By Paul Youngbin Kim, Ph.D.
I
have a confession to make: I am not as “Korean” as I appear to be.
As an academic, I am quite familiar with the concept of imposter syndrome. It’s the notion that no matter how much someone has accomplished professionally (e.g., a doctoral degree), the person feels like they will be found out one day as a fake, an imposter. It is the feeling of inadequacy compared to more accomplished peers. “How in the world did I make it this far? I will soon be exposed for who I truly am,” are sentiments that reflect feelings of this syndrome.
Although imposter syndrome tends to be most commonly discussed in the context of high-achieving individuals (e.g., academics feeling inferior to their colleagues), I also feel it relentlessly in the discrepancies between how I perceive my own cultural identity versus how others understand it.
I am currently in the middle of a three-week, faculty-led study abroad program in South Korea. I lead this program every other year. During this intensive experience, I take on familiar vocational roles (e.g., professor) but also ones that are a bit out of my comfort zone; especially, my role as a person who can speak somewhat intelligently about South Korea, much less even claim the country as my own.
Assuming the latter role during this study abroad program is when the turmoil of the imposter syndrome tends to swirl inside me the most.
As someone who was born in South Korea but left the country as a young child, I find myself alternating (i.e., changing my behaviors depending on context; basically, code-switching) in Korea. A lot. Certainly, alternation also happens back home in the United States: Whether it’s how I relate to my majority-White faculty colleagues versus my own Korean American family at home, or how I order food at a Korean restaurant versus how I do so at Applebee’s. Regular weaving in and out of multiple cultures is an integral part of what it means to be Korean American.
When I am here in Korea leading the study abroad program, however, the alternation or code-switching occurs at a much more rapid level. Sometimes, the same scheduled activity with students will trigger multiple moments of code-switching.
For instance, the other day we went on a day trip to Gangneung (강릉), a popular destination located a couple of hours east of Seoul. Our tour guide sizes me up as a Korean immigrant to the U.S. (교포) who can speak and understand Korean, and I interact with her in such capacity; the locals see this Korean person (me) in the group and assumes I am the tour guide; and my students eagerly and perhaps somewhat naively looks to me as a Korea expert, asking me questions about things I have little understanding of (e.g., “What is this city famous for?”) or asking me to accompany them for lunch to help them order food. It is a constant back and forth between different cultural frameworks.
It is exhilarating and exhausting at the same time. Also, this “rapid fire” code-switching exacerbates the imposter syndrome, in particular in regards to my Korean identity: can I truly claim this culture as my own? Am I a fraud pretending to know and embrace this culture, and will I be exposed soon?
There are so many other instances of when I have experienced a sense of being fake, culturally, during my study abroad program, whether it is because of the continuous code-switching or the incongruence felt in the pit of my stomach. Here are a few more examples of the imposter feelings kicking in:
During the study abroad program, one point of emphasis is the psychological aspects of North and South Korea relations, including the fact that this is a deeply experienced collective trauma of South Korea. Sometimes, I speak of this topic as if it is my own trauma as well, but I also know that I have not felt it the way that a South Korean residing in the country has.
I teach students about ordering authentic Korean food, and all of the complicated, unspoken rules that are inevitable in a high-context culture like Korea (e.g., not eating until the oldest person begins to eat). I implore students to try out different kinds of food in Korea during their short stay, to be as adventurous as possible, to consider eating different Korean dishes as a “one time experience.” But what I don’t tell them is that sometimes – quite a few times, actually – I find myself longing for a good burger during my short stay in Korea. And I cave far too often, going against the adventurous spirit of trying out different Korean foods that I preach to my students, instead turning to a familiar venue like Burger King or McDonald’s.
I introduce the cultural construct of Jeong (정) to my students, which can be described as the “sticky” affinity that Koreans have for one another that can manifest in so many different ways (e.g., an elderly person “scolding” me in public for taking students around Seoul during a scorching day; two platonic friends holding hands in public). I speak of Jeong glowingly and enthusiastically to my students, as if it’s something that I have fully embraced, as if it is only a favorable cultural construct. But like all things in this imperfect world, I have also witnessed examples of Jeong gone wrong; situations in which people have remained silent, for example, in the face of injustice, where they looked the other way due to the inability to resist the pressure of Jeong. But I tend to withhold these important examples in my teaching.
And there are so many more.
When the imposter feelings are at their peak, I frequently find myself pouring out my insecurities to God and asking for strength to counter these tendencies. Below, I wrote out a prayer with the hope that some readers of this outlet might find connecting points between my stories and narratives with some of their own ethnic identity search.
Dear God,
Sometimes, maybe even often, thoughts and feelings of being a cultural imposter – fake Korean – trigger unrest within me.
When these moments inevitably arrive, help me to repel the lies with your truths.
Lord, remind me that you are the perfect Creator, and that you purposefully weave in contrasting cultural experiences in the lives of your people.
Allow me to see that when it comes to cultural identities, “multiple” does not equate to “less than 100%”; that I will see myself as wholly Korean, and that does not take away from being American. Lead me to see that I do not need to qualify my Korean identity; that labels such as “1.5” generation Korean are just that – names we have created to place people into neat boxes that do not do justice to the intricacies of one’s identity.
Indeed, help me grow in my recognition that there is more than one way to be Korean. I pray that you will orchestrate events and bring people in my life to confirm this notion – it is currently an unstable conviction, prone to doubts and reassurance-seeking tendencies with every little events: “Am I truly fully Korean when I don’t/can’t [fill in the blank]” is a persistent query in my head. Give me strength to resist the allure of the destructive habit of comparison to others, and to be satisfied with the type of Korean (and American) you have created me to be on this earth.
Despite the anxieties of imposter syndrome, I pray that I can continue to introduce South Korea and its wonderful, beautiful, and faulty ways to all who wish to learn about the culture.
That I can eagerly share my knowledge of Korea, despite my limited understanding.
That I can affirm the aspects of the country that should be highlighted, without feeling like I don’t have the right to do so.
And Lord, remind me of the truth that despite the challenges and pains associated with living as Korean and American, that the rewards of fully living out this identity are far better than adopting a racially (and culturally) colorblind approach that minimizes the beautiful, diverse ways in which you have created your people to behave, think, and feel; different ways to worship you. I pray that despite the discomfort of imposter syndrome, I will not give up exploring and sharing my Korean culture, which is a gift from you.
In Jesus’s name I confess these insecurities and pray these requests,
Amen.
Photo by Sutrisno Illahwi on Unsplash
Paul Youngbin Kim, Ph.D., is a Professor of Psychology at Seattle Pacific University. As a counseling psychologist, Paul has written extensively about Asian and Asian American experiences and how religion might intersect with these experiences, such as attitudes toward seeking professional psychological help, racial microaggressions, and model minority stereotype.