Not My White Savior Read online

  This is a Genuine Vireo Book

  A Vireo Book | Rare Bird Books

  453 South Spring Street, Suite 302

  Los Angeles, CA 90013

  rarebirdbooks.com

  Copyright © 2018 by Julayne Lee

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever, including but not limited to print, audio, and electronic. For more information, address: A Vireo Book | Rare Bird Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 453 South Spring Street, Suite 302,

  Los Angeles, CA 90013.

  Set in Minion

  epub isbn: 9781947856578

  Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data is available upon request.

  For adopted Koreans

  and what we have lost

  Contents

  Introduction

  The Temperature

  The Sound of My Name is Revolution

  I Am From a Revolution

  Asian American History 101

  How Often Do You Masturbate?

  Return to Sender

  The Price of Silence

  More Than Salt Can Hold

  A Very Terrible Trauma

  Dear White Family,

  Relinquishment Quiz

  Consider

  Drop Box

  My Body’s DMZ

  Said Child

  For My Mother

  Jealousy

  Mother’s Day Mourning

  Honor Thy Father

  Birthday Surprise!

  My Last Birthday

  See Out of These Slits

  Harry Holt’s Little Shop of Horrors

  Fuck You, White Barbie

  Eyes Wide Open

  Racist Hair

  Spa Stories

  My Body is Testimony

  100 Day American

  Dear adopters,

  Assimilation

  Seventh Grade White Men

  Stupid Things People Say to Adopted Koreans

  Are You My Mother?

  The Map of My Body

  Cousinland

  What Language Do You Dream In?

  The Words Don’t Fit in My Brain

  Homeland Insecurities

  What Do You Miss About Korea?

  After I Left

  Dual Citizen

  A Holocaust of Children

  Death Should Not Inspire Me

  Open Letter to the Korean Red Cross

  KADalicious

  The Plane to France

  Pyeongchang 2018 Charter

  Korean ICA—Internment Camps of Abduction

  North of the 38th or Mr. Obama Please Apologize!

  Teleporting Babies

  Psalm for White Saviors

  My Ancestors Were Royalty

  Notes

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Introduction

  As a result of the Korean War, approximately two hundred thousand Koreans have been sent to Western countries via inter-country adoption (ICA). I am one of those two hundred thousand. We are living evidence of a history that has far too often been romanticized, glamorized, and inaccurately and incomprehensively documented. However, we have the grand opportunity to bear witness to the evolution of our own history.

  This collection of poetry traces my journey from Korea to Minnesota to Los Angeles. Adoptees are often told how lucky we are and how grateful we should be because we have had a better life. Whenever I hear this, I question the definition of better. Better than what? Better than staying with our original families? Better than preserving our ethnic heritage? Alongside any gratitude or luck, lay a multitude of layers of complexity of grief, trauma, and loss. We are multi-dimensional, unique individuals, and each of us has a story to tell.

  It is my vision that this book will challenge conventional perceptions and narratives of inter-country and transracial adoption and continue to shift the discourse to a broader spectrum, deconstructing the white savior mentality. This is my contribution to the documentation of our invisible history.

  Thank you for joining me on this journey.

  Julayne

  I.

  The Temperature

  The Sound of My Name is Revolution

  My name tastes like a princess torte

  from Wuollet’s, the Larchmont Bungalow

  it’s savory like Thai Cambodian lunch

  at Sophy’s in Long Beach

  it’s like Brie cheese

  paired with Penfold’s Cabernet

  refreshing, healthy

  like pressed raw juice

  My name is where I start

  when, where, how did I begin?

  my personal history

  basic human right

  yet systems, governments

  block me

  Is it privilege to know these things?

  is it privilege

  to have only one legal name

  on this planet

  instead of three?

  is it privilege to have a name

  you can just say

  no one reacts to?

