If you haven't heard about the stereotypical career of the South Asian, it may be because you are not the stereotypical child of the stereotypical South Asian immigrant parents who believe the only way for a South Asian to be successful in America is to fit quietly into the stereotypes of the South Asian doctor, professor, or engineer. Or, as my father explains, any career that is so highly skilled that they have no choice but to hire you.
Though none of this was explained to me, my parents frowned on their straight-A child's childhood dream to become a teacher. If you're smart enough, you go to medical school. And if you don't go to medical school, you aren't smart enough.
In my first semester of college, I realized I was far more interested in social justice than I was in medicine. In fact, through personal experience, I decided the honor of the medical field has been severely crippled by pharmaceutical companies and other forays indulging in capitalism and vowed I would never make a three figure salary off a nation struggling for health care access.
When I revealed to my parents that I'd found my calling, they quickly informed me that politicians are corrupt and my interests would lead me down a shameful road ending nowhere better than where I started. Disheartened, by not only the naivete they perceived me to possess, I did not dare mention that my increasing awareness of myself as a post-9/11 Muslim American woman was only a shaky first step. Where I sought support and advice, I was met with devastated expectations, adamant rejection, and confused anger.
Instead, I dropped out and took a semester off to gather my courage. When I returned to college, my first semester English class-- Global Lit, redirected me to my knack for cultural analysis and my love for literature. My teachers in high school tried in vain to foster those things in me but I had dutifully pursued science instead. This time I decided to follow my instincts.
In the meantime, my father became more and more frustrated with the lack of career direction in my choice of major. As it becomes more and more clear to me what I want to do, I am realizing I knew all along but was afraid to claim that knowledge of myself in fear of disappointing my parents. I wandered semi-aimlessly in a place I didn't quite belong. I started to believe that what they'd said was true, that my failure to pursue medicine meant I wasn't smart enough or strong enough to succeed--that I would never make them happy. Unfortunately, my belief in myself maintained its sway in my shaping. A negativity crept into me, buried itself there and has grown and seeped into parts of me I once believed to be infallible.
Again, this blog is a quest to adhere to the best of my beliefs. Here is another: Do NOT accept negativity. Reject it as harshly as it would reject you. Though this may stand in contradiction with my previous post, I do not believe it is entirely a matter of having the right to define yourself. It is more a matter of being good to yourself when you decide what defines you.
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