So, let's see, where to begin? I think maybe
it would be helpful to begin with the earliest
memory I had. I know that there's some stuff
that happened before I could remember when I
was still alive. So I remember my parents telling
me stories that we had moved to the United States
from South Korea. Actually, I was still in my
mother's womb. So I wasn't actually born in Korea.
I was actually born here in the United States.
And they would tell me stories about living in
a studio apartment with my uncles and aunt. in
a tiny little space while they try to kind of
scrape things together. And I know there are
stories of my dad telling me how he used to clean
pools and, you know, clean toilets and stuff
for people in Bel Air, as well as, like, UCLA
students. He was one of those workers. But, you
know, I didn't actually have any memory of any
of that. My first memory actually was in Koreatown.
I still vividly remember that two -story home
that we lived in. My father at the time was a
junior pastor or intern. I'm not exactly sure
what the title is. All I knew was that he wasn't
the head pastor. He wasn't the head honcho. He
wasn't in charge. And that my mom was running
a home daycare center on the first floor of this
house. We lived on the second floor. There's
two bedrooms up there, I think. Maybe three.
No, I think it was two. Bedrooms up there that
we used to live. And then on the first floor,
it was just completely taken up by the home daycare
center. It was just basically exactly what you
expect from a daycare center, with toys, educational
material, the backyard, everything. It was kind
of set up for a daycare. What I do remember of
that time, and this was, you know, I'm thinking
like this was back in like second, first grade,
second grade. What I remember was that we were
comfortable. We weren't rich. I didn't get to
have much and, you know, I didn't get a lot of
like nice toys or anything like that. But we
were comfortable. We weren't poor. We had plenty
to make sure that we got the basic necessities
of life, right? Like food on the table, being
able to pay rent, things like that. And because
both my parents worked, my grandma was from my
mom's side, came to live with us. And I still
have wonderful memories of her being around,
taking care of me and my younger brother, my
only sibling. And I still remember how she would
feed us this rice mixed with margarine and soy
sauce. And then she topped it off with like sliced
and pan fried spam. It is probably the most.
unhealthiest thing that a kid should be eating.
But, you know, I think I loved it at the time.
And then that made my grandma happy. And then
so she would just constantly make it for me anytime
I said I was hungry. So, you know, those are
the early memories. There wasn't too much there.
I'll probably share more about that time, that
short period that I was, I can remember from
living there. But what I do remember vividly
is in third grade. Actually, it was going into
third grade, so I think I was just finishing
up second grade. My dad decided to take up a
new position as a lead pastor at a church out
in Redlands, which was about an hour to an hour
and a half east of Los Angeles. I didn't know
it at the time. But after the fact, you know,
just hearing through the grapevine, I found out
that there was probably some drama going on in
the church that my dad was pastoring at in Koreatown,
namely some internal tension, something about
jealousy or some issue with like the pastoral
staff. Not a surprise. You'll see that this is
probably going to be a theme throughout a lot
of the reason for the constant shifting work.
work situation for my dad. But Redlands, initially
when we moved there, it wasn't so bad. I mean,
except for maybe the unbearable summer heat,
it was just like any other suburban town. It
was fairly safe. It was a lot more, how do you
say this? It was less condensed than it was in
Koreatown. The demographics there, there weren't
as many Korean people crammed into a small space.
So there were just less people around. So I ended
up playing with like the neighborhood kids. Actually,
now that I think about it, it wasn't just the
unbearable summer heat. It was actually probably
heat all year round. The heat was pretty bad.
But other than that, there wasn't anything particularly
unique or interesting about Redlands, at least
when I moved there at the time. So this must
have been in, when was it? 1987? No, 1988, 1989.
1990? I don't know. Somewhere in that period.
I'm very bad with dates. My memory's never been
good with this regard. What I remember was that
the church that my dad was leading was fairly
small. The person that was there, the pastor
that was there, was aging and had to retire.
But it was a church that was built up and had
a fairly stable community, a number of people
that would consistently come. It was always awkward
making new friends at the church or adjusting
to like these things. But, you know, I do remember
that it wasn't like the worst thing in the world
because I had made friends fairly early on. Now,
it wasn't like... a large batch of friends. I
wasn't like popular or anything, but I had some
friends that kind of made it an easier transition.
I think it didn't help that on the first day
of school, I had this shirt from a Bible camp,
a summer Bible camp that said, friend to you
in the shape of a California license plate. And
I remember the friend that I made teased me for
it, but we became friends afterwards. And this
was in third grade. And I remember we ended up
playing in the monkey bars quite regularly. He
was one of the first friends I made. But, you
know, it has to be expected. What do you expect
from elementary school kids? They're going to
tease you, but this is how we bonded. At the
time, I just didn't like the moving and adjusting
to something new. And this is, I guess, I'm guessing
it would be normal for any kid, right? If you
kind of had started to develop a sense of belonging,
a sense of community, started to feel kind of
more comfortable where you were at, and then
you kind of get uprooted. It's going to be a
struggle. So I remember I didn't like that. And
I remember complaining about that quite a bit.
You know, getting dragged out there with no say.
And then the heat also just added on to things
that I had reason to complain about. But when
I think back, it's like, other than that, there
wasn't really much that was particularly worthy
of me getting really upset over. But something
changed, and something changed, and it happened
pretty quickly. Like I said, when we were in
Koreatown, we were fairly okay. It wasn't rich,
it wasn't poor, we just had enough. And even
in Redlands, when we first started off, it was
pretty much more of the same. But I was too young
to understand at the time. All I knew was that
the church membership started declining every
year. Less and less people started coming to
church. And, you know, I'm a kid, so I don't
know exactly why or what's going on. Parents,
you know, adults always try to kind of keep me
in the dark. But, you know, I did come to find
out, even as a kid, you're perceptive because
you overhear conversations. And I think adults
often don't give kids credit for just how much
they can understand. But I did know that there
was some sort of conflict going on in the church.
