Dear You, my reader -
Unless you've been living under a rock since May 25, 2020, you've probably heard the name George Floyd at least once. I'm also assuming you are familiar with some of the events that have happened and protests that have taken place since then. That being said, you probably also have your opinions - or at least some sort of thought - on everything. Now, in the last two-and-a-half weeks (or so), I have lost friends and even extended family members due to a difference of opinion on (or even a difference of opinion on the level of importance of) this particular topic. I know many people have stated through social media that they also are willing to lose friends over this, but for many this is because there is such a high degree of emotion coursing through our veins right now. Yet, for me - it's not emotion-driven and I decided to write this letter to explain why.
As a quick aside, I would like to point out that this is by no means directed at any individual person or people. I'm not trying to "call out" those that I have already spoken to or those who have decided not to speak to me about the subject matter. I have been accused of "judging" and "being harsh" to people I have communicated to directly and so I felt the need to find a space to *try* to explain where I'm coming from purely. This is 100% about me (in what I hope is not a 100% selfish manner). This is my perspective and therefore my reality of the situation - and this is why it affects me the way that is does. I'm not "arguing" someone else's point or justification of their opinion. This is me. This is my truth; and, I just hope that maybe - perhaps - it'll turn on a tiny lightbulb for someone who didn't understand it in this way before; but, even if it doesn't, it's cathartic for me to speak my truth.
My name is Ashley. I am 34 years old. I am Korean. I am adopted (and, therefore, an immigrant). I was raised by white parents in small town Minnesota. I have a sister and brother. They are also white. I have a large extended family. I am the only person of color. However, I grew up as your average Minnesotan... for the most part. As a child, I never thought of myself as different. I had friends. I played with my sister, my cousins. I loved our pets. (I loved everyone's pets.) I enjoyed school. I went to church. I loved tator tot hotdish, meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and corn on the cob. I lived (and loved) my life. Of course, every once in awhile, a family member would say something like, "Well, not you, Ashley, you're family." but I never really paid much attention to it. Or, I do remember that one time when my cousin told me I could use chopsticks because "it's in your blood". Or another time when a different cousin told me I was adopted because my real parents just didn't want me... or that time at school when someone made a joke about my face being so flat cause I was hit with a wok. I mean, kids say the darndest things, right? Heck - after watching "Harold and Kumar" my sister and I often joked about how I was a "Twinkie". (Yellow on the outside, white on the inside.) It's funny. It's just fun and games. But, something changed when I was 12 - and it wasn't attached to being Korean at all: I got sick.
Now, if you don't know me personally, you're thinking, "Okay... so what?" but this wasn't a cold or the flu or even something more serious like pneumonia. I got really, really sick. Actually, I got really, really tired. A few days of missing school and I was diagnosed with mono. I was told to "rest, hydrate, and let it run its course". The course it ran caused me to sleep 20 hours a day - every day - for about three months. Long story short, it wasn't mono. That initial three month illness eventually put my family and I on a six-year quest to figure out what was wrong.
During those six years, so much changed for me - but not in the way you may think. Most people mature between the ages of 12 through 18, but for me a lot of that was stunted. I no longer could hang out with friends. School was a constant stress. I gave up trying to get up early enough to go to church. I still loved our pets, but it wasn't as fun when I couldn't go and run around with them in the yard. I didn't date. I was constantly going to doctor appointments (and would often be told it was just in my head and nothing was wrong with me physically); and, my parents were my main source of social interaction, information, support, and education. It was tough especially because the main difference - the biggest change in my life in those six years - was that I started to feel and believe that I *AM* "different".
For me, the easiest way to process being different was to put labels on it; and, my stunted maturity caused me to hold on to the notion that life was black-and-white much longer than I think I may have otherwise. I was in my bubble of this and that, black and white, right and wrong, male and female, 0 and 1. You know, the binary system. But, obviously, some things aren't one-or-the-other; some things you need to get out the label-maker for, right? So I started to label myself. My name is Ashley. I'm adopted. I'm female. I'm single. Check. Check. Check. Check... Those were easy. I'm Korean... but, I'm also American. So, I'm... Korean-American. Why choose between the two? Check. I'm attracted to men... but... I'm also attracted to women... I guess I'm bisexual. Check! I'm sick... but I don't know with what - and some doctors believe it's all in my head. So, is it physical or mental? I guess I'll just say, "Sick." Check. And, basically, that's how I defined myself. Those labels made up who I am.
