Sun-streaked blonde hair and ocean blue eyes. I remember praying that one day I would look like the rest of my friends. Growing up, I attended mostly Caucasian schools and was surrounded by American pop culture. Yet at the same time, my close network of Korean-American church families instilled in me a sense that Korea was my homeland. This has led to a lifelong struggle over which nation is my “homeland”. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on "Why Violent Video Games Shouldn't Be Banned"? Get an Original Essay Born in America, raised in Korea, and as a second generation Korean American, it's the truth that I've had moments where I've struggled with what my name is. With this I believe in the importance of remaining true to oneself while respecting one's originality and the traditionalism of one's culture and the appreciation of family. Ever since I was a child, my mother always told me to never assimilate into "worldly" people's ways of life and sent me through countless hours of Sunday school torturing me to memorize Bible verses and stories in an effort to turn me into a Christian." perfect" morally balanced. In the Korean American Church, the thing is, my parents were respected elders of the church and were very involved, only later did I realize that it was that part of Korean culture where everything reflected on your parents. I made every action and how I presented myself determined how I was treated by the rest of the church members. The way you dressed and presented yourself was the right “mannerism” and a key factor in judging whether you raised your child “the right way.” This constant stress of fear of judgment motivated my choice to transition to an American church seeking acceptance, where I was immediately accepted and felt a greater sense of belonging regardless of race. This led me to realize that I identified as an American, demonstrating the statement made by diversity and acceptance of differences in the land of the free. In school, because I was treated like everyone else, never feeling different except for the way my face looked, I called myself American. I subconsciously surrounded myself with American friends and adapted more and more to American culture while falling into the background of mainstream America. I wanted to look like my friends, I wanted to change the color of my hair or my eyes to have an even greater sense of belonging. My heart had begun to harden towards the rigorous nature of Korean culture and slowly drifted further and further away from my Korean roots. I grew up in a family where my hands quickly got used to the soft keys of a piano and grades mattered and I had to be better, faster and smarter at everything. I assimilated into the “Americanized” lifestyle, and when my rebellion against academic excellence and rejection of traditions, such as wearing the traditional dress worn on holidays, shocked my parents and clashed with their ideas that had been influenced by their upbringing of immense pride in their country of origin. My parents had never experienced something like this, my older sister being the perfect Korean child, the exact opposite of how I behaved, they decided to send me to Korea. In the land of America, where I had no other family, they wanted me to go to the country where the rest of my family was, hoping to reconnect with my Korean roots. I was reluctantly transported to Korea, leaving my parents and all my friends behind. When I arrived, I embarked.