High school has made me consider therapy. But not in the stigmatized way that society thinks therapy is exclusively sought out for. Therapy isn’t only for those with severe mental issues; therapy is offered to anyone considering it: those who want to improve a relationship or those who want to improve themselves. The period from childhood to adolescence requires strong commitment and is one of the greatest periods of growth and development. But with the struggle of managing school, the future, and grades, it’s no wonder that the period of growth and development has been delayed for many.

My parents married impulsively; which is probably where I got my own impulsivity from. They were both getting old, working too many hours, and probably pressured into marriage from their own parents. Sometimes I wish they didn’t get married, but they did in 1993, and ten years later I came out of the womb already trying to figure out the world.

That story is probably a lie, except for the part where I said I was born. We don’t really know if my parents got married impulsively, but from context clues and family rumors it seems to be the most substantial hypothesis. Even to this day, when I ask my mother a question about her own family all I get is lies. Each time I ask how many siblings she has, the number changes: four, five, six, we will never know. It also doesn’t help that I don’t regularly talk to any of my family members, never knowing anything until it pertains to myself. 

One of the more memorable projects that I had completed in high school comes from Honors US History. It was a family history project to get to know our ancestry better. I was beyond excited to finally figure out my pedigree tree and the past of my parents. My hopes were soon destroyed, though, when I realized that my parents weren’t so fond of telling me about their own families. Nervous and awkward chuckles from my dad who had trouble remembering his parents’ birthdays, and scoldings from my mom who is always reluctant about giving out such personal information.

Maybe that’s why when I walked the halls of Arcadia High School I wanted to figure myself out just like I wanted to figure out my family. Ever since freshman year, I knew all I had to do was find something I was really passionate about. I knew my parents wouldn’t pressure me into taking AP classes (because they didn’t know what those were), and wouldn’t force me to dabble in extracurriculars I wouldn’t like. My sister already went through that with my parents nine years ago; I guess nine years later they realized that forcing their child into hobbies didn’t work when my sister became an animator instead of a prestigious lawyer or neurosurgeon. 

But unlike my sister, I never found that passion. At times I wished my parents would put me into random sports, random extracurriculars like they did with my sister because I was craving any sort of comfort other than school work. Most importantly, I was afraid that I wouldn’t get into a good college with only grades, conditioned by Arcadia culture to think this way. I remember asking my parents to take cooking classes, only to be shut down by my mother who said that I would be wasting money if I joined. I would start wanting to cook food on my own time which would mess up the family earnings.

Although a bit late, I joined several (albeit comparatively less than other students) extracurriculars, and with those extracurriculars I also began to figure out a bit more of what I wanted in life. From becoming the Secretary of my favorite club to joining The Arcadia Quill and even getting my first job, I became someone I would’ve looked up to during middle school. Someone confident, someone capable of being a leader and conversing about complex ideas, which was everything I wanted to be. A few years ago, if someone had told me I would be as independent as I am now I would have laughed, but I would’ve also stayed up late at night dreaming of the days that I would become this independent. 

Was I ever the best at these extracurriculars; was I ever the very top of my class? Not at all; I was not the best writer or the most organized member of my officer team and I most certainly was not the smartest out of seven hundred students. There was and always will be someone smarter than me, more capable than me, and even someone cooler than me. But once I drilled into my brain that the world is not a competition with those around you, but rather with yourself, life started looking up. 

What comes with self-confidence is self-reflection. Although there were so many things I had learned about myself, there always seemed to be spots that couldn’t be reached. There were habits that I wished I could figure out, habits that prevented me from growth: personally and in relationships. But there was nothing inherently traumatic or bad in my childhood, so why do I lose interest in hobbies after a few months and why does my family still lack personal connection even as I grow older? At times like this, where I felt lost and only wanted answers, a professional would have been beneficial. 

As high school comes to an end, I’ve learned the bare minimum about myself and my family. I’ve remembered their birthdays (but not the years) and I’ve come to terms with the fact that birthdays are only meant to be celebrated with cake eaten at two in the afternoon. If I was asked to have dinner with anyone in the world, I would still choose my parents. To have an intimate and formal dinner with one of my parents would open my eyes and probably theirs, too. I want to ask them about their lives in Hong Kong and Vietnam. I want to learn more about  their youth, and the character traits that they might’ve passed down to me. I’m sure they love to tell stories, but have never gotten the chance to. I know this because I feel the exact same way. 

Although I will leave for college in a few months, I hope that when I come back I will have many voids filled, and I hope that the distance will strengthen my bonds with myself and my childhood. So thank you to high school, for teaching me the importance of myself.