Redefining Failure
By 美欣
她的/She/her/hers
School was both a place of sacrilege but also hell for me growing up. I learned from a very young age what White female teachers thought of children of immigrants. Our parents were “ignorant” and “trying their best” (these are actual phrases my teachers used to describe me). Their lack of advanced English was used as a weapon against me when I failed my math exams or fell behind in chemistry. It’s even difficult for me to write about this now as I share my experience with one of my closest friends in high school, Jane.
I was always seen as the family “failure.” I didn’t go to Lowell like all my cousins, uncles, and aunties; I ended up going to SOTA (a school that I have come to love). I was too eccentric, too fat, and too sexually experimental next to my thin, pale skinned-cousins. My Cantonese wasn’t good enough; I dated Gweilos, and wouldn’t get married as a virgin. I wasn’t religious enough, smart enough, or pure enough. Even now, as I pursue Midwifery, my grandpa still asks me, “ Why are you not a doctor?”
Growing up, I did not know that I had the ability to pursue STEM because my teachers feigned me stupid. The comfortable and apparent stereotypes of Asian’s being good at math did not necessarily apply to me. Dr. Claude Steele’s book “Whisling Vivaldi: And Other Clues to How Stereotypes Affect Us” reminds me that gender and ethnicity influence how I see myself in academia.
My experience at Smith was bittersweet; I ended up dropping out. I don’t necessarily see myself as a success story, but I can tell you how to self-preserve in cultural humility spaces.
One of the worst experiences I was involved in at Smith was, of course, in Math class. I was put in remedial math because my SAT scores were so low(if anyone is familiar with these exams and the prestige associated with their acceptance rates at high performing schools, you would know that this would be considered an embarrassment). I received an email a few months prior saying that because my test scores were so low, I had to be put in a “special class” because they assumed that I would fail. While in the class with other peers, a fellow student mentioned that “All Chinese people are good at math. They wouldn’t be in this class.” Well, where does that leave me? I’m a Chinese American, but do I not count because I’m not a full stereotype. We had already had to share our identities through introductions in this class, so this person already knew my identity as a Chinese person. Everyone laughed at this comment because they thought it was funny.
This comment hurt more because she was not corrected by our professor. So I had to sit through a class where my identity as a Chinese person was questioned and denied while also wading through imposter syndrome at a 4-year university. I was hurt by this experience and still have not been able to forgive this White female professor. It was another reminder of how much of a failure I was. Because of this experience, I really had to learn how to be confident on my own in classrooms. Professors were not my allies, and my classmates weren’t either. If you decide to go to a PWI, prepare for imposter syndrome. To combat imposter syndrome, I went to tutoring centers and office hours not to prove to my professors that I was working hard but to remind myself that I had had the same ability as my peers who went to fancy boarding schools and college preparatory high schools.
As a firstborn from an immigrant family from the Ping Yuen (平園), Housing Projects in San Francisco, my parents did not understand the importance of going to a University like Smith. Their ideology surrounding academia was different than mine as I was supposed to stay at home, mostly because I was a girl. I received frantic phone calls from my mother continually guilting me about how I made her “sick” (唔舒服). She would call me yelling at me because I had abandoned the family, shaming me for the decisions that I made. Weeks would go by without hearing from her, and I dreaded looking at my phone. I felt like none of my White classmates could relate to me. “Just block her” or “just ignore her” was what I was told repeatedly to distance myself from the situation. Her sickness eventually took over her body because I was away, and due to filial piety enforced onto me from a very young age, I returned home to nurse her back to health. My mother had extreme paralysis from the stress that I inflicted on her.
Now that you have read my narrative: Here are some tips in navigating PWIs and their spaces:
My advice for BBIPOC students looking to attend a PWI, join programs like Summerbridge, or Oasis, or any sort of program that will give you a preview of what life can be like at the institution. Join a Multicultural sorority or club to find people who might have an inkling of what you are going through.
SELF-PRESERVE, find a therapist or community that can somehow relate to your specific tribulations. Karen from upstate New York is not going to understand filial piety or immigrant daughter guilt. I do not recommend dumping your problems on your other BBIPOC friends; instead, we must remember to share space.
Have White allies. You don’t need to tell Karen why she’s wrong. Your friend Ashley could do that.
Have the audacity to own the space. You don’t owe anybody shit.
Take care of yourself. For me, this meant going to the gym, sleeping early, and eating right. Even if it meant skipping class or not doing an assignment. Your health is your wealth. Don’t let anybody take that away from you, especially your professors.
Talk to financial aid, and be open about your circumstances. I received $10,000 extra in my third year in college to study abroad and conduct research in two different countries. Dream BIG.
Work while in high school or go to community college first. After dropping out of Smith, I spent a few years in community college. I worked at three different types of jobs. Doing so much taught me about discipline and not caring what others thought about me or my circumstances. Having my own income was empowering. I know that at many institutions, sugar babying is commonplace. I personally have found that that world to be hard to navigate and cannot condone the practice.
Remember that your existence is resistance. There are so many times I think back to my classes and wish I spoke out against my instructors or peers. I understand now that I don’t need to punish myself for being.
Seek out a mentor. I had some beautiful mentors at Smith that I still fondly think of. Your mentor will serve as a lifelong during those late nights at the library.
In everything that you do remember, there will be others to follow. It is an act of both self- love and love for others to look out for the younger generation.
Although I was a college dropout, I have come to realize that my experience at a PWI did not define my identity. I became an emergency medical technician and learned that I had the ability to be a first responder. My experience as a technician and non- traditional college student taught me to be resilient. I no longer saw myself as a failure. The frameshift in my mindset was transformative, and I urge all BBIPOC students to do the same.
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