Why Minari Meant So Much To Me, as a Korean American Woman from Virginia
A few weeks ago, we watched a screening of Minari through A24, and from beginning to end, it was stunning. Lee Isaac Chung turned the Korean American immigrant story — a story of suffering, injustice, perseverance, grit, tenacity, resilience, hopes, and dreams — into a cinematic work of art. There were so many scenes where I felt so acutely seen and validated.
The opening scene. The family station wagon. The worn-down house. The parents pursuing their American dream. Working all the time, putting their blood, sweat, and tears into backbreaking jobs, in the hopes of a better life and future for themselves and their children. Fighting to keep their marriage together. Experiencing so many failures and setbacks, yet never giving up.
Everything about Halmeonie. The hanyak scene. All the tender bedtime scenes. David kneeling with his hands in the air, and going outside to find a stick. Anne always feeling like she has be to responsible. The beautiful Korean language. The broken English. The Konglish. Their ability to still communicate with each other, despite the massive cultural, generational, and language barriers between them. The blatant racism. The subtle microaggressions. The complicated, daily struggle of being Korean in white America. And all the uniquely Korean ways they expressed their love to each other.
From the small details to the big ones, Minari felt so honest and true. To me, that's what made it so beautiful. It told both the incredible parts — and the incredibly painful parts — of what it's like to be Korean American in America. I could have never dreamt that a movie like this could be made about my life, my people, and my trauma.
I am so grateful that Lee Isaac Chung decided to become a filmmaker. He could've done anything with his life. He could've gotten a stable job, making a stable wage, so he didn't have to struggle financially like his parents. But instead, he chose to take a huge risk and pursue his dream of making films. If he didn't push past his own doubts, fears, barriers, and failures, to pursue his dream, we wouldn't have this film today. As a 32-year-old Korean American woman creating music, this really inspired me.
I'm grateful he made the brave choice to be vulnerable and share his own personal story of what it was like growing up as a Korean American boy in rural Arkansas. Although I grew up as a Korean American girl in suburban Northern Virginia, I could still see so much of my own life in his story. I saw myself in David. I saw myself in Anne. I saw my mom in Umma. And I saw my dad in Appa.
I believe Minari will play a huge role in healing generations of Korean Americans from the pain we have been conditioned to bury for so long. But we need more of our stories to be told to draw a fuller picture of the Korean American experience. This movie only tells one story. We need many, many more.
Growing up, I struggled so much with being Korean. I felt like there was no place for me — no place where I completely fit in, no place where my life and experiences could be fully understood, no place where I could be wholly accepted, just as I was: fully Korean, and fully American. To non-Asians, I was viewed as weird, with a weird-sounding name, weird-smelling food, a weird-sounding language, and a weird-looking face. I wanted to be white, I wanted to be black — I wanted to be anything but myself.
As I've grown older, I've learned to love my culture, my language, my food, my history, my homeland, and my childhood, so much more. I’m still learning. But as I learn to love the Korean parts of me, I learn to love myself more, too.
I can't tell you how excited I feel when I see things like Minari, To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before 1, 2, and 3, Kim’s Convenience, Ugly Delicious, and Happy Cleaners on my television screen. Or when I see people like David Chang, Steven Yeun, Youn Yuh-Jung, and Sandra Oh being so widely loved and revered. It reminds me of what has always been true — we matter, we have always mattered, our stories have always mattered, and our Korean-ness is not weird, but it’s incredibly amazing, beautiful, cool, and badass! And there is so much space for people like us in this world.
Thank you, Minari, for telling our story. I am incredibly proud to be Korean these days. 🌱
Love always,
Chi, Ji Eun, 지은