There was a real issue going on in the church
where people were not liking other people in
the church. I don't know why, but there was something
going on. And as a result, there was a continuous
drop in the membership. And I remember by the
end of elementary school, the membership declined
so much that the church couldn't pay the rent
for the space they were borrowing. They were
borrowing space from another church, and then
the church had to move. And this is, I think,
seeing this in real time is, I think, where I
started developing my first anxiety about money.
about having any sort of sense of stability,
financially anyways. You see, my dad's paycheck
was tied to what the church brought in, right?
So if there were no tithing, no offerings from
the congregation members, if there were no congregation
members to give tithes, there was no salary.
And as a result, my dad made nothing. And that
was the case I found out. I mean, it was pretty
rough. more rough than I had thought when we
first got to Redlands, but it became dramatically
worse fairly quickly. And my mom was out there
working, trying to make ends meet the best she
could, working a bunch of odd, low -paying, minimum
-wage jobs here and there to try to at least
scrape up money to pay the rent. You know, my
mom was extremely supportive of my dad in the
sense that she wanted my dad to succeed. So she
didn't want my dad taking on another job. She
wanted him to continue with his pastoral care
and investing his time and energy there. So my
dad continued serving the community best he could.
But in elementary school, I began to become really
aware just how poor I was. See, the thing is,
like. I think if you're around a bunch of other
poor kids, you don't notice, but I think being
in a suburban area where most kids were kind
of like middle class and they had most things
they needed kind of taken care of, seeing my
family go through this kind of financial struggle,
I became very aware of just how little we had,
not just by comparing myself to other kids, but...
Again, kids are, I think, a lot more perceptive
than adults give them credit for. I was very
much aware of my parents' financials because
I understood math by that age. And I could see
their checking account balance, right? I don't
remember why, but I was sneaking into the room
and looking through their stuff. I don't know
if it was sheer curiosity or what. But when I
would look at the checkbook and look at the balance,
I was like, oh, my goodness, we're in the red
regularly, right? Like, we have nothing saved
up, right? And I knew that, even knew that they
hid cash in the closet. And I could actually
count how much cash they had as a backup, you
know, hiding in the closet. And it wasn't much.
It wasn't much. It was enough. It wasn't even
enough to pay the next month's rent, right? It
was barely enough to just like. pay utilities,
for instance. But I also had a lot of other signs
that indicated to me, man, we were in a really
bad spot. So for one, I didn't get new clothes
for the longest time. At least I didn't get to
buy any clothes from stores. That was too much
of a financial burden on my parents to buy new
clothes. What I did get were clothes that were
donated to the church. To sell for yard sale,
to raise funds, and so on. And lucky me, I got
to get the first dibs on those clothes. Usually
those clothes were donated. I mean, there were
some church members who were, what do you call
it, who ran stores at Swamp Meets. And so they
would have these t -shirts. blank white t -shirts
uh some knockoffs and they would donate some
of that if they weren't selling they would donate
that to the church uh and so sometimes it was
like new right like other people didn't wear
but most of the time there were clothes that
you know were hand -me -downs right things that
other people had worn and it was kind of tattered
sometimes they were like issues with it or rips
or things like that that my mom might try to
sew and fix right those new clothes by the way
they were donated I mean if you're not familiar
with knockoffs right I mean maybe nowadays knockoffs
look a little bit better but back in those days
right man those were pretty they're like misaligned
pants and misprints those knockoffs were clearly
knockoffs too it wasn't even close right so you
might know about the brand FUBU I didn't get
FUBU I got like FOBU FOBU or some some other
right look alike. Adidas, I didn't get, I didn't
have Adidas. I remember it was like Adiolas or
something, right? It was something that looked
kind of like Adidas, but when you actually paid
careful attention, it was definitely not an Adidas,
right? But even then, there were only so many
clothes that I could wear, right? Matching sizes,
things like that. Or things that I wouldn't feel
completely embarrassed wearing, right? Based
on color or print or whatever else. So I remember
that this is going into junior high. I remember
I had like two pairs of pants that I would rotate
and maybe like four t -shirts. And that was what
I would rotate throughout the year. This was...
Definitely in elementary high, but I have more
vivid memories of that being the case in junior
high, mainly because I was teased for it. And
again, kids are going to be kids, understandably
so. And I have really painful memories of, you
know, kids pointing out like, didn't you wear
those pants like two days ago? Like, do you only
have like two pairs? Like people notice. I didn't
realize people know. I thought I could get away
with it if I just change out the shirts or something.
Right. But no. They noticed. I tried to play
it off and say, no, I just have multiples of
the same thing. But I really didn't. I remember
getting jeans was a big deal because jeans were
so expensive for my parents that, you know, getting
my first pair of jeans was like, oh, my goodness.
Now I'm OK. Now I'm on par with everybody else.
And that wasn't until junior high. I think, yeah,
I don't remember going shopping very much, but
there was once or twice I got to go and purchase
one thing that I wanted. That's what they were
able to do for me. Okay. So all this to say,
right, like, you know, I, you know, man, like
shopping at swap meets, getting hand -me -downs
or donated clothes, like it was my first exposure
to realizing, damn, I'm poor. I'm not just poor.
I'm like poor, poor, right? Like we're barely
making ends meet. I have no idea how we're actually
surviving off the money that my parents are bringing
in. Like it was a mystery to me. I always had
the suspicion that maybe there was something
illegal going on or, you know, somebody was funding
something and some illegal. I just couldn't make
sense of it. The numbers didn't make sense to
me. Again, I was a kid, but still a lot of it
didn't make sense. But I do know that we were
poor, poor. I'm talking like below the poverty
line poor, which on a side note, okay, I don't
know who comes up with these, the poverty line
for any of these social support programs. I remember
my parents would, you know, like apply for these
things and they weren't very good at English.
So I had to help them out even as, you know,
even at an early age. And I would see that there
was like a cutoff, like you needed to make below
a certain amount or have a certain like less
than a certain amount in the bank in order to
apply for some of these programs. And I would
look at the poverty line and I even as a kid,
it made absolutely no sense to me because the
poverty line. is a joke, right? If you are below
the poverty line, you're like next level poor.
