My parents have always wanted the best for me. So, as early as December of my sophomore year, they started brainstorming summer plans. We had lined up our biannual visit to see my cousins, along with a few weeks to futz around at home, but my parents also wanted me to do something academic. As a high school teacher, my mother knew that summer was the time to get ahead of the college curve through academic programs. The only problem was that I had no idea what I was interested in.
I found math interesting, but I didn’t enjoy constantly double and triple-checking my answers. Science was okay, but it didn’t speak to me the way the humanities did. I really loved English (and still do), but a degree in it didn’t seem financially viable. By process of elimination, history seemed like my best bet.
My parents came to the same conclusion and swiftly shipped me off to a foreign policy pre-college program in Washington D.C. I was … somewhat enthused? Don’t get me wrong: I love history. After playing Samurai Warriors for the first time, I dove into Japan’s Sengoku Jidai period, culminating in a fourth-grade history project and a historical tour of Japan with my father. More recently, I’ve written short stories inspired by the fall of
Constantinople and World War I. The only issue with my love of history? It’s a love of ancient history. At the time, I didn’t want to touch current events with a six-foot pole—I still don’t.
I kept my reservations to myself. Maybe I’d enjoy learning about foreign policy. But what could one do with a degree in foreign policy? Who knows! Become a diplomat I suppose?
I think my parents took my lukewarm excitement as a new passion because they started talking about all their friends and acquaintances that worked in diplomacy. When summer arrived, I was shipped off to D.C. Honestly, learning about different economic and political theories was pretty interesting. My head spun as big, intimidating vocabulary words were thrown at us: multilateralism, bipolar vs. unipolar, and something about
hegemony?
These lectures were pretty interesting, but that was the extent
of my newfound passion. I also had some wild social experiences: At one point there was a rumor going around that some people within the program were targeted by North Korean spies. As much as I loved learning about foreign policy, diplomacy really didn’t seem like the career path for me.
I was worried about the conversation that awaited me at home. My parents seemed so excited about my potential livelihood as a diplomat. When I broached the topic of their aspirations for my future career, their expressions morphed into ones of horror.
It turned out that nobody—my parents included—wanted me to become a diplomat. Relieved, we all had a lengthy discussion about how, no, my parents didn’t want me study foreign policy, they just wanted me to be happy.
A few months later, I mentioned my desire to pursue acting as a profession. I think my parents went into shock. I was terrified of a big fight—the kind you see in a drama—or worse, them just saying “no.”
I’m beyond thankful that my parents didn’t yell or scream. Instead, we sat down, they expressed their own fears, and I explained why acting means so much to me. At first, they were skeptical (I think they still are), but they’re willing to let me give it a shot.
I don’t think my parents wanted me to pursue acting as a career, but they’ve seen how happy it makes me, and I think that’s trumped other concerns. After dismantling the hegemony of expectations, we moved from a unipolar to bipolar world order by forming a new multilateral agreement.
