Selfish Service: How the Coronavirus Helped Me Realize What It Means to Belong
By: Francis Kim
Tags: Racism, Belonging, Race, Asian American, Coronavirus

Selfish Service: How the Coronavirus Helped Me Realize What It Means to Belong Francis Kim Mar 4·5 min read

Ask a service member why they joined the military and many will respond with, “I want to give back to my country and be a part of something greater than myself. I joined because I want to serve.” As a recently commissioned naval officer, I can personally attest to how ubiquitous this answer is. In fact, I would be lying if I said I had not used those glib platitudes myself. But for such a deep and personal question, I had never given it the time and reflection it deserves — until recently.

I joined the military because I am selfish.

“Selfish” is perhaps a bit dramatic, but it’s not entirely false. When I moved back to Texas in elementary school, I remember having a tough time fitting in. I struggled to reconcile the disconnect between the culture I experienced inside my home, and the culture I observed outside it or on television. I felt jealous of my friends and how they all seemed to fit in without even trying. Often, that jealousy would turn into embarrassment, self-loathing, and sometimes into anger. I grew up feeling like a “perpetual foreigner” in my own country, while my individuality felt nothing more than the sum of a few stereotypes.

Recently with the coronavirus, there has been a dramatic rise in cases of hate crimes and racism against Asian Americans. Anti-Asian sentiments are not a new phenomenon in the United States. It has roots over a century ago including the first immigration laws and has since been ebbing and flowing in the American conscience. Today, I am reminded of my own confrontations with racism and hate. Attacks against the feelings I felt growing up — of wanting to fit in, to be accepted, and to be useful to others — remain raw. All I wanted was to belong.

I spent my teenage years living with my mother and sister in Southeast Houston. Neither of my parents was a U.S. citizen, so my father lived in Korea while my mother applied for a student visa to remain in the States with her American-born children. Despite her inexperience with the English language, my mother enrolled in college just so she could have the opportunity to take care of her children in the America. She did not have many friends and I’m sure it was easier said than done to raise her children without her husband in a foreign land. She smiled despite the challenges and showed me how persevering for those you love could be a source of extraordinary strength. She is my hero and best friend.

I tell you this because one of my fondest childhood memories was when my mother would occasionally pack me lunch for school. I remember one day in 4th grade, she packed me fried “mandu,” or fried Korean dumplings, for lunch — one of my favorites. I didn’t pay attention to any of my classes that morning because all I could think about was lunch. So when the bell finally rang, I ripped open my yellow lunchbox and marveled at the sight. I had the best mom in the world.

“Ew, do you smell that? What are you eating?” I heard coming from behind me. “It smells like poop!” Laughter filled the room. My cheeks flushed in embarrassment. I ended up spending the rest of the lunch period hiding under a desk by myself in the far corner of the classroom. I wished I could hide there forever and I didn’t end up eating my mandu. When my mom later found my lunch was untouched, I told her I just wasn’t feeling that hungry.

Fast forward to today, fifteen years later. Despite the struggles, I am often reminded of how blessed I am to have been born in the United States. As cliché as this sounds, I genuinely owe an unrepayable debt to all those who have given me the opportunities and second chances I very rarely deserved. But for a long time, I carried with me a darkness in my heart. I now know this was not necessarily because of what transpired that day during lunch. It was not because of that time at Walgreen’s when the woman turned around to tell me to “shut up and stop looking at [her]” after hearing me speak Korean. It was also not because of that man in the donut shop who ignorantly remarked how he wasn’t aware there was a foreign exchange program at the Naval Academy when he overheard me talking to my friends about my acceptance to Annapolis.

But rather, I realized the source of this darkness was mostly me. As much as I hated feeling like an outsider because of my own identity, I felt even more alone and excluded when I found myself forgetting how it feels to be on the receiving end of hatred or ignorance. It is so easy to fail to see ourselves in the people around us. I know, because I have fallen short in this endeavor many more times than I can count. As a result of my own ignorance when it comes to race, sexuality, religion or any other label you could think of, I am embarrassed to say I have harbored a little bit of that Walgreen’s lady in my own self from time to time. I am an American-born person of color who joined the military to be accepted in my own country. But how could I call myself an American when I was the very American who made others feel as if they did not belong?

I am convinced my motivations to join the military were in many ways borne of selfishness than of selflessness. I felt that it was the only way to earn my place — as if hearing a stranger tell me “thank you for your service” would somehow validate to others my legitimacy as an equal American. It took a pandemic and racial upheaval for me to realize that looking outside-in can only get you so far in the quest to belong. It requires so much more than that. To belong as an American requires me to recognize my own humanity in those of others, no matter how different they may seem from myself or the “norm”. I hope even in these troubling times — as our country continues to grapple with race, empathy, and justice — we can all take a moment to belong. I have felt like an outsider for most of my life and I wonder if that feeling will ever disappear. But I know I can make a difference today, starting with myself.

Selfish, indeed.