I’m Asian. I’ve grown up in a strict, judgmental Chinese culture. The path to success is simple. Get good grades, do lots of sports, play instruments, and join lots of clubs (and become a high ranking member). That way, you can get into a good college, get a good job (preferably in a STEM discipline, because those have the most opportunities for growth), and have a nice life.

Happiness is condensed into a formula for us to follow. As Asians in an American culture, this mentality defines us. We are the nerds, the ones that have no social life; the ones that know nothing outside of math, swimming, and piano. As Americans in an Asian culture, we are also outsiders. There are clear expectations for us to follow and a clear cut path to success. If we don’t stick to the path, we don’t succeed. At dinner parties, parents take any opportunity to share how successful their child is doing and at home, parents take any opportunity to share how successful other children are doing in comparison to their own. It’s a sad paradox in which I am too nerdy for the American culture and not interesting enough for the Asian one.

The terms “boring” and “Asian” seem mutually exclusive. You are either one or the other. As prescribed by the formula for success, Asians need to do activities in order to get into good colleges and many Asians want to get into good colleges. By this logic, it is impossible for an Asian to be boring since they all have activities. One of my best friends, Jenny, has danced since she was four. These days, she attends a multitude of dance competitions varying from Chinese Classic to Ballet. One of my other best friends, Patrick, has also played soccer since he was four. Last year, he went to Peru to participate in a soccer tournament. And then there’s me.

I am a boring Asian.

It’s not for lack of trying. I’ve danced. I’ve played soccer. I’ve tried almost every sport there is to try. Problem is, I can’t keep them up. Whenever I try something new, there’s always the initial joy paired with being able to master a simple skill. But then there’s the commitment. There are countless drills, shots, serves, and practices that just happen to last for hours on school nights. There are the rigorous teachers that don’t seem to realize you still have a sport, another instrument, and schoolwork in addition to this one. Most of all, there are the expectations.  There’s the feeling of failure that surrounds me whenever I quit whatever activity I’ve most recently deemed is not worth the effort. As the activities continue to drop, so do my hopes that I’ll be able to find something I can enjoy and commit to. 

To this day, I haven’t found a single loveable activity I can stick to. I’ve played clarinet since fourth grade, but it is more often than not a chore. I started playing it because of my love of music in an attempt to recreate what I have heard played so well. Despite having played piano, I naively believed that I would be able to avoid all of the scales and practice etudes, and skip right to playing Mozart. I was wrong on both counts. 95% of my practice is concentrated on playing the drills and etudes, and Mozart did not sound as good as expected when I played his pieces. I postpone homework for orchestra rehearsals, yet I still get berated by my clarinet teacher for not practicing enough. It is an unhappy paradox that could be solved in a simple way: by quitting.

Actually, it’s not so simple. Quitting would be another unhappy paradox. I would be happier without having the pressure of clarinet and would have much more spare time. However, the pressure alleviated would be replaced by more pressure, whether from a new activity I would pick up, or from the crushing expectations of my parents. As suffocated as I can feel because of my parents, there is a deeply ingrained part of me that hopes for me to please them, to make them proud by not quitting something for once. Because of this reason, I stay with my clarinet. If I don’t quit, I can be not boring. If I don’t quit, I can be somebody that is talked about at the dinner parties. As long as I continue clarinet, I have a shot at success.

When I was younger, I despised being Asian. It was awful that I spent all my time trying to do activities that I hated just so I could be “successful”. I hated all of the pressure that came with maintaining grades and having a social life. I never fit in as much as I hoped to at school. Whenever people would make a general statement like “All Asians look same”, I was only more incentivized to try and behave as un-Asian as possible. However, this façade dropped as soon as I got home. At home, I was still the little Chinese girl that only tried to impress her parents and fit in with all of the other Chinese kids that were spoken of so often. Back at school, I would act out and try to make my peers believe that I was not the goodie-two-shoes that I actually was on the inside. Completely fitting in with both cultures became the goal of my new double life.

This is not to say Asian society is a vicious, evil place. I may be profoundly affected by all of the expectations, but I wouldn’t trade my cultural identity for the world. I am proud to be part of an ethnic group with thousands of years of history and development. I am proud to be able to fluently speak two languages, neither of which are remotely like the other. However, I also take pride in being American, in being able to grow up in such a diverse society. Because of this, I am not just Asian or just American. I am Asian American. I don’t have any cultural bounds or rules that I have to follow. I can create my own. My path to success isn’t defined by anyone but me. I decide what’s okay and what isn’t for myself. By accepting this, I can shift my perspective on the world and also my perspective on myself. I don’t have to be a failure just because I can’t conform to a specific idea of success.

The truth of the matter is that I am and always will be a boring Asian. But who’s to say I didn’t also turn out perfectly fine?