Neither Here Nor There

Written by Karis Kim

Following AANHPI and going into Pride month, many queer Asian Americans are feeling less than celebrated in a season that’s supposedly dedicated to uplifting our existence. The fear of not belonging fully in either space is something that many of us have grown accustomed to.

In a time when the Human Rights Campaign declares a National State of Emergency for LGBTQ+ Americans—just a couple years since anti-Asian hate crimes have risen over 339%, we need more unity and solidarity than ever.

I can’t really hide the fact that I’m Asian. With features that so distinctly display my culture’s history of pain and triumph, I am also made a perpetual foreigner. 

At the same time, after battling with years of internalized hatred and homophobia, I finally feel free to celebrate my queer identity—and simultaneously a little afraid of the visibility that comes with that.

I am constantly struggling between feeling free and feeling as if visibility will be weaponized against me. The effects of intersectionality feel like too much… and too lonely. 

The LGBTQ+ community and the Asian American community are historically notorious for unapologetically fighting the good fight. Now is the time to honor the sacrifices made by our communities.

Here’s the sitch:

A quick Google search will tell you about the dire situation of LGBTQ+ rights in the States. Add insult to injury, for many Asian Americans, we hail from cultures where LGBTQ+ people are legally and socially persecuted. 

Family is a luxury that unfortunately not all of us have—28% of LGBTQ+ youth reported experiencing homelessness or housing instability. Asian cultures generally follow a collectivist social structure, meaning the collective (family, community, the greater good) is above self. This makes for the most tight-knit community you’ll ever experience—and many times, a boot if you disrupt the peace of the collective. 

What the AAPI LGBTQ+ community needs from you:

When we’re isolated from the familiarity of community and family, as a result of choosing our truest and most authentic selves, we’re lost. It’s possible that not everyone in the group feels that being queer is wrong or that you deserve to be isolated, but speaking up would mean they get the boot, too.

It’s never the outright hatred and tomato-faced screaming that hurts the most. It’s the quiet concern and general apathy of those we care about the most. 

What queer Asian Americans need the most from our Asian American community is out-loud love and fierce support. Whether that’s speaking up against homophobic jokes, providing meals for your friend recovering from top surgery, staying by your queer friends in bars and other generally rowdy environments, or planning regular coffee dates just to check in—all those small actions mean the world. 

We’re all in this together, so let’s make the world a little less shitty, together. Because yes, your queer friends have all chosen a path that is full of all-consuming, gut-wrenching pain and loneliness—but we’ve also chosen genuine, belly-laughing joy over the ever-fleeting feeling of social safety. And joy will always prevail. 

Speaking of joy…

Everything, every day is a lot; finding little pockets of joy is essential to my daily preservation. Personally, these little hits of serotonin can be the difference maker in my overall wellness. And admittedly, people might find me… cringy. If looking forward to the weekly episode of Going Seventeen, blasting TWICE while I work, and ~romanticizing~ my life helps me out of a funk, let them cringe.

Also, stop trying to be good at everything

As Asian Americans, it’s common to feel that we can’t do anything that we’re not already good at or have no hope of being good at. Especially for many of us queer folks, being good at things can be a way of overcompensating for social and professional acceptance. Perfection is a standard. 

That is also the most joy-sucking load of shit I’ve ever heard. Things that are meant to spark joy—like being chosen to lead a totally new and groundbreaking campaign at work, stress-singing at noraebang (Korean karaoke), and wine & paint nights with friends—quickly becomes a never-ending ball of pressure. Stop doing things you’re good at and just suck at something for once. Accept that you suck, then do it because it’s fun and life-giving. Because it nourishes your soul. 

I cannot tell you the amount of times I went home from noraebang frustrated (or maybe embarrassed?) that I didn’t hit IU’s impossibly high notes perfectly. But you know what? I am valuable and worthy of love and admiration whether or not I sing well. And so are you—so stop trying so hard.

My goal is to keep my joy jar overflowing so that I can reach in there whenever my fuel is running low. Nobody has the energy to be perfect in all things, all the time. Don’t leak your own joy jar.

Be visible AF. Always.

As I said before, visibility feels terrifying. But abandoning something as precious as my authentic self to joy-hijackers is not something that I’m willing to do. This quote from Alok Vaid-Menon sticks with me everytime I start to feel afraid:

“I am most terrified on the days I feel most beautiful… why are we expected to be brave for being ourselves?” 

When I smell of garlic and pan-fried fish in the office, when I’m in my gayest outfit while I do errands, when I fluently speak in my Mother tongue in public, when I’m screaming my heart out at a queer powerlifting event, when I’m dancing to BLACKPINK with my friends (still proud that K-pop plays in the local Wal-Mart)—I am trembling with my fist in the air. Existing as I am in places where I’m not meant to. 

I’m Asian AF. I’m queer AF. And being all of the above feels like an act of bravery for now, but no one has the right to take that from me.

Bringing your truest self to the office & beyond

A mentor once told me, “Find your allies in the office. The people who are going to have your back 100% of the time. This is crucial to your self-preservation in your workplace and in life.” 

I cannot even begin to emphasize how much I believe in this sentiment. I was always raised to never make things a bigger deal than they already are. To seethe in private, but to be agreeable in the face of it all. While I am still working through all that, my workplace allies provide a safe place for me to level up how I’m feeling. Bringing up situations where I felt inadvertently excluded from corporate culture. 

Navigating the American heteronormative structure is challenging, but I wholeheartedly believe that my unique perspectives and experiences enrich the teams I am on. For a long time, I’m not sure that I believed this about myself—and I’m so thankful for the allies who help me to show up exactly, unapologetically as I am, no matter what the space looks like. A good ally is impactful. For me, it has been the difference between existing as a shell of myself, and living a vivid, full life.

I’m neither here nor there because showing up fully means letting all of me shine. My intersectionality of being queer AND Asian are the apex of my strength, joy, and love, and I’ll continue to thrive as long as I continue showing up for myself.