I’m writing a book that might get banned in my country. Given the current elections, it might be not be a good thing, since I still hold citizenship and my mother reminds me daily about how valuable a Singapore citizenship is, and how our elections albeit rigged and less entertaining — has resulted in a well run country that just celebrated transitioning from a 3rd world to 1st world country in 50 years.
But I feel pressed to do it. Especially after 25 years of me immigrating here, after seeking educational asylum in an Ivy League healed two decades of testing, streaming and pressure — imagine my horror to see what I fled replay itself before my eyes. It’s not the killing fields but it is close. There are no flying bullets, but the weapons are more deadly and subtle, it happens in the space where it is supposed to be safest and the outcomes show up on the train-tracks.
No one will talk about it. Suicidality sure, educational reform sure, there is research, funding and new alternative schools. But the one issue everyone is skirting around is culture. That it’s happening in the Asian American community. That sure pressure hits 100% of the kids in the high school, but its a completely different brand that hits Asian teens and young adults; and it’s resulting in anxiety, depression but oh they have had that for years, It is resulting in death.
We don’t talk about it for the same reason I feel my book will get banned. That we don’t talk poorly about our parents, we don’t question our elders, we don’t talk back, we don’t question what has worked for centuries — relentless perfectionism, ruthless practice, overwhelming expectations, in a culture that believes praise breeds laziness.
I know because I have these parents in my office as a psychotherapist. They are the only demographic that perceives poor grades are a mental health issue. “Fix my kid” they say “Their grades are falling” It is the only symptom that brings them in my office, and despite harrowing family dynamics, brutal acculturation, heartbreaking marriages — the only outcomes they want from me is “get them into Harvard”
For a while, I could not see Asians as clients. Still raw from the trauma at home, I got PTSD with the slightest whiff of fresh of the boat pressure and aspirations. In their faces, I saw teachers, tutors, parents of classmates. I saw the System I fled.
Then I felt bad, because Asian clients like Asian therapists, and by golly gee there aren’t many of us out there. I figured since I spoke fluent Mandarin, I straddled both cultures, since I had an Education background, since I have “right resume’, since I am technically too fresh off the boat — i should speak for them. Most importantly I should speak for the kids.
So everyday, for a small portion of the practice, I embark on the daunting task of explaining concepts like attainment, ego strength, self-esteem and resilience to culture not unlike my own. Over and over, I am asked why “This generation of child are so weak!” and why “Trying harder” is not exactly an intervention. I explain learning differences, I coaxed diagnosis. I attempt to de-stigmatize dyslexia, anxiety and depression. I confront the bewilderment and overwhelming grief of why a child with perfect grades would want to kill themselves. I explain the precious commodity of choice that is every Asian American’s birthright given from birth, not after they have fulfilled all their parents’ dreams.
They are resistant, angry and dismissive. Some of them fire me for tutors. I look in the eyes of the teen and I want to hug them a million times. I pray for the resilience of spirit, that they would get a whiff of what is good, and possible here in America. The air that I got a whiff of all the way in Singapore.
If we don’t recreate Singapore here.
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