Tonal Magazine

Sarah Kim
Sarah Kim
Aug 22, 2017 · 5 min read

Let’s talk interracial marriage.

I never knew how Korean I was until I married a white boy from New Jersey.

Rewind a few years back. While living in New York, I would often see young, fobby Asian girls with much older white men. Needless to say, it was really off putting. I wasn’t attracted to white boys anyway, so in my head, it really didn’t matter.

I was a practical Korean Christian female who was going to marry a Korean Christian man, not because anyone was pressing me about it, (truly, my parents weren’t pushing anything on me, so grateful) but because very naturally, it was the kind of person I was attracted to. Or so I thought.

Then, with my guard down, I fell in love with my good friend, a guy from New Jersey, Italian and Polish, who was the opposite of everything I thought I wanted. Like Kathleen Hanna put it, when she fell for Beastie Boy Adam Horowitz, you can’t help who you love.

So began the interesting and trying path that lead to our marriage just earlier this year. We accept each other and our differences, adore each other, but MARRIAGE is a different game people.

My identity, who was I, as a daughter, sister, friend, writer, magazine maker, was questioned in relation to this new role as wife. It just was an interesting exploration. Growing up, your girl wasn’t ever Korean enough for the Koreans, but never white enough, or black enough or anything else enough for those groups. (Nor should I have been but Korean didn’t ever seem like a perfect fit until I got older). Then tie this in to feeling ultra Korean in this new context of marriage. It’s a whole different identity whirlwind.

For those others who are journeying, let me warm you up for what you’re about to face, or for those who are in the same boat, let’s empathize in the things I’m listing below. Let’s call this Interracial Marriage 101.

Him: Shoes on

Her: Shoes off

Listen, my man’s feet are huge. So when he walks in the house with his shoes on, all I see are the streets of LA, filth, feces, now all inside my home where I wet swiffer, then dry swiffer, as often as my OCD will allow me to.

I’m shoes off always. If I could be barefoot everywhere, I would. Socks? Hate them. The middle ground? Slippers. House slippers. The comforts of a foot covering, without the filth of Los Angeles. Win win for both husband and wife.

His: Dishwasher

Hers: Drying Rack

My man comes home, goes into the kitchen and asks me what the dishes are doing in the dishwasher and why the dishwasher is open.

It’s obvious, they’re drying. See, in Korean culture, the dishwasher is equivalent to the drying rack because to waste the money and electricity bill to run the dishwasher is straight up lazy. Plus as a Korean woman, it is fully engrained in me that this American invention will not clean the dishes nearly as well as I can. *(if you need another reference watch the episode of Fresh Off the Boat with the dishwasher).

He calmly asks me, “So you’re just gonna leave the dishwasher door open like that?”

“Again, they’re drying. So yes,” I answer with a strongly annoyed, isn’t it obvious tone.

He’s caught me using the dishwasher as a dishwasher (imagine?) on occasion and I gotta say, it works damn well.

His: ???

Hers: Kimchi

Kimchi is fermented spicy cabbage. It’s as popular, if not more popular, than rice, even in Korean culture. One time my mom ran out of rice, so she had kimchi with bread. There isn’t a comparable “his” version to this but real love/marriage is having kimchi in your fridge with all other contents contained in the same space. The smell penetrates the other food, then once the fridge door opens it lingers in the kitchen. To a Korean person, it’s a beautiful smell. To others, I’ve heard it described as sticky socks.

His: We’re sleeping in the same room at my mom’s house the first time we visit, it’s fine.

Hers: Yea, you’re probably going to have to get a hotel room close but not too close to my parents house when you meet them.

Weeks ahead of my man visiting my parents, in my hometown of Tacoma, WA, I had a talk with Mama and Papa Kim about where my man would stay. Our house? Completely off limits. He would be staying at a hotel.

The second time he came home with me, same convo, but he would be sleeping in the living room on the couch. Or he would be sleeping in the guest room and I would be sleeping in the living room on the couch. In the same house though? I’ll take it.

We got married a few months ago, went home, and my parents calmly said they cleaned the guest room for us. When we arrived, we all ate together, went out and watched a movie, came back home and happily, having earned it, told them goodnight, closed the door and slept together. In the same room. In the same bed.

His: I went to mass with my dad so I could play in the basketball league.

Hers: We are going to church every single Sunday for the rest of our lives and our children will be raised in a Christian household.

This was the hardest part for me. He had assumed, to some extent, that I was culturally Christian, thinking it was just how I grew up and a part of me wanting to keep Korean tradition. But for me, my faith is fully a part of my identity, like being female, like being Korean. It wasn’t this thing I could put on and take off.

It just took some time and explaining to voice that to him in a way that wasn’t abrasive or trying to thwart or convince him on something that he wasn’t for, but wasn’t against. It was a negotiation and an acceptance on both of our parts: for me, to be with someone who only went to church to be able to play ball. And for him, to be with someone who was so engrained in and whose life was informed by that higher power.

People are who they are, apart from race, but not being able to separate from this part of who we are, (nor should we) it’s in relation to each other that we grow and become more fully the people we are meant to be.

Dating then marrying my guy, fueled, challenged and has made this exploration even more interesting, and I’d like to say, it’s made me better. And exposed just how Korean I am.

To those who are Korean but not Korean enough, have a white man walk into your home with his shoes on to show you just how Korean you are. On the flip side, have him not complain about your kimchi’s penetrating smell and have him attend church with you every Sunday to know you found a real one.

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    Sarah Kim

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    Sarah Kim