These pessimistic thoughts have been circling back since I saw the purple-highlighted due date in my planner. There are ideas for what comes next in my story. I can reference the outline I created too. I know it’s possible for me to replicate the success I’m still high from.
On the other hand, the possibility of falling back into failure gnaws at me. Rosie doesn’t seem to comprehend that.
“We need to unpack why you think the world is going to implode if you fail a college class.”
I groan. We’ve had this conversation before. “I don’t think the world is going to implode.”
“You act like it is!” Lukewarm noodles get shoved into my mouth in favor of rolling my eyes. “Not wanting to waste the tuition money, I get. That’s valid. But beating yourself up like this because of a grade isn’t worth it.”
It’s another variation of what she’s tried to get through my head: I’m too concerned with grades. It’s not normal to feel like the floor is going to swallow me whole if I can’t reach every expectation I’ve set for myself.
When I don’t respond, Rosie’s lecture continues. “You care about school. You always have. That’s fine. But Lil.” Her hand reaches across the table to softly grasp my wrist. “You have to give yourself some grace.”
“I’m trying.” I sigh.
I am. My success rate has just been in the negatives for everything in my life lately.
She sighs, too, squeezing my arm. “Is this about your parents again?”
I push the egg around my bowl to avoid eye contact. Rosie’s hand lifts away from me, and I hear her utensils clanking against the table.
She knows me better than anyone else. Responding with silence is as effective as answering.
“Lil. Your parents aren’t going to love you any less if you fail a class.”
“I know that.” Looking up, her arms are crossed, back straight and stare pointed. I do know my parents’ love isn’t attached to a grade or a degree. Everything they’ve done for me reinforces that.
“You’re not a bad daughter for failing a class, either.”
Cold washes over me.
That’s what it boils down to. Being a good daughter—the best daughter. Sometimes, I selfishly wish that my parents were harder on me. Aside from bragging to family members and colleagues, and gushing over how much I’ve accomplished, chasing success is rarely a topic of conversation with them.
They don’t push. They don’t pry. Before they knew who I was or what I would become, they gave up everything to give me opportunities they thought I deserved. All things considered, I have the best parents anyone could ever ask for.
I’ll never stop being grateful. I won’t stop feeling this overwhelming pressure of being worth those sacrifices and kindness, either.
“I can’t fail this class. They gave up their retirement plans so I could go to grad school, Rosie.” My voice tapers into a guilt-ridden whisper. The weight of their love for me squeezes at my chest.
My best friend’s stern expression falters. A soft smile of admiration creeps in.
“I know. And that was so kind of them.” My shoulders sag, getting heavier the longer I think about what they’ve done forme. “But you didn’t ask them to. They decided that on their own.”
“That makes it worse.” I hate talking about this. It feels like I’m ungrateful or I’m scolding my mom and dad for loving metoomuch. “I have a responsibility to make that sacrifice, and every other one, worth it. How am I supposed to live up to that expectation if I can’t even secure my degree?”
Rosie pushes her bowl away and I follow. I’ve lost my appetite.
“I know it’s not exactly the same, but sometimes when I think about my parents immigrating from the Philippines, I can’t breathe. They were comfortable there. But they left because they had a son, they were planning for me, and they wanted a new life for us. It feels like I stole something from them.
“Then I remember how they cheered at my volleyball games, even when we lost. I see them support the small business my brother chose to invest in with money that was meant for college. Do you know what that tells me?”
Rosie stares me down, waiting for an answer I can’t produce while her words sink in.
“It tells me my parents didn’t leave what they knew behind because they expected me to shift the world on its axis. Everything they’ve done was to see their kids be happy. That’s what it was for. That’s why it was worth it, because I’m so fucking happy, Lil.”
The inside of my cheek is raw and pulsing where I’ve chewed on it.
By definition, it’s not the same. My parents moved from state-to-state, and not to an entirely new country like Rosie’s did. Their challenges probably differ, too. Where gentrification forced my parents outside of the islands, Rosie’s mom and dad probably had different reasons for moving.
