When I was a white, I talked like a white,
I thought like a white,
I reasoned like a white.
When I became Korean,
I set aside my whitish ways.
When I was a white,
I was “chosen.”
When I became Korean,
I was lost.
When I was a white,
I mourned my mother at her gravesite.
When I became Korean,
I mourned a mother in Korea.
When I was white,
I called myself, “Oriental.”
When I became Korean,
I called myself “Asian.”
When I was white,
I used the word, “Caucasian.”
When I became Korean,
I used the word, “white.”
When I was white,
I rejected the Asian men who loved me,
calling them affectionately, “brothers.”
When I became Korean,
I realized that the men I loved
were always white.
When I was white,
I dated white men.
When I was Korean,
I realized the implicit privilege
I had from my white partners.
When I was white,
I dated a white, Wisconsin-born GI.
When I was Korean,
I realized he never loved me.
When I was white,
I married a British man.
When I was Korean,
I realized he loved me.
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