It’s a constant reconciliation of two worlds, a balancing act of expectations lived through parallel lives and code-switching. You’re not American enough here, nor Indian enough there. Still, there’s an often-overlooked sense of separation that comes with being raised as first generation-always one degree removed from belonging. Truth is, there was always a piece of me that knew the collective vision was not synonymous with my own. Each time I look in the mirror, my eyes meet a product of their hard work and sacrifice, and, for that reason, the stakes have always been high. For every question they ask my brother and me in Hindi, a response in English follows, and, with that, a lingering sensation of the continued distillation of traditions throughout time. They forfeited established careers for entry-level jobs and traded their children being raised alongside grandparents and cousins for the rare international phone call or trip abroad. They left everything they knew-their motherland, native tongue, culture, cuisine, customs, and loved ones-to fly across the world to a foreign land where nothing was promised, but everything was possible. My parents immigrated to the suburbs of Chicago from the state of Uttar Pradesh in India during the ’90s. Underneath, however, I was burned out and floundering to uncover my identity through bouts of depression and anxiety.
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On the surface, I was following the prescribed path to success, happiness, and fulfillment. I engaged in clinical and lab research, and then moved to Washington, D.C., to work in health policy while simultaneously attending graduate school at Georgetown University with the intention of eventually applying to medical school. As a premed student at Case Western Reserve University, I took dreaded organic chemistry and the MCAT (twice). I say I “believed” I’d be a doctor because I embodied it in every way. I, in turn, would smile and try to envision a future where I was treating patients while wearing a white coat and stethoscope. I made the choice by my own volition at the ripe young age of five, and my parents would beam with pride as they shared the news with friends and family. Growing up as the eldest child and only daughter of Indian immigrants, I believed I’d be a doctor.