안녕, 여러분–정말 오랜만이죠~ At the end of a long, hectic semester (during which I unfortunately contracted COVID), I’m in the process of wrapping up my interview series with our next interviewee, Dr. Karin JeeEun Nam, Class of 2006.

Out of all my interviewees thus far, Dr. Nam is certainly the most well-traveled! She spent her early childhood in Korea before eventually following her parents to the Czech Republic, where she spent her middle school years. At the age of 14, she moved to the United States, attending high school and college there, before finally returning to Seoul, Korea where she earned her doctorate in Psychology and has remained ever since. Nowadays, she works as an Assistant Professor in the Graduate School of Education at Ewha University, the top women’s university in Korea. (Here, I distinguish between being “historically women’s” and “women’s” institutions–Ewha still does not functionally welcome admission of trans or non-cisgender students…)

We discussed for quite a while the difference between being a visual and ‘invisible’ minority. Our experiences lined up rather closely in the sense that her existence in the Czech Republic and the U.S. marked her a visible foreigner–someone who could never truly be perceived as “one of them” despite having every legal and cultural right to do so. Growing up in Michigan put the pressure on her young, 14-year-old shoulders to somehow “represent” all Koreans in a place where there was very little ethnic (or racial, for that matter) diversity. But decades spent abroad made Dr. Nam just as much a foreigner upon her return to Korea as she was considered while living abroad, she said. She was called too innocent, too naive, and too soft-spoken to survive in Korea; her mannerisms and etiquette were considered strange and, as she was told in a somewhat backhanded manner, rude without being “rude”. One of the most stunning examples she brought up was that she was softly criticized for being too emotive when speaking with strangers–for expressing her eagerness and joy too clearly. 

We also discussed the difference in schooling here versus stateside. Dr. Nam completed her undergraduate work at Wellesley but completed her Master’s work at Seoul National University, putting her in a unique position to compare the lived student experiences between the U.S. and South Korea. And of course, the main point she really emphasized (which I should have expected from the beginning, really) was just how competitive it is. For example, curving grades to a normal distribution centered around the C range–or, as most Wellesley students will better know it, the infamous grade deflation policy–is still the presiding norm here. Professors are far less responsive, communicative, and empathetic. Feedback on assignments is minimal and–speaking from experience–comprised of only the final number and an explicit markdown of where one lost points. I will certainly be returning to Wellesley with a newfound appreciation for our class structure and the types of professor-student relationships fostered. 

That all said, my conversation with Dr. Nam brought up the question of whether Korea is somewhere I could survive long-term–and more than simply surviving, whether this is a place I could be happy. Retrospectively, I’ve been comparing Dr. Nam’s experience with Dr. Yuh’s experience and considering the differences between the two. Dr. Nam feels much more accultured here now, whereas Dr. Yuh, despite her many more years spent here still feels like an outsider at times. What is the key difference between the two? Where do I see myself, theoretically, fitting into this society? These are the sorts of questions I have been contemplating. And while I have no set answer, I do believe that seriously and continuously considering them will help me better clarify what I want post-undergrad, and what I have gained from my own experiences here in Korea.