Personal Essays: Stephen Yoon

My name is Seunghwan (Stephen) Yoon and I’m from Seoul, South Korea. I came to Canada in 2021 and I’m currently in grade 12 living in a boarding school in Ontario.

Having lived in other countries such as the US, India, Canada, and South Korea, I described myself as a seagull - a being constantly moving across bodies of water, just to dip my toes on the edges of a country, waiting to move again. While immigrating, I also had to stay separated from my parents often, just like a family of seagulls losing touch with each other for a bit due to harsh weather conditions, a large flock of other seagulls, or taking refuge from predators. 

For these reasons, I would say my biggest struggle was understanding the concept of home and identity - it wasn’t quite tangible.

“Where are you from? How’s home like?”

I’d twist my finger and stretch my arms out frantically as if I were reaching across the world map to point out where I lived. I’d stutter, “I was born in Korea, but my mother tongue was both English and Korean since I grew up a bit in the US, but I’ve only lived there for 2 years… I lived in Korea for less than half of my life…” 

I couldn’t reach a conclusion. 

There were so many goodbyes, so many places I had to leave, and so many places I was told to forget so I could move on to another environment. The lack of settlement felt wrong, but I eventually stuck to a script: “I’m Stephen Yoon and I’m from South Korea”. That’s what I told myself who I was, but whenever I returned to Korea, there were no friends to greet me, I was behind on trends, and slowly forgot a word or two in Korean. Was it really right to say I was from Korea? Was it my home?

Defining my identity based on a script was unsettling (especially when it didn’t feel right), but it allowed me to immerse myself in various cultures and attain a metamorphic personality. My variegated lifestyle educated me on diversity and it taught me how to embrace it. I mostly used it to adjust to new environments and fit the needs of the people around me. I knew how to act in a specific way to bring a smile to people and I couldn’t ask for more: I was so grateful that I could meet new people, help them, and befriend them. It felt like having a superpower where I could morph into any person I wanted.

But eventually, people disappeared; some would immigrate somewhere else, or I had to move again. I’d tell them not to leave or that I wanted to stay, but what choice did we have? Despite the memories and shared times, my friends and family had to walk their own paths.

It felt futile, but surely this is what life’s all about… right? 

Unintentionally, during my middle school years, I became more and more obsessed with befriending and securing a friend in my life, someone who I could rely on. My multifaceted “identity” and my will to share optimism had manifested into people-pleasing. I had to rely on someone for my happiness, rather than deriving it from a personal hobby or recreational activity. I completely lost my sense of identity and whenever I was left in a room alone, my head would fill with screams and voices. This intangibility of my identity wasn’t just a feeling, these voices made it evident that my brain couldn’t settle on who I was, how I should be talking, or how I should act on my own.

Monophobia (fear of being alone) began to bloom. 

Gradually, public spaces became an unpleasant environment as I was racially profiled and discriminated against. At school, I was “short”, “weak”, but “too kind” to fit in. In the streets, malls, and restaurants, I was a “filthy Asian” who ate cockroaches for dinner. They stretched their eyes to mock me, threatened to fight me to assert their dominance, and stared at me as if I were an animal who escaped the zoo.

Why can’t I fit in? What’s wrong with me? Where were my loved ones I could rely on? 

Where was my home? 

Every day began to feel like living in a dim cave full of beady eyes, bleeding as they stared at me condescendingly. I was ashamed of my behaviors, I despised being Korean… There was just an amalgamation of emotions - futility, anxiety, frustration, and grief - manifesting into something beyond emotions: an absence of emotions. A concerning amount of sleep became a way to distract me from my problems, the grip on my emotional control loosened, and the opening of an apartment window lured me to come close. But somewhere in the corner of my heart, I didn’t want to give up because the memories of joy reminded me there was one last chance to be happy again.

