Embracing my identity: growing up biracial

Julia Herlyn ‘23 Editor-in-Chief

In a college interview this past winter, I mentioned that inclusion efforts are personally important to me because of my Asian (and thus POC) identity. My interviewer, who was of Asian descent herself, paused, shifting in her seat as a confused expression promptly emerged on her face.

She halted the interview entirely, and we subsequently deliberated over the semantics of my Asianness (much to my surprise and discomfort). “Which one of your parents is Asian?” My mother. “And where is she from?” We’re South Korean. “And what about your dad—he’s white?” Yes, his family is of western European origins (mostly Germanic, English and Swiss).

I expected that we would then resume the interview, but instead I was asked a question that has resonated with and challenged me since that day: “How does that make you feel— being Asian, but not necessarily having any obvious outward appearance of being Asian? I couldn’t tell before you told me.”

She was presumably referring to my “white” name and physical appearance, both of which aren’t necessarily indicative of my Korean heritage in a pronounced or prominent way to those who don’t know of my Korean roots.

Aside from feeling disoriented due to the circumstances of our conversation (after all, it was a college interview), the interviewer’s tone and complexion both made me immediately feel as though I was being challenged and even questioned about my identity and sense of self—like I’m less deserving to be proud of my Korean heritage because I’m biracial, rather than fully Korean.

However, as I’ve contemplated her question over the past few months, I’ve not only realized that my relationship with my Korean identity is more complex than my initial reaction to her question—frankly, I’ve also grown to understand the importance of maintaining self-love and assurance in one’s identity.

As a child (and still today), I was significantly influenced by my maternal side of my family, spending a considerable amount of time with my maternal uncle and grandma (or “Halmuni” in Korean) throughout elementary school. My uncle essentially taught me how to read, write and do basic arithmetic. My mom and uncle both introduced me to some of my favorite things in life: classical music and the arts at large, literature and Korean food. My Halmuni, who is a survivor of the Korean War, a mother of three and an active psychiatrist even today at 83, is a constant source of inspiration for me.

I’ve always taken immense pride in my Korean identity, particularly because of my relation - ships with my maternal side of my family and everything that they’ve sacrificed for me and provided me with—not only as a daughter, niece or granddaughter—but also as a person, an individual.

Since I may externally look “white”—both on paper and in a physical sense—sometimes I feel as though a significant, essential half of my identity is not being adequately represented or recognized by others, as if it is obscured by my Latin-originating name and freckled, rosy skin. Because I may not look “Asian” I may not suffer from the increasing levels of Asian hate. I’ve “revealed” my Korean identity to friends, teachers and mentors countless times, to which most say, “Oh, I didn’t know that,” and “I wouldn’t have known that if you didn’t tell me.”

I’ve questioned whether I’m less deserving to be proud of my identity or even outraged at the racism and violence toward Asian Americans because I am biracial. I’ve felt as though my white side and name are a guise that ultimately conceal my Korean heritage and pride, even though I have no shame whatsoever in my ethnicity. Despite my occasional doubts and anxieties regarding my inner dichotomy and the prejudgments of others, I repeatedly return to my internal voice to contemplate this question. Ultimately, I am—and always will be—proud of my Korean origins; not only because I feel culturally connected to Korean history and culture, but even more so because of the relationships I’ve forged with the maternal side of my family. Those bonds and shared experiences and passions have irreversibly shaped who I am today, and there is no reason for me not to take pride in who I am. My Korean identity transcends its confinements, and its implications have allowed me to grow and find myself in a holistic sense. For that, I couldn’t be more grateful.