Because I do know for sure that even if you were
above this poverty line, I don't know how they
said it, but whatever it was that poverty line
was, even if you were like a good, you know,
$1 ,000, $2 ,000, $3 ,000 a year above that poverty
line, you were still broke as hell. Like you
could probably not even live month to month.
So I don't know where they came up with this
line, but that was a line, right? And we were
below it. I know this for sure because I had
to help my parents with tax returns and other
things. Even in junior high, I had to help them
with a lot of the government documents for church
as well. Okay. But I'm talking like if we had
one bad month, we would have been on the streets.
Like that's how bad it was. I also knew I was
poor when my parents would have my brother and
myself jump into large trash bins. You know,
like the commercial size ones, the huge ones.
And they would have us dig out recyclables so
that we had money to pay for basic utilities
and such. You know, I think my brother at the
time was too young. He thought it was like a
fun game, like searching for, you know, aluminum
cans and so on. But I think by then I was old
enough to feel a deep sense of shame. I remember
that I would complain incessantly, like I would
be I would yell that this is like unjust. This
is not right. This is embarrassing. How could
you make us do this? I would still do it, you
know, but I would do it constantly complaining.
I remember that, you know, because this is not
like in some quiet corner. This is these are
in spaces where people would pass by. So I would
be so ashamed that I would try to hide my face.
when I saw people coming in that direction. You
know, there were also some early mornings when
my parents took us out to this field, actually
several fields, where actually calling it a field
is misleading. It was undeveloped property. That's
really what it was. It was next to local roads.
I remember one was like next to like a highway.
I believe it was like the 10 freeway, if you're
familiar with LA highways. My parents found out
that there were these plants growing on this.
property that Korean people, that my dad ate
as he was growing up in Korea. And, you know,
the people there in the United States just didn't
really eat it, right? So for him, it was just
like food, right? It was like free food. So he
would have us go out early in the morning to
dig into the dirt and pick out these plants to
harvest them. We were foraging for food, essentially.
And then he would wash them and dry it. He'd
make food with it, but then he'd also gift them
to other people. And again, I was super angry.
I was enraged. I was enraged that I had to do
this. I constantly complained because I didn't
think that this was okay to have your kids do.
I dug around the dirt in shame like I did when
I dug around the trash in shame. I would constantly
hide my face because, like I said, this is in
public space, right? Like cars are passing by.
People who are commuting to work in the morning
are passing by and could see a family of, you
know, Asian people just out in this undeveloped
land digging in the dirt for, you know, from
their perspective, God knows what. I also remember
I never got to see a proper doctor or dentist,
right? If I saw a dentist, that was probably
once every like four years. It was because there
was somebody that my parents knew who was able
to give it, give us that basic dental service,
like clean up and check up for free usually,
but sometimes for like a really discounted price.
We didn't have health insurance. God knows, you
know, I didn't know what that was, but we had
to utilize free clinics. Now, you know, I think
a lot of people think, oh, it was free clinic,
right? Pretty good deal, right? You get it for
free. It's like, you don't understand what free
clinics were like, right? Like, it was like first
come, first serve. There was no appointments,
at least the ones that were available for us.
And I do have memories of spending like literally
an entire day just waiting. just bored out of
my mind, just waiting. And that was the case
for so many people. We would wait for hours and
hours because guess what? Turned out there's
a lot of poor people. And there's a lot of us
who just had to wait and wait and wait to see
the doctor. And we just all came as early as
we could. But, you know, when you have hundreds
of people waiting and only a few doctors that
are there to see patients, it took a while. So
we would spend almost an entire day just waiting
there to see the doctor for, what, 10 minutes,
right? get a prescription for asthma medication,
you know. And because it took so much time out
of the day, we just couldn't go frequently, just
couldn't afford to spend that kind of time waiting.
And, you know, as I mentioned, right, like when
things went bad in Redlands, one of the things
that happened with the church is they had to
move to a cheaper, to rent out cheaper space.
And they moved to Colton. And that's actually
when I started spiraling downwards. See, the
thing is Colton, it's not too far from Redlands.
Like, it's a 15 -minute drive, which in California
time, that's like nothing, okay? Colton was kind
of like the suburbs, kind of, but not quite.
Like, I have to really describe exactly how it
was. See, Redlands was like a suburban town with
a bunch of middle -class people, at least where
I was, right? So we lived in the apartments,
but, you know. People were generally like, you
know, middle class, had steady jobs, right? It
was like a pretty safe neighborhood. Kids would
play outside and, you know, parents didn't have
to like watch them. We played with neighborhood
kids and, you know, we'd be able to get home
just fine, just, you know, safe and sound. Colton
at the time that we moved there was not that.
At least the area of Colton that we lived in.
It was run down with little to no commercial
development. A lot of the homes were old. small,
it was like, there were clear signs that this
was not necessarily going to be the, it wasn't
the nicer area of town. I think there was, at
least where we lived near the highway, it was
more like a truck stop that people stopped on
their way to someplace else. I was told at some
point that there was a nicer area of Colton,
a more recently developed area of Colton. But
that's not where we lived, right? We lived in
the place that was around and adjacent to and
very similar in many ways to the city of San
Bernardino, a city that I don't know. I don't
have the data, but I have a suspicion that it
had to have been the murder capital in California
at some point. That area scared the living daylights
out of me. But Colton wasn't that much better.
It was just less condensed and with less, you
know, like less dense population, really. But
Colton wasn't all that much better. You had all
the signs. You had all the signs of a place where
you knew it was like one step away from being
a complete broken down shantytown. You know,
you might have lived in an area like mine. Maybe,
hopefully, you didn't. But, you know, I have
visited other cities in California. I've done
work in a lot of different places and just traveling
to visit, like, friends or do other things. And
there are certain parts of California that remind
me a lot of Colton, so much so that when I get
there, I'm just like, oh, man, it feels like
I'm back home. You might be familiar with some
of these areas. Like, I remember going to Bakersfield
and certain parts of Fresno. I guess more recently
there's some parts of Fresno that are nicely
divided. That wasn't the... The side of Fresno
is not where I grew up. It was more like the
area where you see all the graffiti and run -down
homes, broken -down cars that look honestly like
junkyards instead of cars that are actually functioning.
