Grace Kim: Whitewash

First stage: Exposure

The blue fascinated me. 

The only time I’d seen them was on television or magazine covers, a tall, blond, and blue eyed woman making eye contact with the camera. So of course, my dark brown eyes met every blue pair that I passed down the hallway. As I was led to Mr. Cahill, my ESL teacher’s room, my small feet pattered to reach the first stop in my day.

Mr. Cahill had the brightest blue eyes I had ever seen. His gray-white hair stuck out in tufts, his glasses perched on the tip of his nose and one side of the collar on his polo shirt was folded halfway. This guy does not look like he speaks Korean.

As he strode forward to greet me, his calloused hand met my tiny one.  

“So you’re Grace? I’m glad to have you in my class. First grade, right?”

I smiled and nodded. I have no idea what he said.

As I glanced behind him at the other members of the ESL program, my eyes met another girl’s, and she nodded at me.

“You can sit at any of the desks.”

I looked at him for a moment, confused, but then the girl pointed at an empty seat next to her. Nodding, I walked over and sat down, smiling. 

“Are you Korean?” The girl said, in finally a tongue I could understand. 

Smiling, I responded, “Ohh, yep! Nice to meet you.”The girl introduced herself as Jiwoo Kim, a form of name I could recognize. Her eyes were dark, making it hard to differentiate between her iris and pupil. Her black hair was straight but the edges of her bangs hugged her face, a small cowlick tickling the forehead. She suddenly held a hand out. 

“Let’s be friends.”

Second Stage: Enjoyment

“I heard the fourth graders are having an assembly later!”

“Yeah, it’s because we were on ‘bad behavior’ on that field trip.”

My friends and I snorted, jostling one another on the already packed lunch tables.

As Jiwoo laughed beside me, another friend of mine tapped my shoulder. “Hey, can I have one of those?”“Yeah, sure.” I passed my container of fruit to her, and spotted a small orange packet out on the table. “Trade?” Her, the white fruit crunching between her teeth, glanced at the packet. “The Cheez Its? Sure.”

I opened the “Cheez-Its”, and put one in my mouth. Dry. And bland. The cracker went to power on my tongue, then stuck in my teeth. . . . 

It wasn’t that bad. 

“Hey, this is good.”

“Ey, give me one!”

I passed the packet around the table, and when it landed back, it was empty. So was the container with my Korean pears. 

Whatever.

Third Stage: Realization

“Just back off-!” Jiwoo said to Liana, shoving her back. 

Liana had become a close friend in the few months that she had moved to the United States. Spotting a Korean among the crowd of kids, she had latched onto me like a fruit fly to an apple. 

Surprised at the scene, I rushed forward. “Hey, Jiwoo, stop it!”

Jiwoo turned onto me, eyebrows shooting up. “Oh, so you’re defending her, huh?”

“What do you mean? She didn’t do anything wrong!”

I looked at Jiwoo for a moment. She was fuming, hands clenched into fists at her side, eyes directed at Liana. I bit my bottom lip, thinking if I should intervene. “This is about the same thing as last time, isn’t it? Are you jealous again?”

“Just go, Grace.”

I hesitated for a moment. Should I let them be? This was between them, but. . . 

I nodded, and stepped back, the wood chips compressing under my feet. 

“Wait, seriously? You’re just going to let me get attacked by Jiwoo? 

“Shut up, Liana, you’re overreacting.”

Leaving them behind, I trudged to some of my other friends, who were sitting on the benches, enjoying their leftover lunches. 

“Are they arguing again?”

“Yeah,” I said dejectedly, kicking around some stray wood chips that had made their way onto the wooden floor. 

“About the same thing again?”“Probably. They wouldn’t really tell me.”Another friend added, “Liana is so clingy to you. Wouldn’t you just rather drop her?”

“Drop her? What does that even mean?” I felt a sense of annoyance at those words.

“Just don’t talk to her anymore. She’ll go back to Korea soon anyway, as she should. She’s whitewashed enough.”I had never heard that term before, but it was clear enough what it meant. 

“What? No, she’s not. Stop bringing ethnicity into every conversation.”

“It’s not a big deal. All of us are basically whitewashed, she just picked it up faster. It’s like she hates her culture, what’s up with that?”Was that true? Were all of us whitewashed? 

It was probably true. 

Liana moved back to Korea within a year.

Fourth Stage: Concern

In middle school, everyone’s hormones shot up, along with their ability to offend.

Slurs were thrown around so often, that by the time I was called one, I didn't even get offended.

Even some of my friends picked up the habit. 

Next to me, Jiwoo was texting furiously. 

“you whitewashed freak. i can’t believe you would talk about me behind my back like that. i don’t even do half the things you said- you’re the one that goes around trying to get people’s attention, showing off. instead of harassing people and my friends, maybe go jump off a bridge-”

I intervened, “Okay, you don’t have to go that far.”

Jiwoo paused, and spammed the backspace button, keeping her eyes on the screen. 

“You’re not even involved in this situation.”

“Well, you’re the one who wanted my help on writing it.”

Jiwoo shook her head in an okay, fine sort of way. 

“Any other changes you’d make?”

She turned the phone to me, tilting her head expectantly.

I suggested making some parts a bit more, let’s say, polite, and eventually I brought up the first sentence. 

“Whitewashed is a bit of a harsh word, don’t you think so?”

“Why? I think it’s fine. Whitewashed literally isn’t offensive anymore, it’s used like every day.”

It was a partially true statement, but I didn’t want to admit it. 

“Still, it’s not… I mean, it feels really targeted.”

That wasn’t even a small percentage of the issue I was thinking about. More than targeted, it felt like a direct attack on myself as well. But… good enough. 

“You’re whitewashed. I’m whitewashed. Get over it. I’m leaving it in.”

Fifth Stage: Estrangement

Suddenly, hanging out with my caucasian friends, eating Lay’s barbeque chips, and the American accent slipping into my Korean made me question, “Am I Asian enough?”

So I stopped. 

I made an effort to hang out with my Asian friends more, to pack more lunches with Korean food, to take care of my skin, to be better in math, to “be more Asian”. 

---------

“Hey, do you guys want to hang out on the half day next week?” Sonia asked, putting her feet up on the bench. Agreement sounded, and they started discussing where they would have lunch. 

“I already have plans, but thanks. I’m really sor-”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s fine, just say hi to Jiwoo and Gia for me, ‘kay?”

The corners of my lips moved like a light switch, but I nodded.

I didn’t have plans with them. I didn’t have plans with anybody that day. 

Maybe this wasn’t worth it. Hanging out with my other friends for a few hours wasn’t going to hurt. 

Sixth Stage: Acceptance

I quickly rush into the bathroom, attempting to redo my hair before the next class. My books balance dangerously on the broken heater, and I look in the mirror, pulling out my hair tie. 

I messily collect my hair again, my pin-straight black hair. 

I catch a sight of the doodles I did on my hand during recess. 

I press my lips together, feeling the infamous lip gloss my friend got me for my birthday.

I blink my monolids, and take my hands away from my hair. 

Saying a quick hi to a friend coming in, I grab my books and rush out. 

I need to get to English class. 

About the Author:

Grace Jiyoun Kim is a high schooler living in New Jersey, originally born in South Korea. Currently, she’s busy preparing to go into her first year of high school. She first set foot in the United States at the age of seven, and although she first struggled with the language, she discovered a passion for writing. From poetry to short stories, enjoys writing all kinds of material, her current favorite being essays. When she’s not writing, she enjoys listening to music and visiting restaurants, not for the food, but for the bits and pieces of conversation she can overhear from other tables.