Not quite a twinkie, not quite a lemon, more of a Banana Nilla Pudding with Whipped Cream?

Recently, I've had a number of clients come to me specifically drawn to choose me out of the vast array of therapists out there because I'm Asian. These clients are themselves Asian-American and were interested in meeting with someone who shares a similar background as they in order to discuss cultural identity issues with greater depth.

It really shouldn't surprise me that confusion or angst over cultural identity could be a problem for Asian-Americans or really, any children of immigrants to the United States, considering that my own thoughts have often dwelled on the question of identity from time to time in the past. Growing up, it sometimes felt like I carried a passport around with me, entering the United States when I went to school and entering South Korea when I stepped into my house or church. The rules, customs, food, and language were completely different. As I got older, my two distinct cultural identities sometimes conflicted with one another and made life a bit more complicated. My family was very involved in the local Korean-American community and I would feel pressure from them to conform to the standards they understood and believed in. At the same time, I was encouraged to assimilate with American culture in order to do well in school and become successful professionally. Eventually, it can become difficult for the individual to reconcile the internal conflict and nearly impossible to please everyone including oneself.


Fortunately, my experience was relatively benign but you can see how things could get confusing and for some folks, it can be a major source of pain. One of the first questions I sometimes get from strangers is, "Where are you from?" What answer should I give and what question are they asking? Should I answer that I'm from New York or that I'm Korean? I usually start with the former and end with the latter if they correct me, which happens about 50-60% of the time. Whereas, when I'm asked that question in South Korea, without a doubt, they are asking me where I was born and where I live. To other Koreans, I'm undoubtedly American. To other Americans, it's less clear. The clash of cultures can become a painful issue within families who may feel they are losing their children who have assimilated so well, they appear no longer to respect the traditions of their parents. Take the movie, Bend It Like Beckham. In the movie, the main character, Jesminder, or "Jess," is conflicted by her own desires and passions, borne of her childhood in mainstream England, while also contending with her parents' more conservative, orthodox Sikh culture.

For Americans, the ending is satisfying - happy, fair, and romantic. But pause for a moment and think of her parents. By the movie's end, their love for their daughter outweighs their concerns for tradition and seemliness. But still they must mourn for the loss of the future they envisioned for their daughter and the roles they would play in it. Many immigrant families make awesome sacrifices in order to provide opportunities for a better future for their children. Many of my Korean-American friends had parents who were educated doctors or accountants back in Korea but were forced into small business ownership in the US of things like laundromats, delicatessens, and nail salons. For a very patriarchal

Twinkies® from Hostess Cakes

culture, you can imagine how difficult it might be on the male ego to go from being a respected doctor to working at a cash register, though I mean no disrespect to the career. Add to this, that most households required two incomes to survive as opposed to the single income they were used to in Korea which forced changes in perceptions of gender roles overnight. Given all of this, it's perhaps more understandable how immigrant families may be so upset by their children's choices that seem so diametrically opposed to their wishes. To them it seems only fair that they be rewarded for their sacrifice with the future they imagined.

At first, I wasn't sure if the title of this post would go over well. Growing up, I would joke with my Asian-American friends that we were "Twinkies" - yellow on the outside, white on the inside. (haha, get it? And it seems a pretty mainstream joke, I mean, Harold is called a Twinkie in Harold and Kumar, so it's gotta be okay then, right?) But then as I got older, ironically, just as my mother was beginning to accuse me of becoming too white, I began to feel that this wasn't wholly true. Though I'm American through and through, I'm aware of the ways in which I'm proud of my heritage and culture and can't completely say that my thoroughly Korean upbringing is not deeply ingrained. Which is why I've come up with my own dessert identifier - Banana Nilla Pudding with Whipped Cream, all mixed up and yummy (preferably from Buttercup Bakeshop in NYC!).