I hid the fact that I played the violin, was good at math, that I was intelligent, that I ate Korean food, that I talked with my parents on the phone in a different language, and that we were different. I hated my Korean culture. I never wanted to bring my friends over because of my Asian household.

I used to judge other Asians with my fake Caucasian friends who kept me around as entertainment. I was the butt of every joke in high school and started with my Asian ethnicity. Before Halloween, I teepeed a Chinese Immigrants House while doing ding dong ditch. The father opened the door and I watched as my friends teased him because he didn’t speak English. My father’s image eye passed before my eyes, and yet I did nothing. I teased him and judged his son on the bus. I never stood up for the guy.

My parents did work at nail salons and dry cleaners. And I allowed people to make fun of that. I didn’t see that their jobs were the symbol of hard work and how immigrants work their butts off to make a living for their families. I remember my mom came home crying once that kids harassed her, mocking her by creating “Asian eyes”, and making fun of her. I remember I wanted to kill them. I told her I wanted to come to work and protect her.

This went all the way through my adult life. I allowed others to tease me, to look down on our race. They said they were joking and you know what, I accepted that. But I always knew in the back of my mind, I did not want to accept it. I wanted to speak up about it. I wanted to tell them, “hey, the jokes are disrespectful. I don’t care that you find it funny. I do not. So I appreciate it if you stop.” However, I never spoke up. Day by day, my own confidence decreased and I never accepted my Asian Male identity.

Then I got stationed in South Korea and everything changed. For the first time, I was never judged as an “Asian Male”. I was judged on me, on what kind of man I was. Everyone judged me on my words, my actions, my habits, and never what the color of my skin was.