In kindergarten, I developed a fear of Koreans.
My school required all Koreans to participate in the Korean English as a Second Language (ESL) program. Our ESL teacher fetched the nine of us daily and taught us English vocabulary and grammar in a separate classroom. Although I was nearly fluent, I learned crucial skills in the sheltered environment that greatly affected my being today; the most important lesson I received in my mandatory four years of ESL corrected my usage of “butterfree” (à la Pokémon) with “butterfly.”
Everyday I ventured out of my humble Oriental abode to school; yet somehow – at a single glance – the Koreans knew that I was different: I watched Arthur; they watched Sailor Moon. I was born in America; they left the country within two years. Even biologically, we were different: I could drink cow’s milk; they, for the most part, could not.
They never invited me to join their exclusive and elaborate Korean games similar to Ring Around the Rosie, although I did make initial efforts to invite them to play with me, but, for whatever reason, prancing around like ponies in search of glowing inchworms never quite appealed to them.
I didn’t ask for much when I was in kindergarten. I was well fed (in those days, the cafeteria served us cookies bigger than CDs), well rested and had access to more markers than I could count. But, I wanted to befriend my fellow ESL classmates. So one day, I held out my hand to a Korean girl while walking through the hallway. She squealed, turned away, scampered around me to join hands with another Korean girl and they giggled together for the next hour. I bought an extra-large cookie that day.
After kindergarten, I shied away from all Korean students, but starting in third grade, I became “the translator” for the new Korean students who came and left every year. These students teased me for my Korean accent, which was tinged with an English slur, and then followed me around like sad puppies because of their dependency on my translating abilities.
I’ll admit it: sometimes, I fear rejection from Koreans. But ever since I entered high school and met other Koreans already somewhat fluent in English, I’ve slowly been able to reconcile with my Korean heritage.
October is National Anti-Bullying Month. It has taken me over a decade to recognize the psychology behind my phobia from these few bad incidences in elementary school. Small incidences add up, and it took me years to overcome this ostracism.
Sabina Lee can be contacted at [email protected]
