People will always tell you that one quote or story about everyone being the same on the inside when we all look different in the outside (something about peeling different colored apples and not knowing which one was which), but I felt as if that was a concept that everyone would only understand in a perfect world.

Growing up in a predominantly white area, I only had one Asian friend at school and constantly felt extremely out of place. At home, I would speak in Korean to my parents and watch Korean TV shows with them. My favorite artists included both K-Pop groups and American artists. My favorite food was the Korean food my mom made at home, not the hot dogs or grilled chicken I was served for my school lunch. But for some reason, I never shared these things about myself at school.

One day in sixth grade, I got a call at lunch and my custom ringtone started to ring. It was a snippet of my favorite K-Pop song and my dad had taught me how to edit it using a program on the computer and then import it onto my phone so I could set it as my ringtone. I remember being so excited to show my friends because I knew I was going to be the only person who didn’t use one of the ringtones that already came with your phone. However, my friends did not give me the reaction I was looking for, and I got comments like, “Ew, what is that song?” or “What the heck is your ringtone?” or “That’s weird” instead.

Ever since then, I realized that I didn’t want to talk about the interests that I had that I knew other people could not easily relate to in fear of being shut down or alienated. I was already lacking confidence and a loud voice, so that one small incident in sixth grade impacted the way I decided I wanted to present myself for the next few years.

I wanted nothing more than to fit in, and I blamed my inability to do so on the fact that I was constantly torn between two cultures. I was Korean by ethnicity and American by citizenship, but these two worlds seemed so different and far apart in my head. I wanted to participate in the lunch table discussions about Glee and the new Taylor Swift album, and I slowly abandoned my favorite Korean TV shows and singers in exchange for the Billboard Top 100 and ABC Family. I spent the entirety of middle school and the first year of high school being ashamed of who I was, unable to find a balance between these two cultures. I thought that the easiest thing to do was to abandon one, and by the end of eighth grade, I stopped speaking in fluent Korean at home.

Looking back on it now, I want to tell myself that forcing myself to be someone that I’m not is a waste of time and will only hinder my growth. During high school, I’ve learned to embrace both of my cultures and I now consider being able to shape my identity from two unique and amazing backgrounds as a blessing. I didn’t need to choose one or the other. I will now proudly acknowledge that half of my diet consists of hot pot and bubble tea, binge-watch my favorite Korean TV shows, and blast K-Pop in my car while my friends roll their eyes at me, and I will also excitedly go to indie concerts with my friends, “accidentally” watch an entire season of Friends in one day, and eat an entire pizza in one sitting. I’ve never been happier being myself, as a Korean-American, and showing my friends what I love about my cultures.

Most importantly, I now know that my ethnicity is not my identity, but something that plays a role in developing my identity. It’s not something that will hinder me, limit me, or prevent me from doing the things I love and impacting those around me. From now on, I won’t let anybody tell me that my ethnicity will define my place in the world.