Sometimes I wish my parents would go back to Korea, just so they could stop using their inability to have learned competent basic English as an excuse to be irresponsible and push the burden of their woes onto my sister and I. It sounds terrible, but I sometimes believe that if the monumental, albeit imaginary, language and cultural barrier didn’t stand in front of them, my parents might be able to take care of their own bullshit as opposed to heaping the responsibilities onto their children.
I understand the value of family and that we’re all supposed to be there for one another unconditionally, but in order for things to genuinely have any remote shot at success, all lines of communication must be open, and there has to be a mutual respect and acceptance that exists from all parties involved. I have no problem with helping my family or other people in general, because I like to imagine myself as a fairly decent person at the core, but it gets to a point where people that people who don’t help themselves are beyond any external help. That’s how I feel about my family sometimes, and it makes me feel genuinely lousy.
The story goes like this: Second-generation Koreans emigrate to the United States to do some sort of blue-collar work, whether it’s something agricultural or something more mundane like dry cleaning or operating a liquor store. I can’t say that I necessarily understand the rationale behind it, but often times the justification is “for the kids,” and often times “to have a better life.” The third generation of Koreans are essentially raised as Americans with as much Korean ideals as they are forcibly engrained with. In the perfect ending to this story, they become successful and make a boatload of money to where they can support their aging parents through the remainder of their lives as well as sustaining themselves and produce the next generation and sustain them too, with hopes that they will repeat the cycle, however theoretically from a higher starting point.
But the world ain’t perfect, and we live in reality. There aren’t nearly enough happy endings.
Continue reading “There are times when I resent being Korean”
