Photo by Jeff Batis

By April Chan

The immigrant struggle and experience in the United States is a noble one, and when it leads to a complete triumph over financial and cultural barriers, it deserves to be celebrated.

And the choices I have made as the only child of two honest, hard-working Chinese immigrants truly do honor the sacrifices that my family has made to give me the opportunities that I have in this country.

But the perception of “honor” changes often enough between different cultures that my decision to stop living my life according to their wishes and follow my own path came across to my parents as a slap in the face.

By American standards, this decision came about late in the course of my life. I was 22 and had just received my bachelor’s degree. Throughout my undergraduate years at the University of California in Berkeley, Calif., I continued to tell both my parents and myself that I would succeed in my molecular and cell biology major and that I would become, if not a doctor, at least an accomplished scientist.

Quarter-life crisis brewing

Yet it was so obvious that the subject matter interested me only on the most superficial level. I enjoyed learning about science and innovation, but I had no motivation to unlock the mysteries of nature on my own.

With my degree in hand, I was able to find a position at a genomics lab that provides DNA samples from a multitude of organisms to research facilities worldwide. Though the job paid well, I was less than enthused to go to work each day and stared at the clock longingly for 5 p.m. to strike so that I could go home once again.

Meanwhile, a dear friend of mine from third grade seemed to have truly found her lot in life, toiling in the kitchens of 3-star and 4-star restaurants in order to gain enough experience to one day become a pastry chef.

She peeled barrels of potatoes and dressed hundreds of salads at a time, yet she possessed an enthusiasm for her job that I couldn't muster on my best day.

It struck me then as a 20-something idealist that the secret to happiness on the career front was not money so much as the satisfaction of a job well done. What you choose to do with your life requires a passion.

A career epiphany

Desperate for something else to do with my life, I mentally inventoried my past and present interests. And journalism came up clear as crystal as my own true passion.

I know that high school journalism doesn't amount to much in the grander scheme of the profession. For me, however, it was my life for nearly three years. I devoted myself to my high school newspaper and happily gave up the chance to attend the senior prom so I could stay at school late into the night, getting the paper ready for the printer so that it could be distributed by the end of that week.

On more than one occasion, I worked on copy and page layout in that newsroom from sunset to nearly sunrise. When my parents called the school demanding that I come home immediately – it was past 3 a.m. – I made every excuse I could so that I could stay.

That passion led to burnout, and I guess that was why I decided to give journalism a rest in college.

But as I sat in front of the ticking clock each afternoon in the lab, I thought about how much more fun I had in high school and how I desperately wished to be able to feel strongly enough about my job to both love it and resent it, if it should provoke me.

I began my quest to transition back into the writing and publishing world by scanning the want ads for part-time work, but there were no takers for someone who tops her resume with work experience solely at a laboratory bench.

My high school instructor, Paul Kandell, encouraged my self-examination and desire to change careers and informed me of my options, including returning to school to earn a graduate degree in journalism.

A reporter's life

After nearly a year of taking standardized tests, filling out countless applications and writing “why I want to go to graduate school” statements, the University of Maryland, Philip Merrill College of Journalism not only gave me that chance but honored my past achievements with a fellowship.

And now as I am knee-deep in the murky waters of the journalism profession once again, I find myself waking up each morning, eager to see what lies ahead for me.

I still speak to my parents on the phone regularly, and they are warming to the idea that I will be a journalist – a lowly writer – and not the seasoned doctor they had hoped I'd be. My father even said to me recently: “It's your life. That's why we gave it to you. We just want you to be happy.”

And then he added, “Just don't come crying to me when your friends are driving around in Porsches and living in seaside condos, and you can barely pay your rent.”

Maybe. But I bet a whole lot of them couldn't honestly say that they love what they do.

I can.

Copyright © 2005 April Chan