My Second Language Living in the United States as a Korean-American was no easy task growing up. I certainly knew how to read and write in English, but I didn't know how to read, speak and write in my native language. It was difficult for me emotionally because I felt like other people looked down on me, especially Korean adults who often asked me why I couldn't speak Korean in which I didn't have a straight answer. “You should at least know how to speak Korean,” they commonly said in a friendly tone, trying not to hurt my feelings. In seventh grade, I felt I needed to take a step forward to fit in with the rest of my classmates, the Korean subcommunities, and feel better about myself. One Saturday morning, while the other teenagers were probably sleeping in, I woke up early to get ready for my first day of Korean school. My mother had graciously accepted my need to learn Korean a few weeks earlier and enrolled me in a Korean school located in a nearby high school. When I arrived, I could feel the warm sunlight shining on my face as I saw other children significantly smaller than me running around and playing in the yard. My mother and I went into the office and met the manager. He was an older gentleman who seemed knowledgeable. They conversed in Korean, while I wondered if this was the right choice. Several minutes later they finished and my mother whispered in my ear, "I'll come get you at one when your first class ends." I said hello and then the manager told me to go to room five. I didn't know what to expect as I was finding the room, still deciding to back out at the last minute. This is what I wanted and I had to move forward. For what seemed like a long time I found the room and gently opened it to see what was in store for my new skill.