I used to do some volunteer work at Lincoln Heights
in Los Angeles and Watts and South Central generally,
right? There's a lot of areas in those areas
that kind of look and feel like Colton. When
I was at Villanova, when I was teaching out there,
this was in Philadelphia, it was Upper Darby
in West Philadelphia, where I would drive through
and I'd be like, oh man, this feels so much like
where I grew up, right? It had all the same signs,
right? There were bars or, you know, boarded
up windows to prevent home invasions or to cover
up. you know, drug activity, the graffiti. And
I'm not talking like artistic kind of graffiti,
right? Because you see some of that in downtown
Los Angeles now, right? Where the graffiti is
like, I actually admire. It's like, it's pretty
good art. I'm talking like the kind of graffiti
where it's not pretty. It's just there to mark
various sorts of gang or drug activity or something
else, okay? The homeless encampments, right?
Like people just like pitching up tent along
the streets. Frequent police presence. It was
pretty common. Swam meets, right? Like, if you
don't know what a swam meet is, then you don't
know poor areas. Like, this is where poor people
go to shop is swam meets. And various street
vendors. Oh, a big one is the Czech cashing stores
and pawn shops, right? That's when you know you're
in a poor neighborhood. You know, these are all
the signs. And every time I visit an area where
it has all of them, it just feels like home.
Feels like what it was growing up in Colton,
which was pretty much all of high school and
a part of my junior high years. Let's see. Now,
here's the thing. My mom knew that I still needed
to get a good education. She cared enough that
she wanted me to have at least some opportunity.
So at least she tried to work the public school
system. So instead of sending me to Colton High
School, which is, I think, technically where
I should have gone, she found a way to get me
in. to Redlands High School and to stay in the
Redlands Unified School District, which was by
a lot of measures probably better in terms of
opportunities. If I wasn't, if she didn't put
me in that environment, I imagine things could
have been far worse for me. I could have fallen
into a lot of different kind of activities, set
of activities, and probably would not have had
the same motivation. And the educational side
of things. But it also did something else. It
opened my eyes to vast wealth disparity. See,
here's the thing, right? Like I said, when you're
around a bunch of poor people, then you're all
just poor. So it's like life sucks, but it's
all sucking the same for all of us, right? If
you are hanging around in a neighborhood where
people just live different because they have
so much more, but then you go back home and in
your home it's like, oh shit, we don't even have
a proper working air conditioner or heater. Or
I think our heater was probably one of the reasons
I got asthma in the first place. If you see that
kind of difference, then... It opens your eyes
and makes you start questioning why the world
is structured the way it is. At least that's
what it did for me, right? I mean, Redlands at
the time was a nice area. There weren't iron
bars on the windows. There wasn't homeless encampments
all over the place, right? The students, my peers,
my classmates at Redlands, they could afford
to go snowboarding in the winter. They were able
to at least get some designer clothes. I mean,
actual designer clothes, not the knockoffs, right?
right smack in front of me. It was, like, smacking
me in front of my face, right? I remember, like,
in the tennis team, right, the ones that were,
like, really, really good, like, they were, like,
you know, state competitive in the state junior,
I don't know what it was, league or what. But
I remember at the end of the year, one of them,
their parents just said, like, they opened up
their place to have our end of the year, like,
party at their house. I remember going to their
house and thinking, like, what the fuck is this?
I've never been to a place where they have their
own little wine cellar. And there were bottles
of wine in there that they were telling me, like,
are valued at like $10 ,000, right, for one bottle
of wine, right? So there were people, especially
in the, like, you know, not mountain, but it's
like the hills, Smiley Heights, or I don't know
what it was, the name. But there were areas where
they were really, really wealthy, really wealthy.
Like they had a lot, they drove around nice cars.
And to see that and then go from that to going
home, that gap in reality was just so stunning
to me. And that's the thing. Like, it wasn't
even that I was, I still had some of my basic
needs met. It sucked and we had to scrap for
everything we got. It just baffled my mind that
15 minutes away, there were people living in
circumstances where, Jesus Christ, like they
had like, you know, like 20 years of my parents'
salary to just blow on whatever they felt like
for a vacation. Like that was insane to me. That
was absolutely insane to me. Now, I spent this
whole time kind of painting pictures of this
process of going from Koreatown to Redlands.
Colton, and you might be wondering, why am I
painting this picture, right? That's what I'm
trying to say. It's not so much about the poverty
itself, but my perception of that poverty, I
think, that really molded my early thoughts on
economics, on social responsibility, on my feelings
and attitudes toward the police. It started with...
not just being poor, but it started with being
poor and seeing how different things can be.
See, that's the thing. If I lacked any awareness,
I might've been perfectly fine. I might've just
been like, life is hard, but you know, we make
the most out of it. I think that's kind of like
how it was for maybe my dad. He lived in the
countryside and that's where he grew up in the
countryside and farming community out in South
Korea. And you know, for them, Everybody just
had little, right? There weren't big city people.
They didn't have all the modern technologies
and so on. But that's how everybody else was
in the town. So it was kind of like, you know,
that's just how life was, right? But when you
see that life can be different, that changes
your perception of things. Maybe I would have
been, maybe not fine, but would have been more
fine with being poor. But I saw what it looked
like for you to not be poor. And in fact, the
opposite for what it looked like to be rich.
to be rich, rich. And that gap made it hard not
to notice just how little I actually had. And
as a result, I felt alone. I felt alone. I felt
like I couldn't be friends with the people around
me, with my classmates. I was hesitant to. I
was hesitant to join them for anything. How could
I? I was afraid that it was going to mean that
I needed money. Because guess what they're going
to want to do? They're going to want to do things
that cost money. How do I hang out with them
even to go to the movie theaters when, for them,
a movie theater is just asking parents for the
ticket price, right? They didn't have to get
anything nice. They don't have to go buy a big
bucket of popcorn that's overpriced at the movie
theater. Just tickets to the movie theater, right?
