The struggles of being gay, Korean, and American.
I was the best son I could be. But growing up gay in a Korean Christian household, the odds were stacked against me. I learned to develop good nunchi in order to not out myself. Living in a constant state of fear, I focused on things I could control: my grades, attending church, and how people perceived my relationship with God. My parents were more “liberal” — but only in the sense that they didn’t expect me to be part of the Proud Parent Trilogy: a doctor, lawyer, or even a professor (especially since in Korea, professors can make BANK) — and they were, surprisingly, quite proud of me when I thrived in theatre and the arts. But the criteria for my life was clear: get a good job, find a good wife, and most importantly, do not be an embarrassment to them or society.
One way to avoid facing myself was to become an actor. Drama school allowed me to keep denying myself. I always felt peace playing someone else. It’s hilarious how many times I said, “I’m focusing on school and my relationship with Jesus,” when people would ask, “Do you have a girlfriend yet?” Nobody ever taught me what being gay meant — unless you count watching all the gay porn that took days to download on KaZaA. My parents were missionaries in Thailand, so growing up in Bangkok, I had little glimpses into queerness. My only interactions with queer people were at the local mall, where I would see openly gay men and wonder what it was like to feel that free to express yourself.
I struggled with the idea of coming out to my parents. When I was fifteen, my mom once asked me, “I’ve been praying and I feel as though you have something to tell me. Is there something?” My fear made me snap back, “No. There’s nothing.” For a moment, I even considered conversion therapy, because the lessons of the church were all I knew. But there was a glaring problem: how would I explain to my mom I’d be gone for a month? I decided to come out to my brother first, at the age of twenty-one. The first thing he said was, “Don’t tell mom.” Of course, never. To protect her.
To fix this, I would pray, pray, pray. Prayers to “become straight” went unanswered. I ordered a book called “What the Bible Really Says About Homosexuality” from a bookstore site called Amazon, thinking it was going to reaffirm my thoughts to try conversion therapy. However, that book saved my life. It gave me a sense of clarity and the realization that there’s more to life than being a fundamentalist Christian, that there’s a much bigger world outside the church. This one book broke down so many beliefs that I had never thought to challenge. It helped me see that people have used the Bible to condemn and judge others for something that is clearly not wrong.
As years went on, I couldn’t deny myself. I wanted to date and find love. My life was a series of hidden stories I couldn’t contain. For the first time in my life, I argued with my mom constantly. Resentment? Probably. I felt like she was the cause of all my issues. One night, we were fighting over God-knows-what and screamed until I finally broke down and asked her, “Would you still love me…if I were gay?” I was scared that she would disown me. But she surprised me. She proclaimed, “I love you no matter what and that will never change.” I had come out to my mom at the ripe age of twenty eight.
It was such a relief to know that my mother would love me as I am, no matter what — but it turned out that “no matter what” did in fact have some strings attached. Specifically: she tacitly wanted me to remain single and never tell our extended family. She repeatedly dropped hints that I should live as a celibate single man. Growing up in the US, I was exposed to the idea of individuality and living for myself. This is a struggle many first generation kids face: navigating the tension between being American and the expectations of your immigrant parents. If I were to even slightly suggest that I’m in a gay relationship without keeping my parents in mind — without considering how it would make my parents feel, or their status in the community — I’d be considered selfish. To this day, I still fight with the idea of putting myself first and not wondering, “Oh, should I not have done that?”
The year I came out was also the year I fell in love for the first time. I met Chris through our mutual friend, whom we both met through our ex-boyfriends. The entire time I was falling for him, I wondered if my mom would approve. In some ways, she did. She was willing to get to know him, and was quite generous. During that time, I felt lucky that she even entertained him, as if a morsel of her acceptance was worth gold. But then there were the times when she would balk at the mention of marriage. “But that would mean everyone would know,” she proclaimed. “So what?” I’d scream back. There would never be a resolution, because it was a moot conversation — unless my relationship with Chris took a more serious turn.
In a lot of ways, I was my mom’s rock. I was the one she could emotionally turn to in any situation. From the age of fourteen, I was the one who listened when she was having issues with my dad. Later on, I helped set up her business and managed the finances. I did all this because I wanted to be the number one son and I felt like I had to show some form of penance for being gay. Shockingly, this is not emotionally sustainable. I did not and do not want to live at the mercy of my parents’ emotions and opinions any longer. My therapist once mentioned that as members of the queer community, we focus on safety. What are you supposed to do when you outgrow your parents and they’re no longer a safe space?
Meanwhile, I was happy in my romantic relationship. I had found someone who admired my history and challenged me in my ambition. My family life was suffering but I was flourishing professionally and romantically. I didn’t have it all but I was pretty damn close. Fast forward to five years later: Chris proposed. I was now a fiancé. In a lot of ways, the word still doesn’t sit right with me because it feels tied to heteronormative culture and probably because I didn’t want to tell my family. I waited over a week to tell my mom because I knew she would not accept it. I decided to text her the news on Kakao. She left me on read. I replied to myself a couple of days later on the chat saying, “Hello???” Her response: “What do you want me to say?”
Whether it’s because of my parents or just sheepishness, I don’t really like to announce my engagement. I certainly don’t expect much when I tell people I’m engaged — I just want them to be happy for me. Everyone else was so supportive, so why couldn’t my mom be? Meanwhile, I was still managing her finances, gave her a credit card, and was her go-to for any family issues. In Korean culture, children are supposed to return the favor and take care of their parents as they get older. But in reality, I was giving my time, energy, and supporting her life while she was essentially denying my existence. The only times she would reach out was when she needed me to do administrative work for her business and to talk about money. Once I realized this, I had to free myself. I emailed her a very descriptive letter about why I was cutting her out of my life unless she apologized. She didn’t respond. She only responded when I later told her I was canceling her credit card. She started her reply with “I did nothing wrong.” She went on a rant and only mentioned how she needed the credit card to run her business and I was hurting her. That put everything into perspective for me.
I don’t feel the slight jab anymore whenever someone asks me, “How excited are your parents about your engagement?” but I do still wonder what will be in our future. I don’t regret my decisions because I did everything I could to be a “golden child.” In so many ways, I have given back to my mom what she has done for me. In the end, I still wasn’t enough. I am incredibly grateful for the sacrifices my parents made for me to get where I am. But those sacrifices do not mean they get to dictate my life. It also shouldn’t matter how much you’ve given back to your parents if they still don’t respect you. Whether it’s through marriage or anything else, I will gladly shatter that illusion of who she wanted me to be for others. I am not here to play an eternal role for my mom, denying myself and who I want to be. It’s taken me over thirty years to get to where I am. I am going to be me, a proud, gay Korean American. Why go back now?
