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Sunday, February 6, 2011

Creative non-fiction/ memoir

I'm taking a Creative non-fiction class and it really stresses personal voice and memoir along with journalistic integrity. While writing I realized it kinda sounded like a blog entry, so being the lazy ass that I am, I've chosen to excerpt my own writing, effectively plagiarizing myself. YES.
Please excuse the grammar. I really need to learn.

I used to think in Korean. I have the great privilege and shame of not being able to do that anymore.

Lemme see. I was bout 5 at the time when I fell. I just started kindergarten but coming from a Korean household English words would flee from the grasp of my tongue.
My Korean parents spoke in stories, idioms, riddles, and jokes. All that which would have been lost by the prisons of the English alphabet.

So I lay there crying in a hospital as a doctor wove my face together with needle and thread; I’ve never felt more man made or robotic. I was being fixed. With my kindergarden vocabulary I shouted,


I cringe when I think about this.

I’ve devoted myself to releasing myself from stereotype. I’ve cringed more about the use of Asian accents in cinema and TV and even in my household than anything else that exists in this world. SAD. To be proper, unaccented Americans is what I’ve wished for my family for a long time.

It is my shame that I cringe at my father. That because the strength of my mother cannot translate into English, my heart tears because people cannot see her intellect and resiliency, people will not see that she is no housewife and never will be because of the constrictions of a language form.

A man can’t ride your back unless it’s bent.

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