Ever since I was little, my family has had huge dreams for me, bigger than my tiny brain could fathom. As the only child and the heart and soul of my parents, they have always wanted me to be a doctor. My family is conservative, and a doctor is what they consider a good profession, as it’s an honest job and suitable for female intellectuals. From being a small child playing with toy stethoscope to a teen religiously watching every episode of Grey’s Anatomy, I was determined to study medicine in college and become a doctor. Holding that expectation for myself, I have always imagined myself in the medical field and helping people as an adult. But unbeknownst to me, college would change that. Being on the pre-med track and taking all the strenuous STEM classes made my first semester miserable. I struggled with these classes and the idea of failure. I spent hours in the tutoring lab studying the materials every week, yet I still barely managed a passing grade on every test. Not only was I afraid of falling chemistry, I was also afraid of letting my parents down. In my head, failing one class means so much more; it means that I won’t become the doctor they wanted me to be, failing to reach their expectations and their years of handwork to be able to put me through college. Not only was it making me miserable in the present, it was making me rethink my entire ten-year plan: that I’d manage to graduate college with straight A’s just like high school, do lots of research, go to med school, and start my residency to become a psychiatrist. My entire expectation of how everything would be crumbled. I was doubting myself and my abilities. I was contemplating whether or not I could still see myself in that vision that I always had, and what my parents had always envisioned for me in the future. Being the only child of immigrants with no college degrees, my seemingly bright future was the embodiment of what my parents wanted but never had the opportunity or luxury to achieve. With that fear of disappointing them in mind, I continued on with my struggle. After months of continuous misery and a lot of stress eating at various dinning halls later, one thing had became apparent to me: I do not enjoy medicine, or at least, I do not enjoy the path to medicine.
With all my soul-searching, my freshman twenty-five, and many months later, I had finally come to my conclusion. I realized that I really enjoy working with people, but going to med school and going through residency was something I no longer saw myself doing, and that perhaps business is the way to go. That was my reality, one that I was afraid my parents wouldn’t like. I finally came to this conclusion — on the day of withdrawal deadline.
So after downing approximately three chocolate chip cookies from Bolton, I called my mother, fully expecting her to be thoroughly disappointed in me. But to my surprise, she wasn’t. Instead, my parents were supportive. They said that they were glad that I had placed my best interests in mind and that they weren’t disappointed.
With their support in mind, I made not only one, but two decisions on the last day of withdrawal: to switch my major from chemistry to intended MIS and to also get two piercings. I was suddenly feeling rebellious, and the latter was very much my fifteen-year old self manifesting, since I never got the chance to get cartilage piercings in junior high or high school. Unfortunately, only one of those decisions worked out. A week later, with money spent and ears pierced, I was suffering from excruciating pain. That’s when I realized I am allergic to metal and I didn’t even consider it before rebelliously getting my piercings. After the fact though, I thought thank God I didn’t become a doctor.
Now, after the painful removal of my cartilage piercings due to my sudden spur of rebellious act, was call and tell my mom and let her know. I couldn’t possibly imagine her reaction when she sees my wildly inflamed ear when I go back home for family dinner that weekend. Asian families are very good at nick-picking on your appearance, and they’re ruthless and definitely not afraid to tell you about it.
“You got fat! Have you been eating well in college!”
“Ai-ya! Anna you have zits on your face, come drink some herbal soup”
“You look stressed and tired, did you not sleep?” (I had plenty but I was just indeed not wearing make-up)
“Why are you on your phone all the time, how are you going to find a boyfriend if you don’t socialize!”
After taking a big breath and hitting send on my text consisting of a graphic picture of my ear to my mother, I called her.
Unlike my decision to switch majors and dropped chemistry, she is less accepting this time. The aftermath was my mother lecturing me roughly twenty minutes about making stupid choices and not telling her about getting piercings. After the anger had subsided though, she asked me when I am coming home next. And it’s not because she misses me, she says. It’s just that there’s food at home and she wants me to come back and my dad wants me to come home.
With the fact that it’s not her that misses me, I went home, enjoyed the home-cooked meals, and saw my amazing family.
