Searching for My Identity Morgan Yi

Searching for my Identity

By Morgan Yi

I remember how it was before the pandemic.

I could sit in small groups during late summer nights, staring at the lucid blue-black sky spotted with stars all over the endless universe. I lived in a less corrupted America. My Korean-American mind was untouched by the world of hatred that was soon to come. Never had the thought of Asian-Americans being targets of hate crimes occurred to me. When the pandemic hit, my life was ultimately shifted for the worse. It was overflowing with never ending blame and hate crimes— there seemed to be no escape.

My identity was shifted.

The coronavirus pandemic established the mindset where I felt like I constantly had to remind others that “I am not a virus.” There is no clearer way for Asians to enunciate the idea that it’s not our fault. Tackling the pandemic is something the world should work together on, instead, Asians are being alienated and blamed for something they have no control over. Walking outside with a mask on as an Asian American now feels more like walking around with far more masks than just one or two. These additional masks hinder my identity; I never know what to expect in the outside world. I am now constantly searching for a way to find myself again with the terror of what will happen every day. My mind is splitting itself in two parts: one trying to be the normal me and the other pleading for a new identity. I can’t be my true honest self.

I became scared of being me.

Along with the pain Asians are going through living in a tainted America, the rise of hate crimes against Asian Americans unnerves me. Leaving the house with a mask is no longer enough to protect me — a thin piece of material on the face cannot fight against a weapon. No mask is able to protect my mind from cruel words that slip out through hate crimes. I am now forced to shift my lifestyle into being more alert than usual, looking from side to side every moment, ready to run if necessary. Outside trips seem endless now, a never ending journey across a dangerous slope. My routes twist themselves, have obstacles every few steps; walking rapidly is now a habit. I have to observe every person I am about to walk past, as Asian hate crimes rise. For once in my life, I am scared to look like myself.

I took all of this as a way to understand Asian Americans.

Though Asian Americans may seemingly have it better than other minority groups, lately the pandemic has made Asian American mental health deplete. Through it all, Asian Americans have always had such large, supportive communities to immerse themselves in. I do not struggle to find people to relate to. The pandemic offered many opportunities for me to learn about the world and learn about being an Asian American living in New York City. Though the pandemic put people into a state of disbelief with the world, it also gave me a chance to search for my cultural identity.

But all I want is to live a normal life again.

Vol. Xl, Issue I 7