When I was in second grade, there was an event at my school where people dressed as various historical figures would come to our school to give speeches on their life. It was as much motivational as it was factual, where each speech at the end encouraged students to be something: be strong, be smart, be brave.
I remember sitting in the gym, listening to Abraham Lincoln’s speech about honesty and apples, when suddenly he was looking straight at me. He waved me to the front of the gym, and then he put his hand on my shoulder.
“I want you all to know that you can be anything you want. Look at this little girl, she can grow up and be the president of the United States.”
And that was when I turned to him and said, “No, I can’t.”
Mr. Fake President Lincoln didn’t know this of course, but I wasn’t born in the country — one of the three requirements necessary to be president.
It was silly at the time, and I guess it still is, but I find my older self thinking about this moment more and more. Children are taught from a young age that they can be virtually anything and to dream as big as possible; in reality, there’s only so much people can do. Only so many people can live that extraordinary life you see in movies or social media.
Because my dreams as president were squelched so early in life, it left me with the question: who do I want to be?
I don’t know.
This question lived at the forefront of my everyday life for most of college, believing that I had to have something figured out. Sure, I accomplished everything I was “supposed” to do over the past four years: pass all my classes, have fun, and get a job. But the bigger accomplishments were left unsaid — find someone to love, find a reason I’m here, and act on that reason. It was existential, but pertinent to my personal journey as a Chinese American adoptee.
I grew up not knowing a lot of things about my background, and each little fact ached just a little bit differently. It paralyzed me in the moments that mattered most and affected how I perceived the world and others. While I didn’t believe that everyone was against me, it did feel as though I was at a disadvantage from the start.
As I grew older, the word ‘privilege’ rolled around in my brain. I felt so privileged to live where I did and have such a supportive community of people around me. I knew that I was conversational, intelligent and curious. I grew up in an economic state and had enough ambition where I could successfully chase after dreams.
It became an internal battle over the years, knowing how much I had and how thankful I was, but still feeling deeply upset and angry about what I didn’t have. I yearned simply for a birthday I knew was true, and people telling me to just focus on the present made me resent them and the world more. One can say to forget the past, but we’re developed into the people we are because of our past experiences and memories. If I’m missing the important ones, then who could I have been?
College was eye-opening and solemn at the same time. I loved being surrounded by everyone else’s experiences to show that every emotion is valid, it’s helped me gain empathy for others knowing that virtually no one has it together.
Even though I feel as though I’m growing older and older, I know that I’m still young. I know that there is so much life to be lived, and that trying to bank on knowing everything about the world at 22 was a long shot anyway. Continuing to live day by day keeps me stable and having future goals makes me excited for what my life could look like next. Then, when I least expect it, I’ll find myself completely content.
So maybe the question isn’t about who I want to be. Maybe it’s about what I want the journey to look like, or what my life changes will be and how I can effectively cope with them. These past four years showed me how nothing ever stays the same, except for the community I’ve relied on.
I’m still not sure of anything these days, despite the feeling that I should. It’s a good thing, though, to know that curiosity continues to fill my veins.
What I do know, however, is that at this age, we’re not quite there yet. But we will be.
And I’ll be sure to tell that to Mr. Fake President Lincoln.