  sometimes I can’t even just say

  my name to an operator

  My name a blessed curse

  I will take to the grave

  unless I hire an attorney

  stand before a judge

  bring two trusted witnesses

  pay four hundred dollars

  notify the INS

  initiate a background check

  on myself

  So I embrace each secret part of my name

  the sound of my name is revolution

  a melody

  unknown, familiar song

  people mispronounce

  like fingernails on chalkboards

  when I see my name misspelled

  it invokes trauma

  it’s revolting, repulsive

  a punch to my gut

  My name paints every shade of blue

  like the ocean

  a palette of reactions

  water can be friend or foe

  bring relief or tragedy

  quenches thirst at marathon’s end

  chokes out life in a New Orleans hurricane

  My name Julayne

  means youthful heart, youthful spirit

  perfect love sometimes absent

  I found the missing piece

  for my heart-shaped name

  I measure my name in metric and imperial

  measure it in wine, cheese, olives, hummus,

  chocolate, red velvet cupcakes,

  measure it in maple bacon sweet potato fries,

  steak salads,

  and ice cream birthday cakes

  The temperature of my name a fever

  when too many people I meet

  for the first time

  respond in introduction

  that I have such a beautiful name

  or icy cold

  just because you think my name is beautiful

  I’ve never heard that name before!

  doesn’t mean I want to have coffee with you

  to talk about how exotic and romantic

  you think it sounds

  The texture of my name like a nail file

  one side sand paper

  few accurately pronounce

  and not project awkwardness

&nb
sp; the first time

  the other side smooth,

  beautiful,

  easy to pronounce

  rhymes with Tulane

  rolls off your tongue like a revolutionary chant

  Ann Taylor destination the scent of my name

  extinct fragrance

  my name is Ocean Breeze

  Eucalyptus, Jasmine

  If I could give my name a new meaning

  you’d hear

  Ambitious

  Relentless

  Rainmaker

  Fierce

  Genuine

  Loyal

  Badass!

  I Am From a Revolution

  That won’t let memory die

  I swam in peace and war

  submerged trauma

  in my mother’s womb

  sold to white savior body snatchers

  I am from a revolution

  that floats in Pacific oxygen

  waves rock eternal slumber

  exhale between east and west

  mask grief, loss

  I am from a revolution

  that rests in Buddhist temples

  meditates on kimchi

  drinks beer and soju with monks

  revolution that conquered Japan

  revolution that will conquer

  star-spangled banner freedom

  which revolution are you from?

  Asian American History 101

  This class didn’t exist in my day

  we were invisible

  liberal arts degree failed

  to educate me about myself

  chorus member in The King & I

  white people in yellow face

  no grad school Asian American History

  Minnesota’s oldest university

  I pieced together my own

  Asian American History course

  In Minnesota

  I signed up for night school

  weekend class on Washington

  Equilibrium

  Diaspora Flow

  Asian American Renaissance

  at The Loft

  Macalester Chapel

  Weisman on the East Bank

  Theater Mu

  Mixed Blood Theater

  on the West Bank

  Distance learning

  at the Hot House in Chicago

  East Meets West in Boston

  for The Summit

  travel through a dozen Asian countries

  The House of Sharing

  weekly demonstration

  with the Comfort Women

  In Cali, my weekend class

  Sunday Jump on Temple

  Common Ground night school

  Café on Tuesday Night

  The Great Mic

  and Our Mic

  because We Own the 8th

  My professors have PhDs in their

  Asian American experience

  I Was Born With 2 Tongues

  Isangmahal

  Proletariat Bronze

  Mongrel

  Mango Tribe

  Magnetic North

  Blue Scholars

  Yellow Rage

  ForWord

  Ishle Park

  Bao Phi

  Giles Li

  Ed Bok Lee

  Anida Yeou Ali

  Theresa Vu

  Beau Sia

  Lady Basco

  Traci Kato-Kiriyama

  Denizen Kane

  David Mura

  Joe Kadi

  Lawson Inada

  They assigned me

  five-dollar chapbooks

  CDs, documentaries

  Bamboo Among the Oaks

  Yellow: Race in America Beyond Black and White

  Asian American Dreams

  Angry Asian Man

  First Person Plural

  Resilience

  Broken Speak

  Legends from Camp

  Song I Sing

  extra credit?

  move to Korea

  agitate as an activist

  incite a revolution

  fundraise for the Summit

  continue our education

  write and share publicly

  workshop with Asian American youth

  document our history

  with poetry and pictures

  The tuition affordable

  No student loans

  No work study program

  five–ten dollar sliding scale per class

  or FREE!

