Hyeuk Jin Kwon
Hyeuk Jin Kwon: It is not Canada or Korea. It is Canada and Korea
By Hyeuk Jin Kwon (권혁진)
Little did I know how my life would turn out when I was in elementary school. Of course, probably nobody has a clue at this stage in life. I was a belligerent little brat. When I went to school, I would seize virtually every opportunity to pick a fight so as to prove myself. Corporal punishment was still justified in South Korea at the time, and therefore I felt just in exercising physical violence–throw your punches when things don’t go your way. I would say that I was searching for an outlet to discharge this exploding sense of identity within which was desperately trying to prove its budding existence. At a vantage point of an adult, one might say that I was only a child and therefore deserved a certain amount of impunity—controversial. Anyhow, I brought this temperament intact when I came to British Columbia at the age of 11. The immigration process was a segue. My parents, I later found out, had taken care of everything; they made sure that they were ready to observe the Canadian custom and to show this willingness explicitly during profiling. Well, I was not informed of any of this, so when I was more or less transported from one country to the next, I was quite oblivious to what was truly a life turning event. In fact, for a time in Canada, I initially took some time off school because my parents still needed to secure a promising house in a promising neighbourhood, which increasingly relaxed my soul that had been exhausted by Korea’s demanding education. In short, I expected things to pan out nicely.
It didn’t.
One day at the Canadian elementary school, I nimbly took out scissors from a utensil-jar in order to pull a prank on a few Canadian peers. They were not merely peers, by the way. They had been mocking me with their jeers outside the window of the English for Second Language Students (ESL) classroom. I wasn’t about to let them get away with their mockery having penetrated my pride. Come to think of it now, I assume they were just fascinated by my different outward appearance. Regardless, with the fiery attitude that I had prided myself in, I made a little cheeky swing with the scissors. For your information, the blades were clearly not pointing the students; they were pointing down. Well, this little courtesy was not even considered by the principal for a moment. I was suspended for a week. Next time, I got into a fistfight with one of the Korean students at the school. Given that there were only a handful of Korean students, I suppose we were bound to vie for supremacy. Anyways, (I got) another one week ban from the school. What were my parents doing in the meanwhile? You might wonder. They were trying as much as any good-willed parents would; unfortunately, I blamed everything on the counterpart, stigmatizing him, her, or them as “meanies and starters.” I sold that excuse. They bought it. Nevertheless, this experience was a milestone in my childhood in that it made me qualify my egotism. Behold, for it also created a sense of alienation.
Throughout my academic years thereafter in British Columbia, namely middle school and high school, I was confronted by the language barrier. For the sake of simplicity, and with another good reason, I will call anybody without the Asian appearance Canadian. Canadians would from time to time accost me to throw derogatory remarks; Ching Chong Ching Chong; why are your eyes so small? Go back to China; is North Korea going to bomb us? Yes, yes, this was all wrong according to the fundamentals outlined by the Charter of Rights and Freedoms. I had to fight back, but with what? Punches and kicks? I had learned by then that those wouldn’t be tolerated in Canadian culture. Then? Ah-ha, words! English was important after all. I had attained Canadian citizenship at some point in my school years, yet I still wasn’t capable of articulating constructive sentences, let alone witty retorts, in English. Profanity and incomplete sentences were the only means of defense. Sorry, my ESL teachers and tutors; I guess I never paid enough attention. But I had been inclined to hang out with my Korean friends or Asian friends since we had a sense of belonging in the Asian fraternity. Looks couldn’t be ignored. When I went to outlets, for example, fast-food restaurants, the cashier would immediately raise his or her eyebrow to make her face into that of an audition judge, albeit unwittingly. Without the slightest intent to begin a mini conversation which, I would argue, is the true beginning of immersion, I would stutter and eventually come out with a bag of takeout food, dispirited and saddened. The language fortress seemed more and more impregnable and therefore exclusive. Every day was just another day with the same people, same vocabulary, same culture, same attitude, and same identity. At least, though, I felt secure in that monotonous comfort zone.
When I entered university, I realized that cutting corners with curse words and survival vocabulary was far from sufficient. Lectures were conducted in advanced English, and doing all-nighters before exams while blazing through point notes never cut the mustard. My grades heavily suffered and it was evident that a change was imperative. Linguists say once you go over a certain age, it is extremely difficult to acquire a language; instead, you would learn it. So what did I do? I tried to learn English by heart. There were numerous ups and downs during the learning process but hey, I managed to survive through the university years. After graduating from university, I thought to myself, “What if I had been more aware of Canada’s way of life? What if I had known that brandishing the scissors would have immediately prompted the Canadian students to run to the principal’s office? What if I had tried to acknowledge Canada’s dictation of what’s acceptable and unacceptable, instead of classifying Canadians as the other? What if I had thoroughly understood the importance of knowing at least one of the official languages? What if I had known…. on and on and on.
Guidance. For those to have been possible, I needed guidance. Life is about making choices, and we should be responsible for the choices we make. This is not to say, however, that we should connive at a series of regrettable decisions made by uninformed and young immigrants. I have a couple of Korean friends who have lived in Canada for as many as ten years with poor English. I have had a chance to teach a few high school kids who couldn’t speak or write in English good enough so they hadn’t been able to adopt Canadian identity and put it side by side with South Korean identity. Yes, there are exceptions. Some Korean immigrants not only successfully accustom themselves to Canada, but they reach even further and become leaders at schools and clubs. But we ought not to overshadow the help young Korean immigrants need with outstanding achievements of the few. Diversity has been a defining element of Canadian identity. But we need to be cautious of touting this great element vaguely. Diversity should not be about simply the diversity of race and ethnicity. In fact, I would contend this is a dangerous, divisive view of it. What is important is that it should also encompass the idea of new, young immigrants diversifying their original identity, thus diverting them away from clinging to their home culture and language to opening their minds and incorporating Canadian culture and language as a valuable addition. This is veritable diversity, and it can be achieved through providing them the proper guidance.