In my mother's more angry and disillusioned moods, she often declares
that my sisters and I are
"smarter than is good" for us, by which she means we are too
ambitious, too independent-minded, and
somehow, subtly un-Chinese. At such times, I do not argue, for I
realize how difficult it must be for her
and my father-having to deal with children who reject their simple
idea of life and threaten to drag them
into a future they do not understand.
For my parents, plans for our futures were very simple. We were to
get good grades, go to good
colleges, and become good scientists, mathematicians, or engineers.
It had to do with being Chinese. But
my sisters and I rejected that future, and the year I came home with
Honors in English, History, and
Debate was a year of disillusion for my parents. It was not that they
weren't proud of my
accomplishments, but merely that they had certain ideas of what was
safe and solid, what we did in life.
Physics, math, turning in homework, and crossing the street when Hare
Krishnas were on our side-those
things were safe. But the Humanities we left for Pure Americans.
Unfortunately for my parents, however, the security of that world is
simply not enough for me,
and I have scared them more than once with what they call my "wild"
treks into unfamiliar areas. I spent
one afternoon interviewing the Hare Krishnas for our school
newspaper-and they nearly called the police.
Then, to make things worse, I decided to enter the Crystal Springs
Drama contest. For my parents, acting
was something Chinese girls did not do. It smacked of the bohemian,
and was but a short step to drugs,
debauchery, and all the dark, illicit facets of life. They never did
approve of the experience-even despite
my second place at Crystal Springs and my assurances that acting was,
after all, no more than a whim.
What I was doing then was moving away from the security my parents
prescribed. I was
motivated by my own desire to see more of what life had to offer, and
by ideas I'd pick up at my
Curriculum Committee meetings. This committee consisted of teachers
who felt that students should
learn to understand life, not memorize formulas; that somehow our
college preparatory curriculum had to
be made less rigid. There were English teachers who wanted to
integrate Math into other more
"important" science courses, and Math teachers who wanted to abolish
English entirely. There were even
some teachers who suggested making Transcendental Meditation a
requirement. But the common
denominator behind these slightly eccentric ideas was a feeling that
the school should produce more
thoughtful individuals, for whom life meant more than good grades and
Ivy League futures. Their values
were precisely the opposite of those my parents had instilled in me.
It has been a difficult task indeed for me to reconcile these two
opposing impulses. It would be
simple enough just to rebel against all my parents expect. But I
cannot afford to rebel. There is too much
that is fragile-the world my parents have worked so hard to build, the
security that comes with it, and a
fading Chinese heritage. I realize it must be immensely frustrating
for my parents, with children who are
persistently "too smart" for them and their simple idea of life,
living in a land they have come to consider
home, and yet can never fully understand. In a way, they have stopped
trying to understand it, content
with their own little microcosms. It is my burden now to build my
own, new world without shattering
theirs; to plunge into the future without completely letting go of the
past. And that is a challenge I am not
at all certain I can meet.