Koryoin in Korea find themselves asking 'where is home?'

[SHUTTERSTOCK]

“It's sad that there are still many Koreans who don't know that Koreans like me exist,” said my friend during a casual conversation on the way home after studying in the school library. It is truly sad, because every time a stranger in Korea asks me the simple question — “Are you a foreigner?” — I am left totally confused about how I should respond, because there is no exact answer.

Khagay Tatyana

When there's a lack of time, I just simply nod but in most cases I try to share my story, our story. I am a fourth-generation Koryoin student at Seoul National University, who came to Korea from Kazakhstan in 2019. When introducing myself in Korea, I use the term Koryoin — which only a few people are familiar with — meaning ethnic Korean person coming from post-Soviet countries such as Russia, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan and Kyrgyzstan.

Even though I have Korean roots and blood, it is almost impossible to consider myself Korean in Korea and many of my fellow college students feel the same. Interestingly, in post-Soviet countries there is no need for us to call ourselves Koryoin people or Koryo-saram (people). We just simply say “Korean” and it is crystal clear for everyone. As one of my friends says “In Russia, I am Korean. In Korea, I am not Korean, I am Koryoin.”

The feeling of being an outsider starts with what we call ourselves and ends with the differences in our lifestyle. Because what is normal to us might not be normal to Koreans, it can make it hard for Koryoin students to find peace in Korea. The way we think and behave is totally different from Koreans.

Another friend says “Even knowing the language and culture of Korea perfectly cannot make you feel 'at home' here. Even though we have the same ethnicity, our history has affected all fields of our lives. Just by looking at the way we dress and behave, one can differentiate Koreans and Koryoin.”

As a student there is a much more complex dilemma to this phenomenon. After introducing myself as Koryoin, sometimes Korean students start to treat me as an international (a second-generation) Korean, assuming that I speak perfect Korean. At this point the language barrier becomes an issue. Personally, because it is easier for me to communicate in English, at such moments it is true to say that it is way more comfortable to be treated as an international student.

Starting from third-generation Koryoin, most speak only Russian due to historical and geographical records and use only basic Korean at home usually with their grandparents, called Koryomal. I find it frustrating that belonging to a nation is proved by the ability of speaking the language. As an example, Korean-Americans are acknowledged as Koreans here due to the fact that they can speak fluent Korean, mainly thanks to them being second generation Koreans. However, Korean-Americans were still born outside of Korea just like Koryoin.

Still I believe the language barrier is a huge reason, if not the sole reason, why it is so hard for Koryoin to fit into Korean society. However, not all agree with me.

There are Koryoin who have lived in Korea for 20 years, are fluent in the language and occupy a high social position, but they still feel like ‘outsiders'. My college friend who is Koryoin thinks that it is impossible for her to feel at home in Korea even if she spoke Korean fluently and lived and worked here. For some students Korea is just a certain period in their lives — never a place where they would stay forever.

Then comes a different dilemma that Koryoin students face every day, a question of social belonging. Social belonging is one of the most crucial and fundamental needs for humans. Yet many Koryoin students in Korea, being third culture children, have confusion when it comes to self-identification, which is why they are deprived of this “privilege.”

The third culture kid phenomenon refers to individuals who were born and raised in cultures different from their parent’s during their social identity development years. Even after three years of living in Korea, because of the third culture kid phenomenon, extremely basic questions like “Where are you from?” leave me discouraged. There is no simple answer like “I’m from Kazakhstan.” There is a whole story behind the curtains of sometimes loneliness, confusion and anxiety.

“I’m from Kazakhstan, but I’m not Kazakh, I speak Russian but I have no Russian roots, I am a Korean who's never lived in Korea” — these are things I keep thinking in my head. After living most of my life in a Russian/Kazakh speaking country, then coming to Korea in my 20s, reconnecting with my ethnic roots and learning the Korean language, the most difficult question for the Koryoin side of me is choosing a country to call my own.

Some Koryoin students might be stuck between Korea and the countries they were born in, choosing both as their options, and some know for sure that their homelands are Russia, or Uzbekistan, or Kazakhstan. But definitely no Koryoin students can see only Korea as their home country. Personally, I can call neither Korea nor Kazakhstan my true home. By the word home, I usually mean my family, the place where my family is living. A Koryoin friend also shared with me that she will never be able to perceive herself as a Korean. “I will always be drawn to my homeland. Yet in Kazakhstan I also feel like an outsider,” the student added.

There is a standard set of issues about student life in Korea that international students talk about, which include differences in cultures, homesickness and food among others. For me all of these issues fade away when I walk around the streets of Seoul or on a school campus and look at people whom I want to call ‘mine,’ but I cannot. I feel upset about the fact that this birthplace sets vivid borders between us, when in fact we are ethnically the same, with only different stories to tell.

But this does not make me any less proud of my origins. Thanks to the history of my ancestors today I can speak Russian, Kazakh, Korean and English. Koryoin people are an incredible mixture of different cultures that allow us to be open-minded, independent and fast-learners when it comes to adapting to new environments, which are the most crucial traits for international students. Another Koryoin friend shared “I have my own way of thinking and I am glad that I can be myself and be different. Being different is not bad. You need to remember this, and then life will be easier to live.”

BY STUDENT REPORTER KHAGAY TATYANA [kjd.kcampus@joongang.co.kr]