  Pop-up classrooms

  each life a library of lessons

  poetry and art

  write our history

  for the next generation!

  How Often Do You Masturbate?

  Inspired by “Not Your Fetish” by I Was Born With Two Tongues

  I did not ask, Do you masturbate?

  I asked how often?

  now before you start blushing

  and try to deny any private behavior

  and get in your one-track mind

  let me clarify

  how often

  do you masturbate

  in my culture?

  Korean culture?

  Oh, see now

  the answer is even more embarrassing

  but you’re more willing to admit

  that you unconsciously masturbate

  in my culture regularly

  some of you daily

  some of you

  it’s easier to identify how often you don’t masturbate

  in my culture

  Koreatown

  Korean dramas

  Kpop

  Korean Wave

  KCON

  Kakao Talk

  Kogi trucks

  and kimchi

  make you more hipster and trendy than your neighbors who shop at the farmers market

  don’t own cars

  have one of those toilets you don’t flush

  Living in Koreatown

  does not mean you’re more socially conscious

  it means you masturbate not only in my culture

  but also Mexican culture

  having a premium membership to Drama Fever

  so you can watch Korean dramas commercial free

  only means

  you can watch Korean dramas

  commercial free

  adding kimchi to your menu

  does not make your New American restaurant

  diverse and cultured

  especially when your kimchi sucks

  You think teaching English in Korea for a year

  makes you an expert on all things Korean

  but remember

  Koreans were exploiting you

  as their English prostitute

  For you

  my culture is your playground

  your Disneyland

  for me

  it means forced liberation from myself

  my culture has required me to decolonize myself

  my culture has asked me if I am Korean

  or American

  I am 100 percent both

  You

  get to choose

  for me

  this culture is my obligation

  so please

  stop masturbating

  in my culture!

  Return to Sender

  *Since 1953, Korea has sent over one hundred fifty thousand children to the USA via inter-country adoption. Due to a loophole in the Child Citizenship Act, there are an estimated t
hirty-five thousand inter-country adoptees living without US citizenship. Some have been deported to their country of origin.

  Korea exported me to America

  before I could speak my name

  Minnesota, Land of ten thousand Lakes

  Better Life, education

  Forever family bruises

  denied me US citizenship

  homeless, absent high school degree

  starvation shoplifts

  military time served

  America’s Promised Prison Land

  Deported back to Korea

  Incheon Airport lobby

  solitary confinement persists

  no Welcome sign

  not even a

  family reunions surround me

  mother’s bouquet

  embraces graduated daughter

  No arms encircle my ghost body

  Korean streets handcuff

  my life sentence

  birth land homesickness

  leftover kimchi barely sustains

  midnight Han River bridges

  protect my frozen soul

  brain resists foreign language

  throat chokes syllables

  language is life

  Let me survive

  my lifeless sentence

  The Price of Silence

  We were told to never talk

  about trauma that suffocates

  chokes the womb

  if we spoke

  gratitude would silence us

  grief reveal expunged lies

  deceit meant to kill

  force another breath

  lies dance across bastard reality

  governments would tumble

  We were told to never talk

  about lost but not found names

  so our Korean families

  could forget our tiny feet

  our 2:00 a.m. infant cry

  first Korean lullaby babble

  wobbly steps, cling to furniture

  one hundred–day celebration

  first birthday

  never worn child size hanboks

  blank university entrance exams

  unserved military service

  first dates, soju shots

  school field trips

  eyelids never double folded

  3:00 a.m. Kakao messages

  wedding hall matrimony

  We were told to never talk

  about our grief and loss

  more massive than Gwanghwamun

  jigsaw families

  framed with missing pieces

  our silence bleeds a slow death

  II.

  More Than Salt Can Hold