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I have the sputum removed from my hair by a pharmacist.
It’s only been a few weeks since the pandemic hit us. The entire nation has locked itself in a white-handed panic. The phrase “those unprecedented times” is still new enough to seem foreign to the masses, and the urge to hoard toilet paper was just around the corner.
The brooch had belonged to a woman with the animating mule whom I had noticed staring at me before she finally launched the lawless loogie.
Alice Amsel was born in Korea and came to Australia as a child. (
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The frame of this loogie crime was in a drugstore in a mall where, ironically, I was buying drugs for my complex PTSD.
Perhaps the most upsetting part of it all was how unsurprised and deflated I felt. Having moved from South Korea to Sydney as a kid, being an Asian immigrant meant learning to deal with racism your way and learning it fast.
When someone was rude to you in public, you always have a question in your head: “Is it because I’m Asian?” I was so used to the routine now.
Australia talks about data on racism1 in 5 Australians (20%) say they have been discriminated against on the basis of ethnicity This figure rises to more than 3 in 4 for people of non-European descent (76% ) Almost 3 in 5 Australians of non-European descent (59%) report having been victims of racist slurs About half of these Australians (52%) also said they have been victims of racial profiling Australians of non-European descent Europeans, people born abroad, immigrants and those who speak a language other than English at home more likely to report these types of discrimination as well as other minor slights or subtle forms of discrimination. For more information, see the Australia Talks online tool.
Let me take you on a tour of the greatest hits of my Asian growth experiences in Lucky Country.
The taunts started right away. Pushing the corner of their eyes, groups of school children were shouting “ching chong” or some other variation, until they got bored of my no answer and left for attention. elsewhere. There was even a time when a group of kids formed a barrier with their arms tied and chanted “Asian invasion”. They tried to prevent me from entering the school grounds.
Alice baby girl with her mother, Young-Suk. (
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The teachers weren’t any better. Some stood out in front of the whole class and when I inevitably made a mess of my English or some other mistake, the whole room would explode with hoarse laughter. The teachers joined us.
I opened my lunchbox, different delicious things to eat lovingly packed by my mom to the sound of fake vomiting and shrill “eeeewwws” from my classmates. Finally, with tears in my eyes, I lied to my mother and told her that I didn’t want to eat Korean food anymore and would rather make sandwiches for myself. My shrewd and heartbroken mother understood. It was now peanut butter on white bread.
My parents worked hard, my father died young
My parents worked as cleaners. The hours were long, the work was hard. I was only in the first year of primary school but rarely saw them at home. I was a turnkey kid.
An alarm clock and a memorized routine got me ready for school and there was a to-do list when I got home. Mom told me much later that she often cried at work, knowing that she had left me so alone.
My father died suddenly when I was a teenager and my mother became the head of the family.
Her world was that of a devoted wife and mother, she was neither educated nor had the opportunity to face this new life. His English was poor, his debt inherited and his stature undermined. She had the enormous task of reconciling the old ways with the new ones. She was bleeding in sepia in a technicolor world.
Alice, left, with mother Young-Suk and brother Josh on Mother’s Day 2021. (
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) Then there was the hate mail
We would receive anonymous hate mail in our mailbox.
“Just because you live like pigs where you come from doesn’t mean you should be doing this here. Go back to your country.”
We would be attacked in the street speaking our mother tongue. Public transport was a gamble and let’s forget the idea of road trips in regional cities.
I never felt a real sense of belonging, neither to my homeland, nor entirely here, in my new home.
Alice, along with friends at college, says she often struggles to grasp a true sense of belonging in Australia or Korea. (
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) There were some hilarious moments
But there are some unique, healthy and hilarious moments as an immigrant though.
Korean-born Alice’s mom hilariously missed the meaning of the words on this photo frame. (
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Mom and her endless misunderstandings of the English language (she once had a picture of me in a frame that proudly wore “WOOF DOG”, she also misread and used a spray can for deodorant until I checked her armpits and it was Cheeto orange), the neighbors in mom’s apartment offer each other homemade sweets or fruit baskets. People who help and listen.
For those who are spreading racism, I would say that sitting with your discomfort and thinking is a powerful thing to do.
And a chance for growth
Some may think it is bad enough going through a global pandemic, why add a sense of guilt for white privilege on top of that, but negative feelings are only part of the growth.
if you see something, say something. Be with us when we are under attack. Most of us, whom you see being assaulted in public spaces, already carry a large catalog of trauma. We are exhausted and a caring gesture goes further than you might imagine.
My experiences, of course, will be different from those of other Asians. The danger of storytelling is that often one facet is considered the entire diamond.
Alice, along with her mother, says that everyone’s racist experiences are unique. (
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It is from diverse voices that we all learn and grow to have solidarity and empowerment as our paths overlap, wonder and empathize in parts where we differ. Stereotypes and assumptions are erased. We all have a place at the table.
Alice Amsel is a Korean Australian musician, artist and writer based in Sydney.
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