For them, it was just more like... I could just
ask my parents and then if they say yes, I'll
just be able to pay for it. For me, my parents
definitely didn't have the money. The way I was
able to go to a movie theater was that I had
to, you know, scrape for and save for like a
whole week, right? My parents gave me, I think
at the time it was like two bucks for lunch.
There were so many lunches where I either skipped
it completely or just bought a 99 cent bag of
chips for lunch. And that $1 I saved, that would
be the $1. I didn't get an allowance. Like, where
was the money for that? And I remember when prom
time came, the idea of even asking somebody out
to prom was just unthinkable. For one, the prom
tickets were too expensive. And on top of that,
clothes and anything else that had to be prepared,
like, just didn't make any sense. Not that I
didn't necessarily want to go. But I would have
to tell myself that I didn't want to go because
it didn't matter. I just couldn't afford it.
Then there was a sense of shame. I mean, I mentioned
the shame in having to dig through trash for
recyclables and not having jeans because they
were too expensive. But there's just a sense
of shame in knowing that you are... Just not
where everybody else is. I didn't want to share
anything about my life with any of my classmates
in high school. In fact, I wanted to escape high
school as much as possible. I wanted to hide
as much of myself as possible. Because for them
to know me is just to know just what kind of
a shitty life I'm living. And there's something
really embarrassing about it. I mean, I don't
know if any of you know what solo jeans are.
I mean, I talk about shopping at Swami Terrain.
If you know what solo jeans are, you know what
I'm talking about. Even when I had jeans, it
was those kinds of jeans. And so the idea of
saying anything about brand names was ridiculous.
Going shopping with friends just to never be
able to buy anything. What's the point of that
except to feel more shame, more isolation? to
feel more alone. And then finally it hit, right?
Like all these things, it was all these experiences,
like along the way, you know, they were all building
up to something that became deeply embedded within
me, right? Which was a rage. And rage doesn't
honestly describe what was being fueled in me.
It's a kind of rage that... I can't put words
to. It's an overwhelming kind of rage. And I
didn't understand exactly what it was at the
time. I just knew that I hated my life. I just
hated the world. I hated everybody. I hated everything
about everything. I just hated and hated because
there was no way to contain this rage. It was
just spilling out at any and everything that
was around me. Even when I put a smile on my
face, even when I would try to be friendly with
people, there was always an undertone of this
rage. I mean, how can some of my classmates have
a huge home and be able to afford all the different
perks of helping them get into a good college
and go on these vacations every year to go overseas
when my parents could barely find ways to afford
food on the table, to pay the rent, to keep the
lights on? How does that make any sense? I mean,
I knew that I didn't do anything to deserve this.
I mean, I blame my parents a lot, but I knew
that I didn't do anything to deserve it because
it wasn't my, I mean, I was a kid. How am I supposed
to be able to bring myself and my family out
of poverty? In elementary school, in junior high,
in high school, how am I supposed to do that?
But the thing is, I felt stuck in it. There was
no way out. And I was angry. I was an angry,
angry young boy. And because I didn't have anywhere
to put it, I just started acting out. Now, I
try my best to keep it within and contained in
a way that was more or less healthy. I mean,
there was part of me that still thought long
term enough to know that, you know, going down
a certain path would be detrimental to myself.
Some of it was relatively healthy. I became extremely
competitive in academics. And in academics, I
had one goal. It was to get the fuck out. It
wasn't to build a good life for myself. I didn't
really have a strong desire to go to any particular
college. My primary goal was to get the fuck
out. Get out of San Bernardino. Get out of Colton.
Get out of Redlands. Get away from my parents.
Get away from everything. It was just all too
overwhelming. So there was something that drove
me. That anger drove me to dedicate myself. as
much as possible and to become super competitive
when it comes to the one thing that I had at
least a modicum of ability to do, which was in
school. And so I worked my ass off. I became
just so obsessed with trying to be the best at
everything because it felt like I needed to be
one step above everyone else just to tread water.
Everybody else, they had a safety net. It didn't
matter if they got out or not. They would have
a place. I mean, for them, it wasn't miserable.
It wasn't miserable living the life that they
did. So status quo wasn't a big deal. But for
me, status quo meant I'm just going to kill myself
because there was no point in living at that
point. That rage, though, it came out in other
ways, right? I mean, like I said, I couldn't
contain it. I knew that I was angry. And I just
didn't know exactly where to direct it. And as
much as I wanted to direct it to things that
were, you know, maybe to my benefit in the long
run, it just spilled out into everything. And
one of the biggest ways was I just did not give
a fuck about other people. My attitude towards
you to everybody else was just, fuck you. Why
should I care about you if no one seems to care
about me? I... Don't care if you are suffering
because nobody seemed to care about my suffering.
So fuck you. You deal with it yourself. I'm going
to handle my own. I'm going to do things for
myself and that's it. I think it didn't help
that I experienced my parents getting ripped
off, right? A lot of it was the... Korean immigrant
community. And San Bernardino is a very small
community. But, you know, because my parents
didn't know how to speak any English and they
never really learned and they had to rely on
that community, it also made them ripe targets
for people who wanted to take advantage. And
I was able to see it. And when I saw it happening
and my parents falling for that shit, I became
even angrier. And again, it was the same thing.
It was a fuck you, you asshole. How can you do
this? If you're going to be this way with other
people, if you're not going to have a sense of
care for other people and doing the right thing,
then I'm not going to like, what benefit do I
see for myself by playing by the rules? And because
the rage just felt so overwhelming and the world
just felt so out of my control, I just channeled
this rage to wanting to do something that I could
actually have some control over. And it turned
out that I met a couple of, you know, these kids.
They were Vietnamese, I think. They were my age.
