경험하지 않았더라면 좋았을 사건

I encountered my first real-life “Karen” in a shopping mall parking lot—and now I understand why that label exists, even though I’ve always resisted it.

When my kids watched short videos about “Karen” stories and laughed, I would tell them not to generalize people like that. It bothered me to see someone’s name turned into a stereotype. But after what happened that day, I understand why people reach for labels when words fail.

After I parked, a white woman suddenly slammed her fist against the rear of my car, yelling at me to move. I rolled down my window, confused and trying to understand what was going on. She began shouting about my parking skills, then without warning, launched into racist slurs. I froze. My heart pounded, and a tight wave of fear wrapped around my chest. I wasn’t just startled—I felt exposed and vulnerable. I wanted to respond, but my mind went blank.

I tried to stay calm, but she wasn’t done. She got back into her SUV, then jumped out again, stormed over, and pounded on my driver’s-side window with her fist, yelling, “F— Asian!” A man sat silently in the driver seat, doing nothing. No one else was around. Before she drove off in their black Tahoe, she gave me the middle finger and screamed the slur one last time.

I sat in my car, frozen. I felt shaken, humiliated, and powerless. Anger rose in me—not just at what she said, but at how defenseless I felt. I’ve lived in the U.S. for over thirty years, and nothing like this had ever happened to me—certainly not back when I lived in Maryland. I was glad my child wasn’t with me at the time. I can’t imagine how much more painful it would have been if they had witnessed it.

When I finally managed to call the police, the dispatcher’s cold, detached tone made everything feel worse. There was no acknowledgment, no hint of concern. I hung up feeling even more invisible.

Still in shock, I went into the store but couldn’t follow what the clerk was saying. My ears were buzzing. I apologized and explained what had just happened in the parking lot. The clerk—a Black man—stopped what he was doing to listen. He shared his own experiences with racism and responded with such sincere empathy that I felt, for the first time that day, seen. I was deeply grateful for his kindness in that small but powerful moment.

Right after that, I went to our young adults Bible study. I wasn’t sure if I could lead the study, but I knew I needed it more than anyone. And I’m glad I went. God’s word and the community I belong to reminded me where my true identity and hope lie—even after one of the worst days I’ve experienced in this country.

추가:

Writing this story wasn’t easy. But I couldn’t ignore the way the experience kept replaying in my mind.

At first, I just wanted to forget and move on—but the thoughts and emotions from that day lingered. I eventually felt the need to process them by putting them into words.

I wanted to take time to reflect—on what happened, how I received it, and what it now means to me. More than that, I hoped that sharing this would be a small step toward empathy and connection.

For those who’ve had similar experiences, I hope this brings a sense of solidarity—you are not alone. And for those who haven’t, perhaps it might offer a window into greater understanding and compassion.

Writing this was healing for me in many ways. And the kind words some of you have shared in response have brought me comfort and strength as well. Thank you.