Edited By Nayeli Lopez
Almost ten years ago, on October 10th, 2016. My mom, dad, my little brother and I were at Incheon International Airport, boarding a plane to America.
I transferred into 6th grade at a middle school in North Carolina. My English was, to put it generously, very basic. I could say "hi," ask where the bathroom was, and that was about it. Because of the language barrier, the school paired me up with the only other Asian student in the class, assuming we'd naturally be able to communicate. However, she was Vietnamese, and I'm Korean. We stared at each other, very confused, neither of us able to understand the other.
I was the only East Asian student at the school, and even with my limited English, I could tell when people were talking about me. I'd notice the glances and the whispers. Finally, someone had the courage to ask me a question.
"Where are you from?"
"Korea," I said.
In 2016, North Korea was a hot topic. The reaction I got was a bunch of dramatic gasps. "Ooh, North Korea?! Do you know Kim Jong-un?? Boooo." Ever since then, I have started clarifying that I am from South Korea to avoid dramatic reactions and unwanted conversations.
There were other moments too. A kid in the hallways would see me and ask, "Yo, what does ching-chang-chong mean?" Every single time. At recess. In the cafeteria. In class. At that time, I didn't understand these were racial slurs. I'd just answer, "I don't know, those words don’t actually have a meaning." Because in Korean, they genuinely don't. It wasn't until later that I learned what it meant, and looking back, I feel bad for my younger self patiently answering that question over and over again.
My personal favorite was when someone asked me if I spoke "Asian." I had to laugh at that one.
Moving to America made me feel like an outsider all the time. I didn't speak the same language. I didn't look like everyone else at my school. It was very difficult to bond with my classmates. I remember the loneliness of sitting in a classroom full of people, feeling I didn’t belong there.
But then something started to shift. Honestly, I'm not sure whether part of it was moving to California, where there are more Asian Americans. But I started noticing that people's attitudes toward Korean culture were changing.
K-pop boy band BTS charted on the Billboard Hot 100 with songs such as "DNA," "Fake Love," "IDOL," and "Dynamite." K-beauty products began appearing in drugstores. K-dramas became a topic of discussion among many people. And suddenly, being Korean came with a completely different reaction than what I had experienced in North Carolina. People wanted to talk about it, especially K-pop fans. They were curious. For the first time, someone told me that they thought it was “cool” that I am Korean. At first, I didn't know how to feel about this. The same culture that once got me mocked in hallways had now become a trend.
And then KPop Demon Hunters came out. This film won Best Animated Feature at the 98th Academy Awards this past March. Director Maggie Kang stood on that stage and said:
"To all the fans who got us here and for all of those who look like me—I am so sorry that it took us so long to see us in a movie like this. But it is here, and that means that the next generations don't have to go longing. This is for Korea and for Koreans everywhere."
She is a Korean-Canadian filmmaker who made history that night as the first woman of South Korean descent to win in that category. And the film's hit song "Golden" became the first K-pop song to win the Best Original Song award. She later said in an interview that the win felt like Korean artists had "really solidified their space in Hollywood."
The most memorable part for me was the word 'longing,' because that's what I felt in the first few years after I moved here. A longing for someone to look like me on screen, a longing for someone to recognize where I was from without associating it with something that’s totally unrelated, a longing to feel like my culture was something to be proud of.
Cultural appreciation can be complicated because there’s a difference between genuinely connecting with a culture and treating it like a trend. In my case, K-pop as a cultural appreciation has brought me closer to so many international people, not just Koreans. This is why I believe that visibility and representation matter. When people can learn about a culture through music, film, food, or art, it opens a door to understanding and appreciation rather than fear of the “other” people who don’t look like you. For me, K-pop is a bridge that connects me with people. K-pop has brought me conversations, connections and new international friends. The K-pop community is my home.