In 2024, I graduated from college and moved to Singapore on a Fulbright research grant. What was supposedly a landmark in life felt more like an unmooring. My ship is no longer tethered to the dock, and I am free to set sail. However, this caused more anxiety than exhilaration because I am not sure what the correct path is. I recognize that there probably isn't any "correct" path, but rather, all paths correspond to different journeys. Yet, I'm still lingering around the marina, waiting to gather more information before I go.
Recently I read Pachinko on my flight to China for the holidays. My mom and my step dad picked me up from the airport, and on our drive home, I recounted the story to them. My mom made a comment about how she couldn't understand why Noa was so ashamed about his background and his family. You shouldn't care too much about what others say, she commented. I nodded and agreed, but upon reflection of my own life, I realized that this is much easier said than done. Many periods of my life are marked by burdens from caring too much about other people's perceptions, and even today I am still carrying fear and shame that I know are illogical.
Perhaps everything stemmed from when I moved from China to the US in the second grade. Alongside English, I learned what it felt to be a foreigner. I became extremely self conscious: Do I sound weird or stupid when I'm speaking English? Will people want to be friends with me? How will I explain why my dad still lives in China? It didn't help that my parents' long-distance marriage unravelled with time, and I felt guilty knowing that my mom's decision to accept a job in the US was partially driven by the desire to give me a better education. There was a period where she was deeply upset by certain decisions my dad made, but I also couldn't cheer for her when she did meet someone who loved her and treated her well.
Instead of facing my problems, I applied for a private boarding high school. I got in, but without a scholarship. The tuition was expensive for my parents, but I told them I really wanted to go and they agreed. I am grateful to have spent 3 years in a fantastic school, where I was challenged academically and mentored by passionate teachers. I worked diligently, partially because I felt selfish requesting this experience and also because I felt inadequate amongst my peers. They appeared effortlessly intelligent, confident, and elegant, and their parents did too. I threw myself at my studies in hopes of one day becoming like them. I rarely talked about my family because I was afraid that they would judge me, or worse, I dreaded responding to their potential questions.
Finally, during my first semester at Cornell, I felt like there was enough distance between my parents and me to begin to make sense of how they have impacted me. During a FaceTime call with a high school friend, I decided I was ready to reveal my story in whole. I remember dragging out the start (When should this story begin? How much detail do I give? How would this change her perception of me?), but finally spilled everything. She patiently listened, comforted me, and said that none of these things reflect who I am as we have no control of the families we were born into. This outcome was almost anti-climatic, as I was preparing for something truly terrible. Perhaps what was burdening me the most was never other people's reactions, but my own shame around this matter. Looking back, I think most of my friends had inklings on what I was trying to hide, but they didn't pry in order to protect my ego. Even though I can share this part of me quite freely now, it was extremely difficult to overcome my self-indoctrinated fears. However, by doing so I learned two things:
- I shouldn't care so much about what others think, because most times I'm assuming the worst reactions.
- It doesn't matter what others think, especially if it's about my life and I'm the person living it.
While I had arrived at a similar wisdom as my mom's reaction to Pachinko many years ago, I still have difficulties living by my own words today. As I reflect on 2024, I recognize that a lot of times I'm not held back by obstacles, but rather by my fears related to these obstacles. When I evaluate a situation, I often find myself imagining really terrible things which can be summarized by: I will fail, and people will think I'm stupid and incapable. These self-indoctrinated fears reach every aspect of my life – from trying a route at the climbing gym, joining a new club, to applying for a job. As soon as I step outside of my comfort zone, these fears bring me back to the first day of second grade. I'm again watching my mom wave goodbye, feeling utterly helpless in a room full of children with whom I couldn't communicate.
I recognize how destructive these fears can be. Even if I am stupid and incapable, trying to be better and failing yields better results than not trying at all. If I try, I have a non-zero chance at success, while not trying erases all opportunities. So this is my goal for 2025: to care less about what others think, to fail, to appear stupid, and to be okay with it. I want to set sail even if I am unsure about the route, and if a storm rips my ship apart and everyone watches it sink, that's perfectly fine. I learned English and my friends stayed around even after hearing my "secrets", so I too can rebuild my ship and go on.