolid or because my eyes didn't work the same way that the white people's in the tutorial did.
I still don't feel right saying that I am a person of color. I still have times when I forget that I am indeed, not white. Just recently I went to an event with a friend and had a passing thought that we were the only white ones there before reminding myself that I am Korean.
And then there are the Asians who tell me that I'm not actually Asian. Who say I must have had a white dad because I don't look fully Korean. That I wasn't raised with Asian parents so I don't know what it's like being Asian. And that cuts deeper than I can put into words.
Because, if I'm not white and I'm not Asian, then what am I? Who am I?
It's an identity crisis that many poc adoptees face throughout their lives. To be torn from your home country without a say. To be raised around people who don't look like you. To be told you don't belong in either world. It's a very isolating feeling. But, for this weekend, I have the in person reminder that I am not alone.
And truthfully, that's all I've ever wanted.