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Growing up, there was one overriding narrative that all Korean American youngsters were supposed to buy into to succeed in mainstream America. Parents come to the U.S. from Korea to work hard and sacrifice to give their children an opportunity to succeed, which they do by excelling academically to get into Stuyvesant or Bronx Science on their way to an Ivy League school to become a doctor, lawyer or banker. If you fail, you take over your parents' store, to your everlasting shame.
As a 1.5-generation Korean-American, I similarly had four career choices: doctor, lawyer, investment banker or inherit my parents' dry cleaners, in that order. So, I went to Duke (because I got waitlisted by MIT, thank God) and majored in biomedical engineering, not because I liked biomedical engineering but because people told me it was easier to get into medical school than being a pre-med.
Too bad that I realized during my junior year that I faint at the sight of blood. Oh well, so much for being a doctor. Then I decided to be a lawyer specializing in intellectual property because that was what engineering majors who go to law school do, until I also realized that being a lawyer was mostly about filling out esoteric and oftentimes incomprehensive documents for clients who had better and more exciting things to do.
I also briefly contemplated getting an MBA to go into banking, but gave up when I could not tell the difference between a "put" and a "putz." That was a good choice because I still cannot, although I do know a putz when I see one.
In the meantime, I did learn how to paint my face and body Duke blue, gloat through four straight Final Fours, and scream bloody murder at underachieving Tar Heels, although I have to admit that Chapel Hill restaurants had grits so much better than in Durham.
There was only one thing left for me to do, to my parents' bitter disappointment. I had to run a dry cleaning business ― until I realized that dry-cleaning is really difficult work. Spending up to 16 hours a day in stifling heat during summer or mind-numbing cold in the winter trying to get puke stains out of prom dresses using solvents that were known carcinogens was not too inviting.
That is when it hit me. I actually do not have to become any of the four things. There are other options in life other than those that my parents defined for me. So I ran, going from job to job across the U.S. and Asia and experiencing life and learning more about myself than I probably would have if I had followed the prescribed path.
I write all this because of the recent brouhaha about the lawsuit against Harvard and UNC-Chapel Hill for allegedly discriminating against Asians in their admissions. I will not rehash the whole debate here, but it has mostly boiled down to the question of diversity versus meritocracy in deciding who gets into the elite schools. In other words, is it fair to deny admissions to Asian candidates with superior test scores and GPA in favor of Hispanic or black candidates who might not have scored as high but would bring diversity to the student body?
Ok, I am admittedly oversimplifying the issue here, but I frankly do not care too much about this merit versus diversity debate because I consider it a red herring that really obscures the underlying assumption that seems still to grip the Asian-American community: that admittance to elite colleges is a ticket to ''success," which is still mostly defined as being a doctor, a lawyer or banker.
Why are we still buying into this suffocating narrative that is not even ours? It is our parents' narrative because Asian-American parents ― like all parents out there ― want security and stability first and foremost for their children. They want what is "safe." But how many change-makers out there do you know succeeded by doing what their parents told them to do? By taking the "safe" path? Bill Gates or Steve Jobs, anyone?
I am not saying there is something wrong with studying hard and becoming a doctor or lawyer if that is what you really want to do. But do not allow yourself to become conditioned to a set of expectations laid down by a generational socio-cultural narrative that is not yours to begin with. It is profoundly disempowering when you restrict your own chances of success to being accepted to a few, specific schools to get into three specific professions.
In other words, do not let the tail wag the dog. Schools exist for you, not the other way around. Do not imbue them with some mysterious power that can guarantee status, power and wealth for whoever gets accepted. Apply to Harvard, Yale, Stanford, and other elite schools if you truly believe they are the best places to help you begin writing your own life's story, not because they are the safe choices for you to become something you are not even sure you want to become.
Jason Lim is a Washington, D.C.-based expert on innovation, leadership and organizational culture. He has been writing for The Korea Times since 2006. He can be reached at jasonlim@msn.com, facebook. com/jasonlimkoreatimes and @jasonlim2012.