SheKnowsNow

On the surface, I blend in.
I speak some Korean. I look Korean. I understand the social cues, the cultural rhythms, and the hierarchy in every interaction. And yet, beneath the surface, I’m still the outsider -not because of my appearance, but because my mindset speaks a different language.

Being Kyopo in Korea comes with a strange contrast:
You’re expected to know better, do more, and fit in without questions — and at the same time, you’re never fully “one of them.”

There’s this unspoken expectation:
Because you speak English, you’re assumed to be more capable.
Because you have global experience, they assume you’ll perform at a higher level.
And when you do, it’s not always celebrated – sometimes, it’s met with distance.

You become the quiet threat — not by intention, but by presence.
The one who communicates more directly.
Who questions processes instead of nodding silently.
Who doesn’t wait for permission to speak, because where you came from, assertiveness wasn’t seen as defiance — it was seen as strength.

But in the traditional Korean workplace, that strength can feel like a disruption.
You’re excluded from group chats, or left out of casual office conversations.
You feel the sideways glances when you’re praised by upper management.
You notice when your contributions are overlooked in meetings — or even worse, repackaged by someone else who understands the unspoken rules better than you do.

And the hardest part?
You carry this internal conflict, knowing you were raised to speak up, while working in a culture that often rewards staying quiet.
You want to respect the system but also stay true to yourself.
You don’t want to dim your light, but you also don’t want to cast shadows on others.

Over time, it wears on you.
You start to question if adapting means abandoning parts of who you are.
You wonder if belonging is worth the cost of becoming smaller.

But then you realize — maybe your presence as you are is the disruption the system needs.
Maybe being different isn’t a weakness… it’s like being the black sheep; it doesn’t mean you’re wrong, it means you’re real.

And maybe, the world doesn’t need more people who fit in. It needs more people brave enough to stand out.
You’re not here to be liked by everyone.
You’re here to create space for authenticity, even in rooms where silence is safer.