And they're cousins. And, you know, they were,
I believe, if I'm remembering correctly, they
lived in one of these shanty towns out in San
Bernardino. And they, I think they're children
of refugees that were placed there. And so, you
know, they came from a poor background. It was
all poor together. And they taught me the ropes
of how to go ahead and shoplift. you know, we,
I mean, all of us, we all knew like, dang, we
look Asian. Like we look like we're some smart
kids. We get decent grades in class. Right. Um,
I don't know if you've seen the movie better
luck tomorrow, but it was kind of like that,
right? Like people would just think like, oh
yeah, these are some good kids. Right. But man,
and we were not good kids. We were not, we were
well -mannered and we knew how to use the kind
of perception that people had to our advantage.
So we were able to get away with it. We were
able to steal all kinds of stuff. And we didn't
steal things that, you know, it wasn't like candy
or food. It wasn't even things we needed necessarily.
That's what's crazy. Like, the stealing, I don't
know what it was for them, but I know for me,
the stealing, it wasn't about making ends meet.
I know this because it didn't do anything to
make ends meet. It didn't help me, like, you
know, help my parents, like, pay the rent. It
didn't help us with, like, putting food on the
table or anything like that. No, I was stealing
electronic devices that was for my own entertainment,
computer parts to build my own computer, and
CDs because CDs were expensive. Man, I really
wanted that Life or Death CDs and Notorious B
.I .G. Life After Death. Sorry, I'm messing up
the title here. And all these other CDs, when
they came out, I wanted those CDs, but they were
too expensive. So what do you do? You steal them.
This was before Napster, by the way, or if that's
too old for you, right? Like before things like
Spotify, like there's no streaming or anything
like that available. You had to get those CDs.
I would steal them. And it was easy. And I was
able to use the perception that people had of
me in order to get away with it. But I wasn't
stealing in order to, you know, because I had
to. It didn't help me in that respect. No, I
was stealing because it was just another way
to give the middle finger to the world. To my
parents, to the economic systems, to everyone
in the community, just to say, if you want, like
what's actually weird is that even, I remember
even at the time we had like a code of ethics
among thieves, right? Like we wouldn't steal
from any other poor people. We would go after
wealthier people and namely, mostly corporations,
especially bigger corporations, not mom and pop
places. But we had no qualms about stealing because
like, what choice do we have? If we want to have
a sense of control, there was just. There wasn't
very many options available to us. And as much
as I try to channel it into working hard, there's
only so much of that that would, you know, appease
the rage that was burning inside me. And here's
the thing. You think things might have changed
once I got to college, once I got a graduate
degree, once I got a job. But that's the thing.
Until I confronted all of this past, everything
that had shaped me and had been like... you know,
bubbling up and boiling underneath the surface.
It just, nothing, it doesn't go away. It stays
there. It just stays beneath the surface. But
it's there. It was always there. You know, during
college, I never went back home. I always made
an excuse to stay. I was at the time, you know,
undergrad, went to UCLA. It was only like a little
over an hour's drive to my parents' place. But
I gave every excuse in the book to never come
home. And this is not just for, like, you know,
holidays or things like that. I'm talking ever.
In the summers, I signed up for the UCLA orientation
program because that would allow me to stay on
the campus. Now, I'm being completely honest.
Like, I did want to be on the orientation staff.
I thought it would be a great experience. I thought
it would be fun. I definitely wanted it for its
own sake. But as much as I wanted to deny it,
One of the biggest benefits for me was being
able to not have to go home. I desperately wanted
to not have to go home. If it wasn't the orientation
program, I would have found something else. Something
else that would allow me to stay away from home.
I didn't want to go home because home was a reminder
of everything about my life to that point. And
I wanted zero reminders. I wanted to... move
past it. I wanted to pretend like it wasn't there.
I didn't want to deal with it. I mean, being
at UCLA was the perfect sort of bubble for that
because it's in a wealthy neighborhood. It's
a college campus that's fairly isolated from
the rest of the real world. And it allowed me
that safe space to just be able to be without
having to worry about parents or finances or
any of those things. All I had to do was take
care of myself. When it came to academic life,
right, that same, the way that rage and that
anxiety about, you know, wanting to get out,
right, how that fueled me in high school, the
same thing fueled me in college. I became an
absolute workaholic. It might not have looked
like that all the time, but I wanted to stack
up any accolades or anything I needed to, to
give me an edge so that I didn't have to worry
about getting fired, right? But it was driven
by anxiety. It was driven by a fear of my past.
That's really all it was. I mean, you can kind
of sense it when, if you came into my room, like
in my dorm room, right? I would have every semester,
I guess it was a quarter semester, every quarter,
I would put up a list of goals for that semester,
for that quarter. I would write it out as like
a motivation. And I would put it on the wall
right in front above my desk so I could see it
every day, right? You know, I would put down
all kinds of stuff, like, hey, straight A's and
accomplish this and then get this position and
da -da -da -da -da, a list of stuff that I wanted,
right? And on the bottom, every single quarter,
it said the same thing, which is anything else
is a failure. That's the way I viewed it. And
I was just so afraid that I would fall back into
the old life, that I would want to do everything
I could to ensure that that was not going to
happen. You know, and then I started pursuing
a, you know, a life in academia. I wanted to
be a professor. And, you know, in my mind, and
this is this is also true. I mean, both things
can be true. Right. But I wanted to be a professor
in part because I like teaching for sure. And
I liked having a non -standard work life. Right.
I didn't like the idea of like a nine to five
job. I didn't like having to go into the office
and clock in and clock out and then, you know,
do the usual whatever that people office job
that people did. I didn't like the idea of any
of that, so I was trying to avoid that for one,
right? And also the job just seems more engaging,
especially when you're teaching face -to -face.
But it was also true that what I wanted more
than anything, right, was tenure. I wanted job
security. I wanted job security. And there was
very few places in the world where you could
get that kind of job security. Once I got tenure,
I thought, like, oh, man, yeah. That's how I
didn't want to be rich. I just didn't want to
be poor. That was my motivator. And that tells
you that I was driven by the anxiety and not
like a desire for anything else. I was driven
by anxiety. I was anxious that I would be poor.
