It’s a strange way to live when you’re a second-generation immigrant. You know the blessings you have been afforded through your parents’ sacrifice, and although we may not be perfect, I’d say we all have some sort of drive that makes us want to make our parents proud rather than push them to regret the decision and sacrifice they made. But that comes with pressure and with pressure, guilt. And with that, I begin my vent.
Corona has (rightfully) become one of my community’s biggest fears. For us kids, we sort of think of it casually now. That this is how we are going to live for probably the next year, and all we can do is wear masks and try not to be around too many people. For our parents, though, it’s become a death sentence. While still having to provide for their families, they need to dodge corona as well.
I guess in the beginning, like most people, I selfishly was frustrated that my plans for the rest of the year had to be canceled and was a little bitter that even though I wasn’t seeing anyone, other people were. It felt like because of them, this pandemic was never going to end (which…it still hasn’t). But after feeling upset with my generation and the stupid decisions that we all have made, I took a second to sit down with my parents and see how they were feeling.
Unfortunately, many people that my parents knew were exposed to the virus and had subsequently either landed in the hospital or lost their lives. Corona took from them more than it has taken from us. The ones that did recover still have lasting side effects, and my father’s preaching really did make sense. Of course, he’s disappointed. His hours were shortened at work, but because my mom has her own business, things weren’t going to be too bad. But still, my siblings and I had to make sacrifices for them, too, and while it has strengthened us as a family, it still does suck to have to put your own wants on hold for the greater good. We’ve had to become more involved at home, meaning having friends has started to feel like a privilege. In fact, I’m currently at home writing this because my mother had to go see her father in Ethiopia, and she needed someone to run her daycare.
I don’t want to sound ungrateful, so please take what I say with a grain of salt, but it isn’t like I chose on my own accord to both work a full-time job and be a full-time student for three weeks. I’m nervous and want to do well in school this year, considering last semester was a bit rocky (that’s when the virus had begun, and we did online school for the first time). But as much as it sucks, it’s also been a pretty humbling experience. It’s not like I can do much during this pandemic anyway, so being home hasn’t been the worst thing ever; it’s just been a little different.
And different doesn’t have to be a bad thing if you don’t want it to be. Yes, I didn’t choose to sacrifice the weeks that I could have spent at my apartment with my roommates, but being trusted with such a responsibility, I hope will hold a lesson in it itself. This is an opportunity to grow, and I intend to do that. And perhaps it is a little bit of guilt that’s driving me, but honestly, is that too bad? My parents left everything to give my siblings and me a life they could have only dreamed of, so if they need me for a couple of weeks, I think I should be there. It’s not like it’s easy, but to be honest, what in life is?