I AM KOREAN AMERICAN

Own Words

Persimmon, kiwi, apple & grapes – cut up neatly and arranged on a plate. I politely refuse, knowing she will make me eat it anyway.

She remarks on how much I resemble my dad, then proceeds to ask me why I want to learn to play the gayageum. I say something rather irrelevant; she tells me I must play because I am Korean.

Sitting cross-legged like a yangban, she shows me how to move my hands and pluck the strings properly. Your index and middle fingers must always stick together for strength, for they are weak when divided. Lift your thumb up to the sky, then let it drop gracefully. Don’t rush, there’s time enough.

I think about these things and wonder what she meant when she said, “You are definitely a Kwon. But most definitely an American Kwon.”