Living as an Outsider

Today a white woman got on the bus, and I was struck by her confidence.

I live in Korea, so she was the only fully white person on board, but she just calmly smacked her gum and found a seat. My first thought was that this was the attractiveness of the “older” (no longer in her twenties) woman: Comfort in her own skin.

Then I decided this woman’s ease was also probably related to the amount of experience she has had abroad. I remembered how uncertain I used to be as a foreigner in Korea, how even something simple like riding the bus intimidated me. And it struck me how much I’ve changed.

I’ve been living in Korea for nearly 6 years, but I’m still an outsider.

As some coworkers recently pointed out, I always will be. Even if I were to marry a native (as they have), even if I were to become fluent in the language (as some foreigners do), I still wouldn’t be fully embraced, because it all comes down to blood.

I do have some Korean blood, so I suppose I hold more hope of acceptance than most, but still. Being an outsider isn’t easy. It’s one of those experiences that changes you.

I didn’t come to Korea in order to stick out like a sore thumb.

It was just a side consequence of living here that I’ve generally endured and/or ignored. (And I haven’t always felt ostracized. I have also been genuinely and surprisingly embraced.)

But today I feel thankful for the ways being an outsider has stretched me.

When you are part of the majority, you take a lot of things for granted: being accepted, being comfortable, having your needs acknowledged and met. Even the opportunity to be anonymous is a privilege I didn’t recognize until it was taken from me.

In Korea, I’ve been forced to face who I am and what I value. I’ve learned to find my approval outside of society’s standard. I have learned to go without backup, to be creative in communication, to persevere through frustration after frustration and wall after wall. And sometimes, I’ve learned to let go.

Sometimes I have wondered if living abroad was a form of running away,

a convenient way to sidestep the expectations and restrictions of living at home. Sometimes I have not given myself enough credit.

Stepping into the unknown of moving to Korea was scary 6 years ago. (I had the stomach ulcers to prove it!) Every time I stepped out of my apartment, stepped onto a bus or crowded subway car, stepped into a bank or grocery store, I had to muster up strength.

That habit of mustering up strength builds muscles over time, and I’m thankful for the muscles I’ve built the past 6 years. I’ve been stretched, I’ve been scared, I’ve been so tired I thought I would collapse, and I’ve learned that pushing through is not just about getting to the other side, it’s about finding out who you are.

As an outsider, I have a unique freedom

to sidestep social norms and bring fresh perspective. I can operate independently from the people around me precisely because I know I am not one of them. I can pick and choose which parts of the culture I embrace and which I modify.

But ultimately, my goal isn’t to separate myself from society, but rather to connect. I don’t want to just become a woman confident in her own skin, but one who makes life brighter for everyone around her. And as an outsider, I have unique opportunities every day to do just that.

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Elizabeth is an American living in South Korea who believes in destiny, miracles, and living life intentionally. She holds to simple faith in a complex world, values the beauty of the everyday, and strives for vulnerability with other imperfect humans. She is always learning, laughing, and finding herself in awe of grace.

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