Limbo Land: January 2009

When I was little, my grandfather would catch dragon flies bigger than my hand. Carefully, he would tie a knot around the abdomen of each one and give the strings to me. Though I was scared, I would stare in awe as each dragonfly took flight only to be hindered by the inevitable length of the string. There was always a contradiction in how I saw these creatures. Though I admired their beauty, an inherent sadness in watching them struggle in vain for freedom somehow diminished their mystique. So one day, I let go. Being a romantic child, I believed that freeing those dragonflies was like freeing myself. Incommunicable to anyone at the time, there were similar strings tethering me and I yearned to be free, too…

My earliest memories were all of my grandparents who raised me till I was six. My grandfather, Ye Ye, was a math teacher before the communist revolution and my grandmother, Nai Nai, was a nurse. Imprisoned for his Catholic beliefs, my grandfather was sent to work in a concentration camp while my grandmother struggled to raise four boys on her own. They never talked much about what happened during the Chinese Cultural Revolution, but I think I felt the consequences of their history. Ever liberal, Ye Ye believed girls are equal to boys so at a time when paths were defined by gender, he dressed me like a boy and sent me to school. Nai Nai did not approve, but I think they both saw a future for me that few would dare dream of at that time.

Thus, much of who I am is owed to my grandparents. The strings that tie me to them, their past, and their wishes are so strong, not even the Pacific Ocean could dissolve our bonds. At age six, when I immigrated to the United States, I brought with me all the lessons I had learned and a deep thirst for knowledge. But, I found that there was much that I did not know: I had never been in cars or seen drinking fountains, I had never owned more than four articles of clothing, and the city lights blinded my senses. For a while, I lost myself in the unfamiliar. I think I struggled with who I was and who I wanted to be while yearning to find a place in my new environment.

I did not have much time to adjust however or to find myself. My parents divorced within a year of my arrival and being an independent child, I did not form strong ties with either of them. Children at my all-white Elementary school use to tease me for my odd behavior; sometimes, I would go for weeks without talking to anyone. I think most students eventually thought I could not speak English. For my part, I never told them that I stayed inside during recess reading biology and math textbooks only because I did not have any friends. Ironically, those missed social interactions probably fostered my love for science and drove me towards research later on. Between the covers of my schoolbooks, I discovered worlds of cellular life and killer organism. I imagined bacteria so small that millions would fit into the palm of my hand and I was fascinated.

The constant in my life then has always been learning. In China as well as in the United States, I excelled at school. So, when my mother went on to remarry and have another child, I submerged myself into my studies. But, many times, a combination of abuse and the need to protect my sister, Lilly, kept me out of school. I remember losing my dreams for higher education. I also remember a sense of helplessness. When Lilly was sick, for instance, or when my mother was gone, I often felt lost and inept. A strong desire to remedy that sense of helplessness later reinforced my desire to pursue a medical education.

Eventually, I did learn a lot from this period of my life. Taking care of Lilly taught me about maturity and it helped me learn how to place the needs of others before my own. Working to care for the family made me grow up and capable of washing, cleaning, and living on my own. Also, because nobody worried about my slipping grades in school, I was able to divert my energies elsewhere. Clandestinely at night I would build paper models of far off places and read borrowed autobiographies about Roosevelt, Florence Nightengale, and other heros. Much of what I learned during that time was through self-discovery; in the process, I found myself capable of working through problems on my own and able to endure.

Finally in sixth grade, my dad and a court-appointed lawyer recognized my family situation and pulled me out of that environment. At age eleven, I was reunited with my father and soon after, I was able to help bring Lilly over too. Though dad made it clear that I did not owe him anything, I felt even at that age that I was indebted to him. This obligation along with a renewed desire to make something of myself pushed me to seek opportunities I never thought I could have. High school was littered with such opportunities and I seized every one from future doctor seminars to art shows. In the midst of these opportunities, I renewed a hope for higher education and a love for the art of medicine.

College, however, brought unique challenges. For the first time, I questioned my own identity, my heritage, my ethics, and my capacity to become a physician. I still loved learning but I found my high school education lacking. Thus, for a time, the academic rigors of college overwhelmed me. I worked long hours just to keep up with my peers but by the end of freshman year, I was overtly unhealthy. I found myself constantly stressing about money, grades, and a desire to fit in. In a way, I felt trapped by my own expectations and those of people around me. Strings held me to a debt I owed my family and in my darkest hour, I remembered those dragonflies and I secretly yearned to be free.

The turning point came when I met Olga Gurvich the summer of my freshmen year of college. Dr. Gurvich was a post doctorate from Russia who worked with me in Dr. Kevin Flanigan’s lab at the University of Utah. She and I had a lot in common. Her parents gave up all their savings to send her to the United States. The difference was that she seemed content. I asked her about this once, about whether she felt the need to support her aging parents still back in Russia. She answered: “Sure, but why worry? I send them the money I can spare, I love what I do, and it is an honor for them to see me happy.”

I did not truly grasp the meaning of her words at that time, but I did make important changes in my life during sophomore and junior year of college. I started having friends outside my major who introduced me to the world of cinema, hip hop, and politics. I laughed often and I set more reasonable expectations for myself. Towards the end of sophomore year, I developed a skill for fulfilling my obligations while still doing the things I loved.

There were certain obligations, however, that I never could escape. Tuition always seemed to cost too much and my sister’s teenage angst kept me on the phone for hours at a time. I eventually found ways around all this. I got jobs that not only put money into my bank accounts but also gave me opportunities to grow academically. My research professor, Dr. Biju Thomas became one of the most amazing mentors and friends I ever had. Similarly, in my third year of college, I followed my passion for teaching and I became a Supplemental Instruction Leader for physics. Thus, my last years of college were integral in solidifying who I am. Crucial among the lessons I learned are those that now contribute to my future plans. In researching, I found that scientific discovery offers hope to medicine but it is medicine that gives research purpose. I portend a future that depends on the successful co-collaboration of both so now, I hope to further my contributions by getting an MD/PhD.

Amongst the other lessons I learned is that I no longer yearn to cut the strings tethering me to others. I think I found my own form of freedom grounded in such ties. Obligations are ever present, but I am thankful for the wonderful family I have. Like the dragonflies from my childhood, I am connected by strings but to my family, my friends, and the rest of humanity. Unlike the dragonflies however, I have learned that such ties are good if not necessary for me. The greatest empathy I had was that the strings which tie us make us stronger. With each new knot, we fly higher, we become more secure, and someday when we die, we can live on in the lives of others because we tied similar knots in their lives. As I move into medical school and hopefully graduate school, I look forward to making more ties and cultivating the ones I already have.