When I was first entering college, my parents asked me what direction I chose for my studies. As any immigrant parent does, they always dreamed of me becoming a doctor or lawyer. They wanted to be able to brag to their friends about me and tell them that their “little girl is saving lives.” But my parents are very smart individuals. They watched me cry at the dinner table as I used every fiber of my being to understand the mythical concept of long division. They heard me stay up late at night, complaining to my friends about the impossibility of balancing a chemical equation. They knew very well that science and mathematics were never my strong suit. So when I told them I was planning on studying journalism, they were pleased. Now they get to tell their friends that their little girl is going to be on television (because all journalists are news anchors), right?
Wrong. In college I actually chose to study Communication and Media. More specifically, I declared an informal concentration in Public Relations and Social Media. So you can only imagine my mother’s surprise when one day, two years into my degree, I told her that it wasn’t journalism that I was studying. I wasn’t going to be on News 12 New Jersey and I most certainly wasn’t going to be an anchor. My attempts at explaining to my foreign mother what Public Relations actually was, failed miserably. I tried to translate my career choice into a language in which the field of study was nonexistent. To her, Public Relations was two separate words, that when conjoined together, formed an empty meaning. I even sent her a Polish Wikipedia page to keep on-hand if she ever needed to explain to somebody what exactly her daughter was studying.
Well I currently work as a social media manager and while my generation knows that social media is a budding field that’s crucial for brands and businesses alike, my immigrant parents do not. You can probably paint the picture of disappointment on their faces when I told them that I work on “Facebook posts” and “Instagram content.” Their little girl who had so much potential, who was always so bright, was now stuck making silly pictures to post on the silly little websites they use for connecting with distant family members and quick dinner recipes. What a let down, right?
Let me be clear though, my intention while writing this article is not at all to "bash" on my parents. I know that they truly are proud of all my accomplishments and will support me in pursuing the career that I choose. But it would be a lot easier on them if they knew that the path to my future was something more predictable. Or in a sense, something they simply understood.
My fellow COI— children of immigrants, know the struggle of having to explain new world concepts to their old world parents. Everything around us is evolving so quickly that the words to explain it all in our mother tongues don’t even exist. Success translates to “doctor,” money translates to “engineer,” and that’s where the English to Foreign Language dictionary ends. It only gets more difficult when talking about your own future. I speak for every child of an immigrant when I say that our number one goal in life is to give back to our parents everything that they abandoned for us. They dropped everything they knew and left their comfortable homes to move to an unknown country so that their children have a chance at success. As much as we can try, that is an impossible debt to repay. And yet, we still go above and beyond to be successful so that maybe one day, we can provide them some financial stability and comfort in exchange for the pain and suffering they endured.
That burden constantly lives in our minds, almost as if it’s been etched into the deepest parts of our brain. For those who aren’t mathematically-blessed and can’t wrap their minds around the concept of Physics, an impending feeling of failure constantly trails behind us. What if my passions and talents aren’t enough to make them proud? What if I’m financially scraping by and can barely take care of myself, much less my parents? While for those of us who are lucky enough to actually understand the ins and outs of human anatomy, it’s a never-ending pit in your stomach. Will I ever have enough time to eat a proper meal or get more than two hours of sleep? Will this failing grade define my success? Is this degree worth the debt, the stress, and the pain? Am I even making my parents proud?
Stress to impress has become an unspoken motto in the community of first-generation and immigrant students. We’re living in a constant state of fear that we will never be enough— that the sacrifices our parents made will be for nothing. Simply put, a waste of time and effort. It’s an incessant internal battle of whether it’s worth pursuing your dreams or giving up to become the formulaic golden child.
Although I can’t fill that void or completely ease your fear, I do want to give all of you a safe space. For my children of immigrants, this is where you can feel those emotions without any shame. What you’re experiencing is completely valid and it’s okay to be scared. I’m scared too. And that’s okay. Although this was not the intent, we’ve been conditioned to feel like we owe something to our parents from the second they stepped foot on American soil, so how are we not supposed to constantly live in panic? Our lives were planned before we spoke our first words.
So my lovely company, I’m going to end this entry with somewhat of a controversial statement. We do not owe our parents. Trust me, I know it’s hard to digest. But this statement doesn’t mean that we don’t feel gratitude and appreciation towards them. And this doesn’t mean that we give up instead of using the opportunities they gave us. This just means that our lives are simply that— our lives. They are our futures, our careers, our hopes, our dreams, and our happiness. It’s us that will be reaping the effects of the decisions we make, not them. Whether or not we realize it, we make them proud just by living the lives that they dreamed we could have. Their sacrifices were not made as an exchange. They didn’t do it dreaming that one day you’ll buy them a home or pay their bills. They did it so that you could be happy in a place filled with opportunity— the opportunity to dictate your own choices and create your own life.
Love Always,
(A very teary-eyed) Typewriter
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