Being a person of both Korean and Jewish heritage has been one of the most interesting experiences I could ever ask for. I've been lucky enough to visit South Korea, to meet my family there and understand a little more of the history surrounding my heritage. I've also been able to see the other side of the coin, growing up in the United States.
While I feel more than blessed to have two cultures within me, my identity does not come without its drawbacks. I can't even count the number of times I've been asked: "Where are you from?" or, "Where are your parents from?" I'll answer, "Oh, we're from Maryland." And then comes the deadly follow-up question.
"No. Where are you really from?"
Depending on my mood on that given day, I'll react in a number of ways. I might smile and explain that one of my parents is from South Korea—I might repeat that both my family and I are really truly from Maryland. Or, if I'm feeling a bit spiteful, I'll ignore the person completely.
When I think hard about what exactly about the question bothers me, I'd have to say it comes down to the norms that surround it. Although the United States is a supposed melting pot, there's still the assumption that to be from "here" is to be white—and if you're not, then there's still a part of you that just doesn't quite fit in.
Because if you look the slightest bit different, people assume that you're foreign, perhaps they'll even call you exotic, and take the time to ask you where you're from because they're genuinely curious. Maybe they'll use it as a conversation starter. Maybe they'll say it just to be obnoxious. I don't know.
I don't automatically hate every person who's asked me that question, and I don't automatically think there's always a bad intention behind it. But I do think that people should think twice before asking.
You're not just questioning where the person is from, but whether they look like someone who belongs here, whether they fit into your picture of America. I might be a second-generation immigrant, but that doesn't mean I don't consider Maryland my home. I feel every bit as American as the person who's been here for 40 years, as well as the person who's been here for 40 days.
At the end of the day, the stranger who asks me "Where are you from?" won't make or break my certainty in who I am. But there are a thousand other questions that some stranger could ask, the simplest yet most profound one being, "How are you?" It just might be the question that makes a person's day.
