The Day After

Today is March 16th, the day after I found out that I got into Yale.

12 years ago, one of my friends went off to college at Yale, and he told me I should definitely consider applying there when it came my senior year.  He had so many good things to say about his experience--the ivy-covered buildings; the Harry Potter-like wooden tables and chairs; the niceness of the people--and it made me yearn for a taste of the East Coast University.

Had I actually gone to Yale for college, I would have been the second person in my family to attend an Ivy league University.  In 1980, my father began his Ph.D at Princeton, and, being the genius that he is, finished his program in 4 years.  The year I was born, my parents moved to California, where Dad had landed a professorship at USC.  That was also the year they converted to Christianity, a decision which changed their lives and set the stage for mine.  Instead of becoming the kind of Asian parents which put academic achievement above all else, Mom and Dad turned into involved spiritual guides for me and my younger brother.  Influenced by what I see as a blend of Asian Confucian ideals mixed with Christian fervor, they joined the (mostly-white) homeschooling movement in the 1980s in order to have more time with and influence over their children.  My family explored a variety of churches, beginning with a Chinese (mostly Taiwanese) Baptist church, followed by a mostly-white Congregational church, then contrasted with a house-church-like Pentecostal gathering (made up of graduate students at UCLA), which then eventually led to a large, multi-ethnic Charismatic church.   Eventually, we ended up at an Asian (Mandarin and Cantonese-speaking) Evangelical church, and this was where we were when I first dreamed of going to Yale.

At the time, I was also experiencing a major faith crisis, an experience which made me so angry at God (and hateful towards my parents) that I didn't want to call myself a Christian.  Family devotion times (a long-held daily ritual at our house) became a forced obligation, and serving at church made me feel like a hypocrite.  As for my parents, they were having a (fortunately) short-term affair with a way of Christianity and homeschooling prescribed by a man named Bill Gothard.  (More on that here).  They were learning about the moral decline of America that had begun in the 1960s, and they realized that most institutions of higher education with strong academic reputations were going to be pretty hostile towards our faith.  Since mine was in a rather shaky place, they were concerned about me going off to college at an East Coast school.  Dad specifically told me: I cannot let you attend Yale if you do not strengthen your faith.  He also made it pretty clear that it would be hard for him to be willing to pay for tuition at another school when I could attend his school (USC) for free.

Over time, I did eventually come to a place of stronger faith, but I never did apply to Yale.  During the second half of my junior year of high school, I learned of an early entrance program at USC, and I decided to go for it.  I had wallowed my way out of my teenage "slough of despond", and a brighter future lay ahead.




On another occasion, I'll fill you in on what that future held for me as I brushed all aspirations for the East Coast out of my mind and contented myself with my new college life.  Suffice it to say that I don't regret anything (which is not exactly the same as not having any regrets) and that I've had a very blessed young adulthood.  It hasn't been without its challenges and suffering, but it has definitely been a life of privilege.

Today, as I stand on the threshold of accepting Yale's offer of admission, I am brought back to those moments of longing I had as a teenager.  What was I longing for back then?  An ideal, embodied in the idea of attending Yale.  An idea of greatness, of adventure, of going away to achieve great things.

Today, I am no less idealistic than I was back then, but I'd like to think my idealism is manifested in more realistic ways.  I'd still like to go away on an adventure, but I think my goal is to learn and grow rather than to accomplish important goals.  I'm ecstatic about the possibility of one day being a graduate of an Ivy League, but I'm more concerned about the seriousness of the work ahead of me.  I've already started feeling sad about leaving my loved ones behind in SoCal--and of leaving SoCal itself behind.  What will I ever do without this (nearly) everyday dose of Sunshine?

There is a somberness to my demeanor as I look ahead to a future of opportunity tied to a solemn calling.  Am I worthy of the opportunity I've been given?  Can I survive all the transitions ahead?  Why did I ever bring this change upon myself--wasn't life pretty good as it was?

The Yale that my 16-year-old self dreamed of is waiting in the distance, and a 28-year-old me responds to the invitation, an invitation that has been 12 years in the making.