Joy 찬희 Kim

She/Hers

섹스. (Korean: sex. Pronounced “sehx”)

Like many other Korean parents, my parents never used the word “sex”, but they had other ways to talk about sex.

“Don’t wear that tank top”

“Your skirt is too short”

“Save yourself for your future husband.”

The narrative was never about sex for pleasure, safety, or health,

But about purity and prayer.

The one time my mom caught me watching videos of people making out on YouTube, the closest thing you can get to porn, she said 

“You have to pray and fight these urges harder. We can’t succumb to our desires”.

They danced around the subject, 

Never getting too close, never staring face to face with the three letter word, sex.

It was me who stopped that dance.

Junior year of college.

Summer of 2015. August 17, to be exact.

It was the four year anniversary of my family’s arrival to America. 

I was jet lagged from a trip to Rwanda, where I was doing a summer internship.

There, I had met a boy who became my first.

My mom had overheard my phone call with the boy,

“I miss you. I miss you touching me.”

A boy.

But to them, it wasn’t just any boy, but a boy with Black skin. 

It was the boy who stole their daughter’s purity.

This boy brought shame. A loss of face.

To them, it was the family’s sin. 

“Let’s wait until Dad comes home”

Was all she said.

When he did come home, he didn’t even touch me. 

He tapped me with his foot while I was sleeping on the bedroom floor.

They stopped dancing around the subject of sex this time. 

He asked, “Do you know how it feels to go to Walgreens to buy a pregnancy test for you?”

“What would the 집사님s and church people think if you had a Black baby?”

“LA 임신 절개 수술", abortion clinics in LA,

I saw on my mom’s phone search history.

I had to take a pregnancy test, and if it came back positive, they would do something about it.

They had already written a story, my story, without any of my input.

They had overlooked my emotions, my thoughts, my struggle with faith and sexuality, and my self worth.

They skipped the complexity of the simple word, “sex”. 

Like many other stories of firsts, my experience was entangled with good and bad. I felt guilty but freed, confused but enlightened.

When I realized I wasn’t a virgin anymore, I expected guilt to come over me. I expected a voice in my head telling me I was dirty and not worthy of love, that no one would want me and my future children would be ashamed of me. I expected these voices because, well, that was what I had been taught since the 5th grade.

I held my breath, and built up a defense of bricks to protect myself. I wrote a list of reasons why I am still worthy of love even as a tainted, broken, taken woman.

“This doesn’t change me. 

I am resilient.

I am going to finish school.

I still have my dreams.

People will still like me.

I’m still me,”

I wrote to myself.

From somewhere within, I had found an intimate well where I found strength. 

I know myself. I have value. I can offer something to this world. 

Once I realized my strength, I also realized that the negative voice wasn’t going to come. 

I had proven false an ancient myth, made up of religion mixed with cultural slut shaming. 

But that didn’t matter to my parents. 

To them, I had became the Pastor’s rebellious daughter who had sex outside of marriage.

That list of reasons why I am still valuable?

That didn’t matter to them.

Instead,

They accepted their shame over me.

They listened to what others thought over my health.

They believed their inherent racism over my value.

The tumultuous week finally stopped once the test came back negative.

That one negative result put an end to the anxiety, the tears, and the screaming.

Now, we can close, and move on, just like nothing’s ever happened.

6 years later, we still haven’t talked about what happened in 2015. Not even once.

We avoid it and don’t even go near the subject of sex.

When they ask me when I’ll have a boyfriend, I smile and brush it off.

Under every laugh, under every joke we make, there is a secret, never to be opened. 

But just like I once defeated that false myth, I still remind myself of the strength that hasn’t changed:

Joy, you are worthy of love.

You deserve a partner that you can choose, and you don’t have to wait until they choose you.

You will have a home and a family.