That’s when moving to Canada, I saw an opportunity to go back in time, a time before my emotions had manifested into something dangerous; I was back to an environment that was accepting, diverse, and caring. This was the opportunity I was looking for, but where do I start? Back then, I still didn’t realize the root of my problem was people-pleasing and didn’t give much thought to my identity, but I knew I needed help. But from who? It was hard to trust someone in a new environment, but I wasn’t going to sit around and see how it played out. 

So instead, I had another goal in mind: reaching my full potential. It may sound vague, but it was a goal full of improvisation where I wanted to explore my limits, meet more people, and grow new skill sets. I’m not quite sure if it's my school’s culture, Canada’s culture, or the Western culture in general, but I noticed a heavy emphasis on ‘do what you love’. This was eye-opening to me. Having grown up in such a competitive east-Asian environment, I wasn’t quite given the opportunity to give thought to what I wanted since my choices were often based on societal standards and perfectionism. So with this goal, I didn’t want it to be about perfection, fame, or success. Rather, it was for me to see what I could and wanted to do. Maybe somewhere along the road, I can also remember how to be happy again.

Eventually, I met like-minded people (friends, mentors, teachers) and we bonded over music, squash, art, TV shows, challenges, struggles, and even talking about the silly people at our school. They taught me how to find what I loved and provided me the opportunities to share them. Most importantly, they lent a helping hand that gave me the courage to be vulnerable and share my story. It was a time to be weak and exposed, but it was also an opportunity to build trust and form deeper, meaningful relationships.

Each and every memorable moment during my 4 years in Canada has been meaningful and endless to list. It felt like ages to get a sense of myself again, but I realized I had to take it step by step finding what I liked and who I was. It was a repetitive process of exposure and experience where I had to dip my toes into different opportunities to figure out what I liked. On the side, routinely seeking help made me come to terms with past events and helped me become more comfortable with myself (physically and emotionally):

I’m too short? Well, that doesn’t matter, I have other strong suits I’m proud of. I’m a “Filthy Asian”? Well, I love my culture and maybe there’s a misunderstanding about my culture. Music is for nerds? So what, you listen to it all the time and I love making music. What if I fail? It’s okay, I chose to do this because I’m going to do it to enjoy it and I’ll be responsible for my failure. What if everyone leaves me again? As long as we remember each other, there always will be a way to stay in touch. This time I’ll be ready.

It’s okay to be a bit boastful and have some pride for yourself. We know ourselves the best, yet we use that against our advantage by being our harshest critics. Why not use the knowledge about ourselves to support and encourage ourselves? I know it’s easier said than done, but it starts with a simple, “You can do it”. Don’t be sarcastic, don’t deceive yourself to say it, but try to be genuine. Get to know and love yourself more, because when it seems like the whole world has turned its back on you, you yourself can always be there for you. 

Even for me, as long as I know who I am and I’m there for myself, I feel at home now.

Being in Canada taught me how to shape my own identity and be the person I want to be. 

Life is a musical where the world is your stage. You don’t have to be “good enough” for someone because there will always be someone coming to your show to appreciate who you are. It may take a while to have an audience, so have an open mind; get to know the stage you’re playing on, and get to know your potential audience. 

You have the right to be who you are, so love yourself, work hard in your own way, and reach for your full potential. 

Everything that is there to support your performance is there for you and never question if you truly deserve it or not - we’re only human, and it’s okay to use some help. Sooner or later, there will be people attending your performance to appreciate who you are. When that time comes, give yourself room to cherish the moment, express gratitude to the crowd, and make the most of it by doing what makes you happy. 

Some may call me delusional, yet I know things don’t work in an idealistic way. People have various obstacles/challenges and there’s no formulaic way to have it all gone. You may be in your darkest and most hopeless times, but I’m certain of one thing: it’s okay to acknowledge yourself and appreciate yourself. You’re reading this because of your caring and thoughtful nature; so please, at least for today, don’t be afraid to look in the mirror and be proud of what you see.