So I was looking for that job security because,
hey, if I had that, maybe if I want to make more
money later on, I could find ways to make more
money. But at least I would not be poor. I was
trying so desperately to escape the past. And
anytime I thought I was okay, like something
would happen to remind me that the past was just
like. It was still there. It was just like I
was paranoid. It was one step away. Right. You
know, during the recession, when the subprime
mortgage, you know, the crisis happened and we
entered into like a deep recession. Right. My
parents got caught up in the middle of that.
Right. There was a period where they were just
like, it's not working out in Colton. They decided
to move. But then they were able to luckily get
what they thought was a cheap loan, low interest
rate. So they were super excited. They had plans
for how they were going to kind of have a steady
income and yada, yada, yada. But then, of course,
housing crash and they just lost their shirt.
Now, I was in the middle of my Ph .D. program
at UC Santa Barbara at the time. And my parents
really, as a result of the recession, just had
nothing. The house had to be short -sailed and
that was a good luck. That was good luck for
them because at least it wasn't a complete foreclosure.
I think there was like a slight difference on
how it impacted their credit. But the point is,
like, I was telling my brother because it was
so bad. I was telling my brother, like, my parents
were not going to be able to make a living. They
weren't going to be able to pay rent. They're
going to be out in the streets. So I was considering
just quitting the graduate program and just get
a job. I knew I could probably at least make
money enough to. you know, pay for rent and pay
for living expenses. And if my brother hadn't
supported me then, you know, I told my brother
this and he reassured me. He said, you know,
he actually had a job before me, right? He had
already started teaching. He said, you know,
like, no, I don't want you to quit this. I want
you to finish it up. And then in the meantime,
I'll take care of mom and dad. I'll make sure
that they have a home. And he, in fact, had them
move in with him. He got a place where there
was enough room so that my parents, our parents
could live with him. If he didn't step in like
that, I would be in a very different place. And
thank you, honestly, like gratitude. The gratitude
I feel is like thank yous and a million thank
yous doesn't really actually cover anywhere close
to what he had done. Because here's the thing,
like, you know, I think people from the outside
might think, oh, what a nice thing to do financially.
That's what a great way to support the parents,
like great thing he did. I saw what it actually
did for him, which was it was tough for him because
it was emotionally, mentally draining. It was
draining for him. I know that he did not want
to come home because my parents were there. Like,
I mean, who in their right mind in their 20s,
you know, would want to come home to parents
that they had to take care of that were still
able -bodied? And, you know, if you were so used
to kind of living your own life, right? Like,
why would you want that? It's a struggle. So
I know it was hard for him. It must have been
hard emotionally in ways that he probably hasn't
even shared with me. You know? And I know my
parents, and I know the kind of buttons that
they could push. Not because they're horrible
people or because they're intending to, but that's
just how family sometimes is. And so my brother
had to put up with all of that for years. For
years. And so I know that the burden was probably
a lot more than what anybody else could. probably
really imagine but here's the thing like all
that happening was again just another reminder
like right when i thought i was so close i was
so close to getting to that place where i had
security it was just another reminder man poverty
is only one step away right it could drag you
back down with with a with a blink of an eye
and that just i remember Just seeing my parents
going through that and my brother having to pick
up the pieces, it just broke me. And I became
even more paranoid. I was reminded that poverty
was still reaching out for me, wanting to grab
at me and pull me back down. So I did everything
I could. I worked my ass off to try to finish
the degree. I spent summers teaching SAT classes,
tutoring, trying to save up as much money as
I can. And as much as I earned, it was never
enough. And I wanted to feel safe, but that feeling
never came. And it became absolutely evident
in my marriage. Because once I finished that
degree at Santa Barbara, that was when I got
married. And I moved to Philadelphia area. It
was in the suburbs of Philadelphia, Westchester,
but Philadelphia area. to teach at Villanova.
And I was still in the mindset of that kid in
high school who was hustling, stealing, willing
to bend the rules to get an edge, anything to
make sure that I wasn't a victim of life. I was
so obsessed with working for that tenure. Now,
Villanova wasn't a tenure track job. So I worked
my ass off even more because I was thinking,
man, I need to at least land a tenure track job
because this one is only going to last me a few
years if that. I don't know when I'm going to
be let go because it was temporary. I knew it
was temporary. That's what they told me. I just
didn't know exactly how temporary in my mind.
So I kept on working and working and trying to
publish and trying to do this and that, everything
I thought that I needed to do. And here's the
thing. I was so obsessed with alleviating myself
of this anxiety that it took a toll on my relationship.
At the time, I remember the early years of marriage.
It nearly destroyed it within a year. Because
I was emotionally and mentally checked out. I
was so focused on all the things I needed to
do. And I constantly felt overwhelmed by this
need to get that job, that next job. The desire
to kind of run away from my past. That, you know,
I was neglecting my health. both mental and physical,
but more importantly, I was neglecting my partner.
I wasn't mentally there with her when she would
share things that were, she was looking for emotional
support. Like I just wasn't there. I mean, there
was a separate problem that I just didn't know
how, I had to learn how, but I didn't have the
energy to learn how really, because I was just
so checked out. I was more consumed by my anxiety
about other things. And if I didn't have a partner
who was herself in the mental health profession,
who knew what I had to look for, I probably wouldn't
have started seeing a therapist, or at least
a good one. And I would honestly not be alive
today because I would have ended myself. That's
the reality. There were a lot of nights where
I was a razor's edge from just trying to give
up on life. And it wouldn't have been the first
time I considered it because it's something that
was a theme throughout much of my childhood.
