For years, my bio has read, “Born in Korea, educated in Canada, now teaching in the U.S.” It’s a short sentence that carries the weight of migration, identity and transformation.
I’ve used it to communicate that I am Korean and an immigrant, first to Canada and then to the United States. But behind that line lies a deeper story of pain, struggle, resilience and hope.
In 1975, when I was just five years old, my family immigrated to Canada. The racism I experienced immediately in schools, grocery stores and on the sidewalks of our neighborhood made me feel deeply ashamed of being Korean.
Kids used racial slurs and eye-pulls during recess. The daily mockery of my Asianness is a deep pain that I endured—and it continues to affect me today.
Ashamed of my Korean heritage, I avoided eating Korean food or speaking Korean in public places. If my parents ever did, I would glare at them to remind them to stop. It was a way to blend in and say, “Look, I’m Canadian, too.”
In my shame, I wanted to get rid of my Korean identity and try to become white like the rest of the kids at school. But time, motherhood and theology have shaped me, and I am no longer ashamed. I publicly celebrate my Asian identity whenever I can.
As a mother of three and a theologian who writes on Asian American theology, I have begun to embrace my Korean heritage—its language, culture, spirituality and history. What I once tried to silence, I am now speaking boldly about.
That’s why Asian American and Pacific Islander (AAPI) Heritage Month is so meaningful and necessary.
Every May, we honor the rich history, cultural vibrancy and enduring contributions of Asian American and Pacific Islander communities. The AAPI experience is a story of resilience, joy, pain and survival told across generations and continents.
This month is about more than celebration. It’s about recognition, remembering and looking towards the future.
AAPI individuals and families have shaped the American story as laborers, doctors, artists, faith leaders, Olympians, politicians, soldiers, activists, teachers, caregivers and entrepreneurs. Yet, too often, their stories have been excluded or erased from mainstream narratives.
That’s one of the reasons I wrote my book “Invisible”—to lift the complexities of Asian American experiences and to challenge the harmful binary understanding of racism in the U.S. that renders our communities unseen and invisible.
AAPI Heritage Month calls us to reverse that erasure.
This year’s theme is “A Legacy of Leadership and Resilience.” It invites us to remember the Chinese laborers who built the transcontinental railroad, Asian indentured workers, Japanese Americans who endured internment, South Asians who organized for workers’ rights, and Pacific Islanders whose lands and identities have been shaped by colonization.
It pushes us to hear the voices of today’s Asian American youth, resisting anti-Asian hate and claiming our rich Asian heritages through music, movies and art. It celebrates the long history of Asian Americans who built this country and how our resilience is the result of unimaginable pain. AAPI Heritage Month invites us to celebrate the joy and beauty of our cultures, the food, language, rituals, music, family bonds and faith that ground us.
This celebration must go hand in hand with action. To truly honor AAPI heritage, we must listen when people share their pain and struggles. We must dismantle the “model minority” myth that pits us against other communities of color. We must amplify AAPI voices not only in May, but every day in our classrooms, congregations, boardrooms, media and justice movements.
As we mark AAPI Heritage Month, may we remember that this is not just a time to look back. It’s a moment to look forward, to affirm a future in which AAPI communities are seen, valued and empowered.
May this month move us closer to that vision filled with deeper solidarity, healing and collective flourishing.
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