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The elevator doors opened and I stepped out in anticipation. I was about to meet the elusive “Korean guy” that few people in the group had met. I felt a small spark of excitement, as I had never before befriended a Korean guy. I was hoping that this was my chance. I smoothed my slightly wrinkled pastel pink button down shirt one last time as I walked to the door. I saw Jason standing with some of the other guys in the group and I stuck out my hand with methodical ease. “Nice to meet you Jason, I’m Breanne.” The greeting was short, inconclusive, but courteous. We all walked out the door together, a small group of American students headed out for dinner. I was studying abroad in Hong Kong, and like so many nights before, I ventured out to an unknown place with new found friends.

It was my second semester senior year of college and I had finally decided to be adventurous and study abroad in Hong Kong, a place I never imagined myself living. I was adopted from Seoul, South Korea as a five month old baby and I was raised in a suburb of Denver, Colorado, about as far away from a Korean environment as I could get. My parents are both Caucasian, as well as my only sibling, a brother three years my senior. I always knew I was adopted, and that this somehow made me different from the people around me, but I never attempted to find out about my Korean identity, if there is such a thing. In fact, I decided not to go to college in California because I didn’t want to go to school with so many Asian people. I was frightened and unwilling to face my “Asian-ness” because I never felt Asian enough and I never thought I would ever have to face that reality as long as I never had to live in an environment with other Asian people. As a child I went to a Korean camp because my mother wanted me to learn about my heritage, but it never truly meant anything to me and I decided to stop attending in high school. I had grown up dating white guys, making white friends, and never feeling brave enough to seek out Asian people who might understand my situation.

It was with a new found sense of courage that I decided to go to Hong Kong to study abroad in my last semester of college. I had come to realize that my Korean heritage would never change despite my attempt to sweep it under the rug. For the first time in my life, I wanted nothing more than to learn Korean and learn about the culture and history of this distant country where I was born. I had always felt Korean American without the Korean, and what little facts I knew about Korea seemed elementary and pathetic. My decision to study abroad in Hong Kong came as much of a shock to me as it did to everyone else in my life. I had never expressed a real interest in traveling to, let alone living anyplace in Asia. This would be my first experience in Asia, and the first time I was willing to discover my Korean self. I wasn’t ready to go to South Korea; I didn’t know any Korean and I didn’t want to be shunned for my lack of Korean knowledge or culture. I knew the adjustment to living in Asia would be much smoother in Hong Kong.

I was surprised at how easily I adjusted to life in Hong Kong, despite the Cantonese language barrier. My goal was to learn what it was like to be Asian, or what I could do to become more Asian, as I felt completely “whitewashed,” having made my first Asian friends only last semester. And so when I met Jason, I immediately became interested in finding out what his life was like living in the U.S., having been raised by Korean parents. I never really expected to be affected by my friendship with Jason, but meeting him was one of the most valuable experiences of my study abroad experience.
That night I first met Jason, a large group of students on the study abroad program were all going to dinner together at a Korean barbeque restaurant not far from our student residence. He was taller than I expected, I suppose I thought all Asian men were short, even though I instinctively knew that was illogical. The group walked to the restaurant in good spirits, even though the evening was chilly and moist with a thick blanket of humidity in the air. Jason and walked together for a minute, politely getting to know each other with all the typical small talk questions. He was friendly, but not too friendly. I half expected us to bond in some unexplainable Korean way, but immediately realized how ridiculous the thought was. We reached the restaurant and entered the tiny joint in the corner of a simple office building. Small, cramped, loud, and smoky, the restaurant was teeming with life as groups enjoyed dinner together, huddled at the tables. I walked past the buffet of raw food dumped haphazardly in plastic bins to arrive at our modest table on the other side of the buffet. Barbeque smoke mingled with cigarette smoke filled the air, complemented by the pungent aroma of kimchi and garlic. We all headed for the buffet with our small, ivory colored porcelain plates. I walked slowly past the bins of raw meat and seafood, most unrecognizable to my untrained eyes. I finally settled on two pieces of red meat, which I was hoping were bulgoki, one of the few Korean dishes I was familiar with.

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