A sense of significance is what I have desired most for the majority of my life. Ever since the early years of elementary school, something about observing others be so well-liked and socially interactive has appealed to me. However, I could never obtain that same status. The only friends I had were a few that lived in my neighborhood, and much to my shame, I was looking forward to phase out of my relationships with them and “move on” to befriending more socially-elevated people at school. Yet I couldn’t find a way to get those people to accept me. It was my first or second year in middle school when I seriously began to question if my ethnicity was to blame. I grew up in a city where the population was 97% white. As I became more self-consciousness about being Asian and entertained the idea more that this was in fact the cause of my inability to appeal to a certain demographic of people, I became ashamed of my ethnicity. I recall an instance where I was waiting outside the doors of my high school after class, waiting for my dad to pick me up. But instead of seeing his car pull up, I noticed that it was my grandma who had come to get me. She rolled down the window as she pulled up, so excited to see her grandson, and in the only language she knew how to speak, yelled at the top of her lungs that she had come to bring me home in Korean. People all around looked at me, and I got into the car embarrassed. I rode home furious at her, yelling at her for why she couldn’t conceal her excitement and be so obnoxiously Asian. Terrible.

Then around my sophomore year of high school, I started to fiddle around with alcohol. One weekend, I got unbelievably drunk. The following Monday, the very people whom I was trying to get to like me approached me and told me that they had heard about my weekend. And I loved the attention. The attention and liking of these people toward me was nothing like I had ever experienced before. I quickly became the most well-liked kid in my high school. The secret, I discovered, was to be a party animal. Not just any party animal, but one who was uniquely fun. The sauna in my basement became arguably the most sought-after location to get high in my city. High school was very interesting. Thinking back on it, it’s actually quite amusing to reminisce on how easily and quickly I was given everything I wanted.

On July 5, 2013, I went to a concert of my and my friends’ favorite band. It was outdoors, where ten thousand people could fit. There are two things about that concert that I remember: 1) Arriving at the concert with my friends in our rented-out school bus, and 2) Being in my family van on my way home, mysteriously with my parents and brother in the van as well. The next morning, I woke up with a very swollen and cut-open lip. My mom was sitting next to me. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking or feeling, but her eyes were full of expression. She told me what happened. I got out-of-my-mind drunk, then got separated from my friends, then got into a verbal altercation with another concert attendee, who told me to leave him alone, and when I wouldn’t, he punched me in my mouth and knocked me out. One of the sheriff officers overseeing the concert saw my body and dragged me out of the crowd. After I couldn’t tell him my name, he somehow got into my passlocked phone and called my mom and told her to come pick me up. As my mom explained all of this to me, I began to feel immense shame for two reasons. First, I had lied to her and my dad about where I was; neither of them knew that I was at this concert. Second, I felt the gravity of lying to my parents for the past two years about any of my substance use. As far as they knew, I was a church-going, hard-working, well-behaved kid. I realize that I may be wording this lightly, but that day was the worst day of my life. I wanted, for a moment, to run away. How could I lie so nonchalantly over the years to my parents who had worked so hard, to immigrate to this country without speaking any English, endure through hard times that came along with that, and to raise me in so much love?

Two days later I encountered the living God. I was scheduled by my parents to go to a church retreat with my youth group, so I went. Going into it, I wanted no part of God. He wasn’t on my mind; my mind was too full of shame. On the first night of the retreat, a man stood up on that stage and began to speak these words: “Everyone in this room is full of shame. You’ve all done things that make you feel worthless, and for committing these acts, you deserve judgement”. Harsh! His words did not make me feel better. But then he continued. “And that is the very reason Jesus came to this world. On the cross, he volunteered to become shame on your behalf. He volunteered to take upon your actions as his own, and took upon your punishment as his own”. I had been attending church for my entire life, and that moment was the first time in my seventeen years of existence that I understood the gospel. Jesus had come to substitute Himself as an offering on my behalf. It was either He pays the price or I do. Either way, the price has to be paid. It was a gift that God offered, and all I had to do was accept it. That week, I embraced that gift, and my life has not been the same since.

I could write a novel on the things that have taken place in my life since that week. I’ve found my significance in the One who is the source of all life. One of the things that I’ve learned and has given me much rest is being true to who you are. It’s not worth faking to be someone who you aren’t for the sake of people’s’ approval. It hurts too much. The beauty of my God is that he takes you just as you are; He knows the true version of yourself. After all, He made you.