Why I Still Write My Name in Hangeul – A Korean-American's Language Story

 

Embracing Identity Through Language and Letters

As a Korean-American who grew up between two cultures, I've always found language to be more than just communication. It's a bridge to my past, a representation of who I am. Even as I navigated American classrooms, American friends, and American norms, there was something grounding about the shape and sound of Hangeul. It wasn’t just a writing system—it was a symbol of everything I came from. Writing my name in Hangeul feels like whispering to my ancestors. It reminds me of family dinners with chopsticks and kimchi, of my halmeoni’s lullabies, and of New Year’s bows in hanbok. I continue to write my name in Korean not because it’s expected, but because it makes me feel whole. While it may seem small, it’s a powerful expression of identity in a world that often expects us to assimilate completely. This post is a reflection on why I continue to use Hangeul as my personal signature of pride, memory, and belonging. I hope my journey will resonate with others who are reclaiming their roots through something as simple as a name.

    

      

Growing up in the U.S. with Korean parents, I lived in a world of duality. At home, we spoke Korean, celebrated Chuseok, and respected elders with bows. But once outside, I was just another American student trying to blend in. My name became the first thing I adapted—shortened, anglicized, and softened to fit Western tongues. Yet, something always felt off. The version of my name that rolled off teachers' tongues never quite resonated with who I really was. I felt like I was leaving part of myself behind each time I introduced myself. It wasn’t until I began writing my name in Hangeul again that I started to reclaim my sense of self.

  

Hangeul is not just a script—it's a legacy. Every time I see its curves and angles, I’m reminded of my ancestors, of the nation that created a phonetic alphabet to empower its people. There’s a beauty in its design, but even more in what it represents: identity, unity, and resilience. Writing my name in Korean is like leaving a fingerprint of heritage on everything I do. Even when I sign greeting cards or emails, slipping in my name in Hangeul feels like a subtle act of resistance and pride—a way to honor both who I am and where I come from.

   

Key Points

In embracing Hangeul, I’ve learned to embrace myself. Korean-American identity is not about choosing one side, but creating a space where both coexist. Using Hangeul in everyday life is my way of honoring my roots while living in the present. It connects me to other Korean diaspora, inspires curiosity from friends, and reminds me that identity isn’t static—it’s an ongoing story written in every choice, every syllable, every name.

Why do you choose to write your name in Hangeul?

Because Hangeul connects me to my heritage. It's a simple yet powerful way to keep a part of my culture alive in everyday life—even in small ways like writing my name.

Is it common for Korean-Americans to write their names in Korean?

It varies. Some prefer to use English names for ease, while others use both. Writing in Hangeul is a personal choice and a statement of cultural pride for many, like me.

What would you say to someone considering doing the same?

Do it proudly. It's more than letters—it's identity. Writing your name in your mother tongue is a beautiful step toward embracing your whole self.

Writing my name in Hangeul may seem like a small thing, but for me, it’s a powerful affirmation of where I come from. It reminds me that I don't have to erase parts of myself to belong. In fact, embracing my Korean identity has only strengthened my confidence and clarity. Language is more than just sound or symbol—it’s a vessel for memory, pride, and hope. Through Hangeul, I carry the strength of generations, and I share a piece of that story every time I sign my name.