As a daughter of Korean immigrant parents, my parents expected me to get married to a Korean man.
Spoiler alert: I didn’t.
Seven
When I was seven, I asked my Abba (dad) how people got married.
He said that to get married, there needs to be a wedding, and the couple will need to kiss to make it official.
Horrified, I asked if I can give my future husband a handshake instead.
Thirteen
Around thirteen years old, a popular argument with my parents went like this:
My parents: “You are going to marry a Korean man.”
Me: “I don’t want to.”
My parents: “You have to if you want to get married.”
Me: “Then I’m not getting married at all.”
We continued this back-and-forth for years, and I stubbornly stood by my decision, “I’m not going to get married.” They would just scoff but didn’t say anything else.
It may have been the very first time that I rebelled against my parents. A tiny rebellion. But a rare rebellion, nonetheless.