But of course, therapy, you know, going to therapy
didn't change much at the time other than keeping
me from going over the edge. I was only able
to find some footing to be able to get back to,
I would say, like not super anxious and not super
stressed. But the anxiety about being poor, like
it was still there. I mean, I know it was still
there. After I got a tenure track job at Pasadena
City Colleges, which is where I teach right now,
you know, it just seemed like life was throwing
off. Maybe it's my poor planning, but life just
happens to have a way of kind of dumping all
these things at once on you or you just maybe
I brought it on myself. But I was having my first
child right when I was starting at PCC. And I
remember getting to PCC and. I was, again, mentally
so focused on making sure that I didn't lose
this opportunity, that I didn't mess it up, that
I actually got that tenure. Now, I must tell
you, like, I had mentors at PCC from day one
that were so wonderful and reassured me, like,
you're going to be fine. You'll get tenure as
long as you don't do something horrible like,
you know. commit a vicious, violent crime on
campus in front of students or something. Like,
you need to, like, relax. Like, you're going
to be fine. You just need to continue doing what
you're good at, which is just teach. Teach well,
right? But I had a hard time taking my foot off
the gas because I was so scared that there would
be some reason that they would just go ahead
and, you know, X me. That would be done. And
so even when my daughter was in the hospital
at two weeks old with an unexplained infection.
And, you know, we were there staying at the hospital.
This was for like almost a month. We were just
sleeping in the hospital trying to figure out
what it was. Eventually we found out it was an
infection in the bone, deeply embedded in the
bone, which we're still dealing with now because
now her leg is not growing at the rate it should.
But I remember those nights, like staying up
at night and instead of... Being there, thinking
of my daughter, I was staying up at night just
trying to hold myself together as I graded papers.
Because in my mind, I was thinking, I can't lose
this job. I can't lose this health insurance.
This is what's paying for all of this because
I know the bill is going to be a goddamn mortgage.
No wonder my partner felt all alone. In a time
when, you know, it was both our first -time parents,
right? And she was scared. She didn't know what
to think, and I just wasn't there. I mean, I
was physically there, but emotionally I just
wasn't there. And so no wonder that she felt
all alone. No wonder that I felt disconnected
from my own daughter. The consequences of which
I still feel today, right? I do wonder if those
early years when I wasn't emotionally present,
that that might be contributing to why she feels
anxious when I'm not around. Why she clings on
to me sometimes. Because I might have physically
been there, but in every other respect, I was
just gone. I was just too engulfed in my own
anxiety. Here's the thing. Being told and reminded
that I am not in the same situation that I was
in high school or in junior high, it didn't help
at all. Being told that I have resources that
I didn't have before doesn't help at all. The
only thing that helped with dealing with my past,
which was actually facing my past, because the
truth is the trap was all in me. The traps I've
set up in my mind from these past experiences,
these are not things that you overcome by changing
the world around you. Because the trap was in
my own mind. I needed to address the trap that
I had placed for myself. I couldn't see reality
for what it was because my mind was still trapped
in that past. And there's no reasoning your way
out of it. There's no thinking your way out of
it. Trust me, I tried. This is one of those places
where cognitive behavioral therapy, as much as
I wish it would have worked, didn't do shit for
me. Because nothing changed that feeling, that
eerie... That eerie feeling that poverty was
just knocking at my door, reaching its arms out.
You know that weird tickle you feel in the back
of your neck when you get freaked out, right?
That's that feeling. It was just waiting for
me to slip up so it could just pull me back into
the old life. I was paranoid. And the only thing
that helped was to actually talk about it, to
let myself hurt, let myself cry. Let myself be
angry. Find a place to put all that rage, to
release all of these feelings that I kept bottled
up for so long. The things that I used as fuel
to work and work and work, I needed to just let
it go. I needed to acknowledge all the fears
that I had, the worries that I had. Instead of
trying to think myself out of it, I just had
to let myself feel it. acknowledge it, and then
embrace it as a part of where I'm at. And for
me, I don't know about other people, but for
me, I'll tell you this, there was just going
to be no other way. Because the moment I tried
to push it aside or think it away or, you know,
try to overcome it by doing more, it felt like
it just had a bigger grasp on my life. On everything
about the way that I moved, about the decisions
I made, about the way that I lived, about my
relationships, the way that I planned, scheduled
my time. See, when people talk to me about poverty,
I think usually they think so much about the
logistics of not having much. That's where their
eyes, ears go. But I think the people who have
actually been through it really know what the
full experience is like, how it haunts you, how
it changes the way you think about your finances
and your relationships and the way that you think
about yourself. Too often, people don't realize
the shame and isolation that you feel from the
rest of society when you don't have money. And
none of these feelings go away just because you
get your hands on some money. I could be rich
overnight and those feelings would still be there.
Because the truth is, when you go through this,
it becomes a part of you. Just as when somebody
experiences a trauma, I imagine it shapes them
in a way where however you come out on the other
end, it has definitely, without a doubt, has
become a part of you. It's just that kind of
an experience. And there's no redemption story
here. I'm still mired in it. I'm still learning
to face and cope with my own past. There's no
getting past it. There's no just moving on. There's
no, like, past is just in the past. It's hard
to when the past has just now become a part of
who you are. I remember when I was driving by
West Philadelphia with my partner for the first
time. I've never been in Philly until then. But
specifically West Philadelphia, we were passing
by. I forget exactly why. I wonder if it was
just on the way to the city to get something
to eat. I forget exactly why. But I told her
as I was looking around and seeing all of those
familiar signs, the boarded up windows and graffiti
and people. walking aimlessly in the street,
possibly hopped up on something, pushing around
their entire belongings in a shopping cart. I
was looking out and I saw these people and I
was like, man, this feels like my people. And
she was trying to reassure me and remind me like
I wasn't, because she knows about my past. She's
like, you know, you're not like you used to be.
You're not in the same situation. She was trying
to remind me of the reality that I wasn't in
the same. poverty -stricken situation I used
to be in. And I remember thinking at the time,
like, she doesn't understand. These were my people.
It didn't matter how much money I made, how much
education I got, whatever status I achieved,
none of it made a difference. These were my people.
These are the ones that, you know... or growing
up in the same conditions that I grew up in,
experiencing the same kind of hopelessness and
anger and depression and frustration at life,
at the world. And just as I'll forever feel a
kinship with the people living in the worst of
conditions, I'll feel similarly. We'll always
feel disconnected to some degree with anyone
who hasn't been through it, because poverty shaped
me in a way that will never make sense from the
outside looking in.