“Bonjour, Hello, Assalomu Aleykum, 안녕하세요, Здравствуйте!
Just me choosing my
personality for today.
Photos provided by Kamila
“My name is Kamila. I’m a 20-year-old medical student from Tashkent, Uzbekistan living in a small town in France. I am half-Korean (or should I say Koryo-Saram) and half-Uzbek (the horse meat, kebab and plov type of Asian) and I always struggle to briefly introduce myself.
I grew up in the capital of Uzbekistan, Tashkent, and lived there until the age of 19.
My grandma told me a lot about our people, about the deportation, about her life as a young Korean woman in a Soviet Union country. I was aware of my cultural heritage growing up and wanted to preserve it and pass it to my children.
I was always the one who wanted to know more.
When I was little, I felt the need to know more about my heritage because I did not know what to respond when people asked me questions.
At French school in Uzbekistan, they asked me “How come you have a Korean face but an Uzbek name?” “You are Korean, why don’t you speak Korean?”
Now, I live in France and it feels like people have even more questions.
“Mais attends, je ne comprends rien, Alors toi, tu es Coreenne d’Ouzbekistan et tu habites en France et tu parles russe? Comment ca marche?” “Tu es Vietnamienne, c’est pour ca que tu parles tres bien francais, non?”*
To make small talk smaller, I simply respond that I’m Chinese. It’s what people most of the time seem to think. I hate getting questions about North Korea or about k-pop. And it takes me at least ten minutes every time I meet somebody and have to explain who I am. I doubt they really care to know how my grandparents were deported to Central Asia.
Why is the second thing people always ask about is my origins? You never ask a white person about it in the first five minutes of meeting them.”
*Translation
“but wait, I don’t understand at all. You’re Korean from Uzbekistan, you live in France and you speak Russian? How does that work?” “You’re Vietnamese, that’s why you speak French so well, isn’t it?”
My great grandfather, Alexey Pak, was a mechanical engineer. He died at 96 years old.
He was a cool grandpa who played chess, spoke four languages, had multiple Korean, Chinese and Russian dictionaries and had a cute garden.
He was awarded nine medals for his hard-working spirit and twice won a trip to see the Exhibition of Achievement of National Economy in Moscow. My grandma told me that he was very diligent. Even when he didn’t speak Russian well, he left the village to go to the city and trained as an assistant driver. He achieved his goals.
My great grandmother was a teacher in a local Korean village. Unfortunately, I never met her.
Then in 1937, when my grandfather was 23 years old, what happened, happened, and everyone ended up in Central Asia
“My father is Uzbek, but I never felt Uzbek. I don’t speak the language or look Uzbek. The only Uzbek thing I have is my name and my passport.
When I was five, I remember my Korean uncle asked me if I was Korean or Uzbek. Without hesitation, I told him that I am Korean. Then he gave me money. I was always surrounded by my Korean relatives, so I felt Korean. I was proud of my heritage.
Four months ago, a classmate approached me at the library and asked me where I came from. I told her that I was mixed, and that my mom is Korean and my father is Uzbek. Her reaction made me question myself.
She said, “Oh my gosh, I love Korean culture. You are the first Korean that I’ve ever met. It’s so cool to be Korean. Do Korean men in real life look like they do in the dramas?”
On one hand, her enthusiasm was nice but on the other.. Could I really consider myself ‘that Korean girl’? I’ve been to Korea only twice… can I really put myself in a group with other Koreans when I am Koryo-Saram? I still don’t know
“The only people who are ever racist towards me are foreigners themselves. It’s a vicious circle of racism.
Once I went to a local bar and heard someone say “nihao” three times. I saw the guy, who pulled his eyes back to make them slits and stared at me. He didn’t even speak French.
Half a year ago, I went to buy lemons at the local market. When I tried to pay for the fruits I had picked, I greeted the seller, saying ‘bonjour.’ He looked at me and said “nihao” in response.
I promptly replied “Quand je vous dis bonjour, répondez moi bonjour. Quand je vous dis Assalomu Aleikum, répondez moi Walaikum assalam. C’est la base de la politesse.”*
He refused to sell me the lemons.
I cried after that. I had never felt racism before coming to France.”
*Translation: “When I say to you ‘bonjour,’ you respond ‘bonjour.’ When I say, ‘Assalomu Aleikum (Islamic greeting for ‘peace be unto you’), you respond ‘Walaikum assalam’ (‘and peace be upon you’.) This is the basis of politeness.”
“I am a Koryo Saram and Uzbek girl speaking Russian and living in France. I am unique. My ethnic background is a small part of me. I am so much more. I don’t fit into any category.
I am not just Uzbek, just Korean, just Koryo Saram, just mixed. It is so complex. I don’t fit into either standards of beauty. I don’t speak Uzbek or Korean fluently. My education is not Korean or Uzbek. Does it make me less? No! Being mixed is like 김밥. It has so many different ingredients in it. It’s colorful and flavorful.
Most of my classmates still think that I was born in France because I don’t have an accent. Some find my background very interesting.
I am always someone’s first Uzbek friend, first Russian-speaking friend, first Korean friend or first foreigner friend.
It is definitely hard to understand but way easier than memorizing steroidogenesis in biology, right? So, I guess we all learn something new every day.
I tell them stories about the USSR, koryo-saram deportation and how to make the perfect ramen.”
