My stories are messy. I am an immigrant, but my parents are not immigrants. I am diasporic, but my family has remained in my mother country. I have spent majority of my life so far in Canada, yet I identify myself as Korean, yet I also cannot. I am still hurt by the negative responses which people of my ethnic background threw at me when I told them where I was born. I continuously question my positionality and complicity in the ongoing colonial project on the Indigenous land where I have found haven yet cannot call home.
This is the map of South Korea, the land which I call home yet cannot. I embed the story/myth which mark my childhood, my family history, and which brought me to where I am today as I carve through the land. I mould the land and build upon it, and run my fingers covered in paint over it. I desire to hold onto any “perfect” narrative I can find in myself as I attempt to smooth out the land. Every flaws are intentional. My stories will always be messy because they will always stem from that particular story/myth I have kept bundled in myself for a long time. And this land - my land - will always be supported by the safe base of my father and with my own confident claim of who I am.