America to Me

In my AP English Language and Composition class, we talked about what it means to be American. From J. Hector St. John de Crèvecœur to Martin Luther King Jr., authors have said many different things about being American because it is a fluid thing. The definition of being American is constantly changing to meet the needs of the people. While American used to mean "rebels" or "whites only," it means something completely different now.

Everyone in my class had to explore what being American meant to them and write a speech on it. So here is mine...

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What is an American?

I’ve been trying to answer this question over the past 17 years of existence.

Are all Americans white?

Does American only include the Natives?

Or is there something more, something intangible that makes someone American?

I was confused.

In my elementary and middle school pictures, no one looked like me. I was one of the only ones who wasn’t white. I was almost always the only Asian.

In middle school, they asked me if I could see. Yes I can see. They asked me if I ate dogs. No I don’t.

I felt like an outsider in the country I was born in. I didn’t feel like I was American.

I knocked and Knocked. Asking “Hey America. Can I Come In?” but I didn’t hear anything.

Once I got to high school, things changed. I grew up. I learned more. And I saw a variety of skin shades and hair textures.

In high school, my friend group got more varied.

These kids were similar to my “American” friends from elementary and middle school. We were all just kids in school. Living in America. We worked hard to get good grades in school, we seize opportunities whether it was in sports, or in academics, we were free to express ourselves. We stood up for ourselves and others. We all believe that we have certain unalienable rights like life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. We were all American because we can all agree on these things. This is what it meant to be American. I felt American. I thought I was American.

But when people would ask me, “What are you?”

They were never satisfied with my answer, “American.”

They would always ask again, “What REALLY are you?”

They won’t stop asking until I respond with “Korean”

When the country I called home takes what little we have in media representation and gives it to others

When you deem us “unlikable” to keep us out of your colleges

All 20 million of us felt unwelcomed. I felt unwelcomed.

When I knocked again and asked, “Hey America. Can I Come In?”

She told me, “we won’t reject you but it won’t be easy…”