the souls of asian folk

yeah, I went there...

There's a lot on my mind on this late night. I really should be asleep, as I have a class at 8am later today, but I felt compelled to write.

So since my last writing, I moved into my housing for the year: an apartment on campus (technically, not functionally) with three of my fellow brothers, all with very different backgrounds, experiences, and personalities... but I'll get to that on a later post. I then spent the week before NRB at home, which became my undoing.

I though it would be harmless enough, enjoyable even: a week of rest and food, spent with family, especially because of the presence of two very strong-willed Philippine aunts: a realist in Staten Island, and a traditionalist from the Philippines slated to visit. It turned out to be a couple of days preparing the house for close familial scrutiny, then a couple of enlightening days with family. I learned a lot (like how to paint over ugly wood paneling), but the experience also left me greatly confused and uncertain.

First, some background. My traditionalist aunt is a pretty high-up individual in Philippine government: she works for the department of health for the country, responsible for the health of the nation's citizens, and came to the States as the Philippine delegation for some international public health conference. My realist aunt is a high-up nurse at a Brooklyn hospital, the culmination of years of hard work as a single mother and immigrant worker. Both can tell you that the best way to go for Filipinos (or anyone, really) these days are nursing and especially medicine. Now, at the time, I had counted out the pursuit of medicine as a viable option, due to my grades and lack of interest in the field, but suddenly it has been pushed back in my face: go to medical school in the Philippines, and come back to the States to take licensing exams and practice (and roll in the big bucks). My parents and relatives all think that this is a definite possibility, as they are aware of another Filipino who is already doing so (a recent American nursing graduate who is currently a med student at a Philippine medical school). They also assure me that I could go to the most prestigious of medical schools if I so wanted; the only problem, though, is that I don't speak the dialect. But I am sure that they, as well as the entire family, could die happy if I (or my sister, herself a recent American nursing graduate) took medicine up.

The week started with a visit to the realist; long story short, the message was: "Pursue medicine, if you know what's good for your future. You're a bright kid, you can do it. Trust me. No pressure, though." The traditionalist, a doctor herself, came a couple of days later; her message: "Become the most successful in your generation by upholding the line of doctors in the family." A couple of days later, my father, who I talk to a lot about lots of things, who is also himself a doctor, delivered the coup de grace of messages: "Are you willing to put your family through hardship as you work your way to an uncertain, difficult future?"

All this left me starting my senior year of college not knowing what to do next. I began to think about Asian vs. American philosophies on life, and how they affected people's choices and actions, especially during college. The Asian way is that of success by collectivist thinking and being able to support one's family; that is why there are lots of Asian kids pursuing fields like engineering and the sciences (especially such high-demand, high-paying health science fields as medicine, pharmacy, and nursing), in the hopes of a comfortable life and helping out the family, both parents and relatives abroad. This way is not unique: these aspirations are also those of anyone from the third world, or anyone who has faced third-world realities. It, however, does not leave much room for following one's own personal aspirations and dreams, unless they coincide with substantial monetary gain, or if one already dreams of beceoming a doctor, lawyer, engineer, pharmacist, etc.

On the other hand, the American way is that of following your passion, no matter the cost, symbolized by the common phrase, "Do what you love, and the money will come later." This way emphasizes success by individualist thinking, personal fulfillment, and a great deal of autonomy and independence. It is a very tempting avenue during college, as seen by the multitudes of students pursuing realistically worthless liberal arts majors. However, I have found that that way assumes some sort of pre-existing wealth, or some sort of "starving artist" period when one struggles to find employment in their field of study, eventually settling for a menial job in another field entirely to tide them over, and staying in that field forever. While this may be the norm in American culture, is is highly discouraged, even anathema, in Asian culture, and simply not a good idea during these days of economic uncertainty.

This all has boiled down to a handful of pressing questions.

1. Which choice is easier? Is it easier to go to an American graduate school for a career in academia or the horticultural industry, or to pursue medicine, a field I'm not really interested in, for the next six years, while immersing myself head-first into Philippine culture and a way of life utterly alien to me?

2. What exactly does "easy" mean? Does it mean keeping my American-style autonomy and pursuing what I love, but living my life crippled by debt? Or does it mean financial and career stability by being shooed-in into medical school and supported by family, but resigning myself to six more years of studies that I'm only marginally interested in, to prepare for a career in which I may not be truly happy?

3. What am I willing to lose? Dignity and autonomy? Hopes, dreams, and aspirations? Family support? My family's financial well-being? My own financial stability? Occupational stability? It's a good thing that I'm still young, because I still have my whole life to make up for what I'll lose with these choices.

All through this, I find myself reciting Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken" for solace. Very appropriate, but not too helpful.

The predicament carries on. But now it's time for bed. More later.