Inspired by a precocious and ingenious classmate of mine who used the word "juxtapose" when writing about China and Russia, my AP World History teacher in my sophomore year of high school proposed we challenge ourselves. "Pick a new word that you've never used before, and use it in your next essay," he instructed us.
At home, when it came time to start on the essay, I opened the dictionary and looked for the most unique word I could find. I flipped to "V" and found:
Verisimilitude.
noun. The appearance of being true or real.
Although I can't recall the context in which I used the word, I clearly remember receiving the essay back with an almost illegible red question mark next to the word "verisimilitude."
10 years after receiving that mortifying red question mark, the meaning of the word "verisimilitude" has never been so relevant to my life.
Is it possible to have a strong sense-of-self, but still struggle with the dichotomy of who I am versus who I want to be? At least I can say that I don't feel empty. How do I be "me" without feeling like an outcast, but wholly accept my true and real self? This struggle was a struggle fought unconsciously and progressively detrimental-ish (in retrospect) over the past seven years, and now, consciously, for the past ten months of my graduate study.
I recently grasped the gravity of my racial, ethnic, and cultural identity just one week ago, during my second session of therapy.
I wondered how open I should be about seeing a therapist, but it's not much of a difficult decision, unless you remind yourself that it's not as widely accepted as my colleagues and I have learned to believe it should be. The fact of the matter is: it really isn't accepted, and more so in my own Asian or Asian American background. On the contrary, I feel that it should be openly discussed because the real question is whether Asians and Asian Americans are merely suppressing and dismissing their trauma or other emotional and mental well-being (or lack thereof). I'm not ashamed at all, possibly because I'm privileged to be without a severe or persistent mental illness. I do, however, have my own set of issues that make me feel anxious, depressed, or existential at times. And I find it my own duty and service to help myself somehow, professionally. Mental health has always been a fairly silent issue in Asian American circles, yet when mental health compromises your physical health, or the problem somaticizes, we are open to seeing a physician. In fact, so many Asians end up in the psych ER-- when it's too late and costly. It makes one wonder if such an occasion could have been prevented.
Over the short course of my graduate study thus far, I've learned how to use myself to help others. But if I want to use myself, I need to come to terms with myself-- what makes me, me? What shapes my beliefs, morals, and values? How will this affect the people I try to help?
So it ended up being that I had to resolve my own issues. When I considered myself Christian, I remember telling myself that I couldn't "lead" others unless I had the faith that I needed. How can I evangelize to others when I can't quite grasp it myself? (Now I can openly admit that I only said that because I didn't want to go on missions, and that I didn't want to be a group leader). But in comparing that kind of thought-process to social work or any other helping profession, it couldn't be truer. I need to recognize that I'm a messed up person with my own biases in order to help with the messes and biases of others. I need to be honest with myself. And in finally recognizing how much of my Korean American identity truly plays out in every single part of my life and who I am and how I think, I’ve gotten closer to finding what makes me me. I realized this during my session with a white therapist, as I increasingly kept wondering what he was thinking about as I continued to speak incessantly about being Korean American.
A while back, Cliff asked me to read a KoreAm interview of that Asian dude with the hair from the buzzfeed videos. There was one thing he said that I'll never forget, which was (in terms of "advice" to AA filmmakers), "Being Asian American shouldn’t inform your work; your work should inform what being Asian American means."
I had a problem with his wording, and I might be nitpicking at something he didn't intentionally mean to say. But I have a problem with his usage of the word "shouldn't." I don't think anyone can control what informs their work, let alone "being Asian American." And in fact, isn't "being Asian American" exactly what influences your work or value system? Can anyone help that about themselves? Why is that a bad thing? Shouldn't we embrace our Asian Americanness and how it does inform our work? Because it's who we are? We shouldn't be ashamed of that by flipping it around by saying that we are who we made ourselves to be, whether we choose to identify as Asian American or simply “(insert profession here).” Because how can we reject an undeniable part of ourselves? (I am probably deconstructing that poor boy’s statement and then putting words and other stuff in his mouth, but this is how I took it, like it or not.)
I began to wonder, "Why do I focus so much on my appearance?" For example, how I appear to be “DGAF.” Appear to be “cold” (says my mom for nearly all my life). Appear to be "unapproachable."
And how much of that appearance is really me?
My challenge is being myself-- informed by my Asian Americanness-- and feeling like it's okay. I shouldn't have to prove myself to others that I'm competent, and different or better than the rest. Then I ask myself, how much of me appears to be true or real?
How cool do I have to act, to pretend like I’m not as anxious as I really am, or that I don’t think about a purposeless life, or that I have a functional social life?
Really, my work is all about advocacy and promoting choice, but it’s also recognizing that we’re all just so damn human after all.
