This is so good…
I remember who I was.
I was Korean.
My mother tongue was Korean.
My name was MyungSook.
I was the daughter of Koreans.
They raised me as their own, someone I was not.
I was raised to live as their own and I became who I wasn’t.
They told me to be someone else.
I’ve been someone they told me to be for so long that I am who I wasn’t.
To forget who they told me to be means to forget who I am.
My mother tongue is French.
My name is Kim.
I’m the daughter of Quebeckers.
To remember who I am means to remember who I am not.
I’m Korean but I’m not really Korean.
I don’t speak Korean.
Her name MyungSook sounds like Chinese to my Quebec ears.
I am the daughter of nobody.
They raised her as their own, someone she was not.
They kill her, they created me.
The dead lives…
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