class of 2013 ✓

02 | imposter syndrome

From my position on the porch steps, I can see the yellow-tinted lights still glowing through the window, meaning that my parents are awake. Unusual, considering the both of them are almost always knocked out before midnight. Weekday shifts run late, and I'm lucky that Nea's able to drive, so she can give me a ride home.

Retrieving my keychain from the smallest compartment of my backpack, I unlock the door. Following the slabs of tribal printed carpet, I made my way to the dining room, which is also connected to the kitchen. Unsurprisingly, my dad is sitting on the beat-up leather couch in front of the flat-screen TV. Judging by the muffled Chinese blasting from the speakers, I'd say he's watching that famous monk again. Situated near the sofa is a vase filled with bamboo shoots that looks like it's in its last phase of life if the wilted leaves are any indication.

My mom, on the other hand, is in the kitchen, blouse sleeves rolled up to her elbow as she scrubs one of the dishes with a sponge.

She catches my reflection in the window and turns her head to face me.

"Well?" she says, arching up an eyebrow as she lets the water clean off all the suds.

Her words are vague, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out what she's referring to. She's been waiting for this day just as long as I have, if not she's waited longer. I swallow, mentally bracing myself for the disappointment that was inevitably going to fire.

"Deferral."

Instead of scolding me like I thought she was going to, she simply frowns, a tense sigh escaping her full lips. "Do better next time."

This reaction made me feel worse, honestly. Because this was a phrase she said to me whenever I lost a competition or whenever my sister did something remarkable.

I get it, though. My mom used to tell me stories about her life in 1960s China. To teach me a lesson, she'd tell me about poor kids who couldn't afford to attend school, so they learned by looking through the windows of classrooms.

"Your education is a privilege," she told me. "Take advantage of every opportunity. Never take school for granted. You are extremely lucky to live in America."

Those words stuck to me like glue. I really took that mentality to heart.

When my mom immigrated to America, she set her sights on the Ivy League schools like a hawk targeting its prey. Since it was virtually impossible for her to attend college while simultaneously providing for our family, she figured the next best thing was to have one of her daughters attend.

And it almost happened when Aria, my older sister, got into Harvard 8 years ago. She died before she could actually enroll. I'm not sure if died is the appropriate term, actually. Because her ghost lived on. Lingered between these walls like bad perfume. Trailed behind me wherever I went. Haunted me. Truth be told, my back hurt from carrying the weight of my mom's expectations and the burden to actually make their journey to America worth something. Didn't help that Aria was basically perfect in my mother's eyes. I had big shoes to fill. Hopefully, I don't trip trying to walk in them.

Before she died, she was nothing short of a child prodigy. Name any skill, and she likely excelled.

Violin? First chair.

Math? 1st place winner at every national olympiad.

Writing? She's had her poetry and short stories published in 2 different high-profile magazines before she even graduated high school.

Leadership? President of 4 different clubs and founder of her own non-profit.

Sports? Captain of the varsity tennis team since sophomore year. Sophomore year, for crying out loud. That's unheard of.