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Copyright © 2018 by Julayne Lee
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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
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
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