The Renaissance, Artwork: “Pink Dogwoods” by ChloeAnn Cajuste ’28
“Pink Dogwoods” by ChloeAnn Cajuste ’28
The Renaissance: “I am Korean. I am Italian. I am Attilio”/ “Self-Portrait”
January 11, 2023
"I am Korean. I am Italian. I am Attilio"
by Attilio Saulo '23
Feeling the hot blood rush to my face, I sat in my new sixth-grade homeroom dreading for my name to be called next when I heard the teacher call out, “A-At-Attilio?” Embarrassed, I timidly raised my uneasy hand and held my head down as I tried to block out the piercing gaze of my intimidating classmates.
When I was just a young boy in first grade, my mom and dad explained to me that I was born in a far, far away place called Korea and that I was “adopted.” I hadn’t truly grasped what that word meant and what it meant to my identity, but I recognized that it made me unique and different.
By the time I was getting ready for sixth grade, I had thoroughly known what it meant. “Why don’t you look like your mom?” “Why is your name Attilio?” The questions and observations of my peers made it clear to me that I was a visible outlier. It wasn’t until I entered middle school that I felt truly alienated.
My looming anxiety followed me like a shadow in an unfamiliar school with unfamiliar faces. I was frightened by the fact that my differences would be picked out and I might be judged for them. I was the Asian kid with a strange Italian name. I felt like a black sheep, an oddball, a red plate in a cupboard of blue plates, an imposter. I shouldn’t have memories of crushing and jarring fresh tomatoes or rolling and flattening soft pasta dough with my Italian mother and father. I shouldn’t be named after my Italian grandfather because I’m not even Italian myself. My family’s traditions had become the subject in which my embarrassment circled around.
Caked in flour and egg, my mom’s hands moved swiftly through her cooking stations like a pianist moving side to side on their keyboard. While brushing the powdery flour off her dusty hands, my mom unexpectedly asked, “Do you want to go try some Korean food? I heard they opened a new restaurant nearby.” I nervously and excitedly responded in agreement. From that moment on, my seemingly lost culture had begun to intrigue me.
I tried the chewy tteokbokki, which reminded me of gnocchi and the ribbon-like noodles, which reminded me of spaghetti. A new and fascinating world unveiled itself to me. I had found that missing piece in my puzzle in the buzzing, lively streets of Koreatown. I was determined to share everything I loved about the culture with my friends and family.
My identity seemed to have become complete as both of my cultures had met in unification. I was now the one who was proud to have a sense of duality in his culture. My Korean roots became just as meaningful as my Italian traditions and upbringing. I was now at peace with myself and felt that my Korean birth name, Kim Han-Byeol, now had meaning instead of just being a past identity.
My confidence bloomed and my true self flourished. I transformed from the kid who just barely had the confidence to raise his hand and ask a question to the kid who breached every barrier of his comfort zone. I stopped shying away from having my voice be heard. I was now joining clubs and activities that I never considered before, understanding people better, taking on a job as a cashier, and sharing my two cultures openly and excitedly.
No longer do I wade in shame as my name is called. I keenly grasp ownership of the name Attilio and proudly reply, “Here!”
"Self-Portrait"
by Sloane Sackett '23