So, how does this tie into George Floyd, Black Lives Matter, systemic racism, and the protests? Well, I guess I have to give you a little more backstory about me - but bear with me. When I was 18, I found out I had been born with a hole in my heart - and though my open heart surgery didn't fix all of my health issues, it helped a lot. Suddenly, I wasn't "sick" anymore, but I still wasn't "healthy". (And, there's no "sick-ish" label.) Gah! My labeling system was all screwed up now. And then the over-thinking kicked into overdrive: Who am I? How can I define myself without labels? What other labels have changed? Am I really bisexual? I seem more interested in boys than girls lately so maybe I'm heterosexual... or, heteroflexible? What about being Korean-American? My friend, another Korean adoptee, is WAY more interested in Korean things than I am so maybe I'm just American. However, I have encountered some racism, so clearly people see me as Korean... so, maybe I should be more Korean? Do I need these labels to define me or am I just supposed to define my labels? Why did I sleep for those six years instead of figure out who I was going to be as an adult? (Probably because you were so sick doctors were telling your parents to make funeral arrangements...) But, now I don't know who I am!
So for a long time I "walked the fence". I didn't label myself one way or the other - I was just sort of waiting to see which way I teetered... and then the 2016 election came around. Though I don't want to make this post too political, let's just say that I *have* been treated differently since then. And, I realized that even though I'm not sure which label I would give myself, sometimes labels were going to be placed upon me by others. One label that seemed to be placed upon me purely because of my appearance and/or the country in which I was born was "second-class". Though I would encounter "ignorant" racism (the racism with good intentions behind it) before 2016, I rarely encountered blatant racism. Since 2016, unfortunately I can no longer say that. I've been asked if I'm "an illegal" more than once or had people say, "Ching-chong-ching" as I walked by (and let's not even get started on how things have changed since COVID). These changes in society, in how people began treating me so unabashedly hateful made me realize that though it was never meant with malicious intent - every time I encountered "ignorant" racism, it was because that person saw me differently. Even as a child, when family would say, "Well, not you Ashley, you're family" - they still noticed I was different than them. I was not the same. I was not equal. And though those people may not have said it or even consciously thought it, it was because they saw me (or people like me) as lesser. And that's when I realized that I had a responsibility to advocate for myself. Honestly? I felt like I finally had a purpose. It was no longer about "who am I?" - it was about "why am I here?". The idea of advocating for myself and the marginalized communities that I am a part of makes me more confident. It finally gives me a bit of clarity as of why I have experienced so many experiences I have had.
I have said numerous times to family, friends, my therapist, strangers - it's impossible to find someone who completely understands what it's like to be female, pansexual, Asian, an immigrant, chronically ill, "plus-size", yadda yadda, [add label here] living in South Dakota in 2020. You may understand one facet of my life, but I highly doubt you'll find someone who relates to every facet. (And, I know you're thinking, "Everyone is different. No one is going to understand someone else 100%." and yes, I understand that way of thinking, too - but if you took two heterosexual, white males who grew up in a town of 100 people or less in the Midwest and put them together, they'd understand a heckuva lot more about each other than me and another Asian woman. See what I'm saying?) The one thing I wish I could find is someone who was empathetic enough to take what I tell them about *my* experience at face level. Even my family who has known me my entire life doesn't understand every aspect (mainly the sick/racism aspects). So for me, I don't want to have to explain every single thing - but if someone could empathize and try to see from my perspective, it would make all the difference to *MY* world.
I am not black. I am not male. I'm not seen as a threat. If anything, Asians are seen as the "model minority". Statistically, Asians make decent wages because of the type of professions they're in. I grew up with a lot of white privilege and I've also gotten some perks of being an Asian woman. I am aware that I don't have it bad. I am aware that I am not George Floyd, Tamir Rice, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, etc. I have never had an issue with a police officer - personally or professionally. I haven't been followed around a store because the sales person was worried I was going to steal something or had someone shout a racial slur at me; but, I know that racial inequality does exist because I have experienced it. I know that Americans are filled with implicit biases because I was raised here and I have them, too.
This Revolution gives people of *all* marginalized communities hope. The progress the Black Lives Matter movement has made in the last few weeks has given me so much hope. It is not cops vs. BLM. It is not white vs. black. It is not left vs. right, Republicans vs. Democrats, tRump Supporters vs. people who type it tRump. It is about allowing people with first-hand experience explain their experiences to better this country, our government, and the world. It's about proving that we're all one human race, we're all created equally, and we should all be treated as such. It's about empathy and understanding that some of us will never understand. It's about love. This is why I'm so passionate about the Black Lives Matter Movement and why it's so important to me. I support Black Lives Matter because I know the benefits and the difference it'll make for so many of us. This is about uniting by being honest with ourselves and others.
Peace, Love, and Kia Kaha -
Ashley
You communicate very well Ashley. Thanks for sharing.
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