Neither Here nor There — a Positional Relativity.
I moved around from place to place throughout my lifetime. I was born in Korea, lived in Miami for most of my childhood, then in Jacksonville for middle school days. After that, I moved to Atlanta until I graduated from high school, then moved out to Southern California. I even lived in Mexico for a bit. As a Korean American that lived through various life stages across the US, it’s safe to say that I developed a bit of a diasporic identity.
It seems like an irony to talk about diaspora while my only living experience mostly centers around the US, but I must confess that my sense of belonging is, to put vaguely, “neither here nor there.” For example: As I get more and more acquainted with people, they naturally ask where I’m from to which I respond with, “lots of places.” I admit, it is a weird response but it isn’t far from the truth. Over time, I had to make conversational revisions about my “positional relativity” for the sake of simplicity.
Growing up as both Korean and American, I had my roots tied to both cultures. When talking with my parents’ friends or other people that don’t speak a lick of English, the topic of where I come from ALWAYS comes up. What’s interesting about my conversational revisions is that depending on whom I am addressing, my answer for where I’m from varies. In this particular case, because I am native-fluent in Korean, other native Koreans assume that I moved from Korea most likely in my teens and therefore I would be asked when I moved to America. Although they are correct in assuming that I am from Korea, I can’t help but feel resentment for their presumptions of me when they don’t even KNOW ME! Korea doesn’t feel like home to me anyhow.
I think this attitude of feeling profiled comes from my days in Florida where I faced heavy racism. Being part of the Bible-belt of America, my classmates of Trinity Christian Academy always assumed I was Chinese regardless of the countless times I’ve tried explaining that Korea didn’t equate to China. During this stage of my life, when people would ask me where I was from, I’d tell them that I was from right down the road on Sage Tree Court. Ironically, I felt like that wasn’t really my home either.
Now that I’m older and having lived in Los Angeles, whenever this question would come up I always respond with “LA” whenever I’m with fellow Angelinos. It’s much different from when I hang out with my friends that moved from Atlanta because I always identify as a Georgian amongst them. Regardless, I feel somewhat awful for misrepresenting Jacksonville, Miami or Korea when I say these things. Still, sometimes when asked where I’m from, there’s a part of me that always wonders where the heck that is anyway.
Last year, I visited Georgia for the first time in years because of a friend’s wedding and I couldn’t help but feel at a loss of place. My friends were still into dirty southern, deep-fried fish and chips while my palate has been spoiled by Los Angeles’ fine restaurant culture. They were still into Patron shots while I’m good with my Macallan 18, neat. For pictures, everyone would do the A-town down but I simply couldn’t get myself to do it.
You would think that some of these things are menial, but these nuances whisper volumes in telling me that I’m out of place, like I’ve broken some kind of alliance or was unfaithful to my homeland. It’s like what Ranajit Guha said in The Migrant’s Time,
“Codes of belonging which include alliance and hostility, love of neighbors and fear of strangers, and respect for tradition and resistance to change all helps a population to form a community through mutual understanding…”
As a contributor to Diaspora & Identity, my position in nationalism has been an elegant development. You see, I’m always used to a linear storyline with a particular beginning and am able to trace its progression to a particular present. In my case, there is this seemingly back and forth, neither here nor there identity that I struggled with because of this inclination to have an exact beginning and a traceable present. The truth is, I am and probably will continue to struggle to find a communal identity so long as I live. Where I’m from or where I will be are not a means to an identity but rather a sense of self-assurance to my ego of clearly defining a linear storyline.
Guha says that the discourse of belonging is more than linguistic compulsion, but more fundamentally an existential question of being in time. Perhaps I’ve got it twisted: it’s not about where I’m from or where I will be, but what am I now? So far, I am a Korean-born having lived in Miami, Jacksonville, Atlanta, Los Angeles and Mexico. I’m not from any of these places singularly but all at once. My response to where I am from would depend entirely on you.
