Chapter 10: "Undeclared": Better Late Than Early Bloomer
In August of 2000, I attended the freshmen orientation at UC Irvine. We spent a weekend in the dorm, took a tour of their donut shaped campus, played a few orientation games with other incoming freshmen, and met with our academic counselors. After being shy and very much a loner in high school, this was my opportunity to start over as a social being with a clean slate. Undoubtedly influenced by Scary Movie and American Pie, I took part in a skit where I walked out with my pants down holding a vacuum hose implying that I had masturbated with it. Later that evening several students counselors got wind of an off-campus party where they invited several of the incoming freshmen. Having never gone to any high school parties, I decided to tag along and watched while Rox, a pretty Filipina incoming freshman, was offered several shots of liquor, and subsequently puked in the bushes. The next day on maybe 3 hours of sleep, I observed of my peers decisively head in the direction of School of Biological Sciences, Physical Sciences, Computer Sciences, Social Sciences, etc and chart their academic futures. Those who were "undeclared" with their majors, they were to remain behind. Not wanting to be one of those left behind, I followed Rox and several of the others from the party last night in whatever direction they were headed. I wish there was more thought that went into becoming an English major, but it literally boiled down to following the "cool kids".
I spent the next three years confirming what I already knew; I made the wrong choice. I didn't enjoy English classes, reading "classic literature" from Eurocentric voices, and writing 20+ page papers. In my sophomore year there was a Nathaniel Hawthorne course led by a retiring professor, where I only attended 3 of the 10 weeks (the first 2 weeks and the final to hand in my paper), skipped the midterm entirely, and still finished with a B- (aka. a solid F on the Asian grading scale) after submitting one 18-page essay on The Scarlett Letter. Meanwhile I had taken more Sociology elective classes, so it was a no-brainer when I switched majors in 2002, after my third year. This was the same summer that I had knee surgery on both knees for patellar tendonitis and maltracking (my kneecaps weren't aligned from what I theorized were years of standing on my toes, aka. the Skee-Lo complex, and running on my toes like Dennis Rodman on the Chicago Bulls) and was blackballed from the campus ministry KCCC.
While I was able to make the Dean's list in my last two years of school and bring my GPA up to a respectable 3.33 (aka. a D on the Asian grading scale), I always felt like I was playing catch up. I stayed for a fifth year while many of my peers finished in four. Because I had switched majors mid-way through, I enrolled in summer school classes after my junior and senior years of schools in order to make up for the Sociology classes I had missed; while the more high achieving worked internships and/or studied abroad. They seemed to have the rest of their lives already figured out. Meanwhile, I tentatively decided to go into education and earn a teaching credential in my last quarter of undergrad. Did I put much thought into it? Not really. Did I simply follow another pretty co-ed like I had in freshmen year? Maybe? I decided that I didn't want to go into graduate school because I was done with school. Instead I took a year off and worked part-time in order to study and pass the CBEST and CEST exams to enroll in the teaching program at Cal State Northridge, took a year and a half to finish the program while others chose a more rigorous schedule to finish their program in a year. By the time I received my teaching credential in 2008, I could have simply remained in UC Irvine and finished with a Master's Degree in Sociology in 2007.
When the letters started coming for my 10 year high school reunion, I gave zero thoughts of attending. Not only because I had lost touch with everyone, though I'm sure there are plenty of folk who don't have any friends from high school either. It's more so the shame; I didn't want to be reminding how late a bloomer I was, especially among the "model minorities". I already had Social Media for that. Whenever I logged on to Facebook to see the statuses of my college peers, including several from the aforementioned KCCC, many of them were established in their careers, some were already married, and a few were already on their 2nd child. The prospect of going to a high school reunion where no one remembered who I was sounded like a personal hell. Even the handful of people who did remember me would subsequently find out I was still living at home, working 2-3 jobs to supplement my non-profit work, and a "failed minority".
My 20 year high school reunion would not have fared any better; because instead of a "late bloomer" I would have been the "never bloomed". On one hand, I would have been several months into my job in domestic violence. That might have been an interesting talking point. On the other hand, I was still living at home (though now the roles had flipped and I'd become the sole income earner). I was still single and without children; while I assume the majority would have had pictures of their wives (first or second) and kids to show off. Another reason I refused to go? Because this is the upper-middle class suburb of La Cañada we're talking about, I'm sure there might have been an interesting Sociological study which of my classmates became hardcore Trump supporters. With the gift of hindsight, I might have tried to entertain myself and attempt to set an over/under bet of 2.5 classmates who would later book flights to be in D.C. on January 6th, 2021 to storm the Capitol building.
"It is not too late. You are not too old. You are right on time - And you are better than you know." - Marianne Williamson
I'm becoming aware of the fallacy that "late bloomer" actually is. "Late" according to whom? By who's definition am I late? Especially when it relates to the subject of children, I'm aware of the privilege I have as a man because I don't have a "biological clock" the same way that women do; men can theoretically become a father at any age. Rather is it more of the "Model Minority Myth" that I had internalized that I feel this need to compare myself to others and be a "good Korean"? Do I have this deep seated wish to "make my parents proud" by achieving certain benchmarks while they are still here to see it? Maybe so, but those are still imagined pressures and social expectations that I'm not actually obligated to keep. Yes, it took me quite a while to figure out what I wanted to do. But I had to first learn it was acceptable to be "undeclared" and admit that I was unsure. Whether it was Rox in freshmen orientation, Esther with the campus ministry, Lexi in the adult industry, or even my mentor Helie in the non-profit sector, I kept following the "pretty girl" and made all of these important life decisions with very little consideration, introspection, and conviction. I had to risk rejection and being "left behind" to see who and what remained when I was left to find my own lane.
As I approach my fortieth birthday this year, I don't anticipate having any midlife crises. I'm not going to trade in my hybrid for a convertible. I'm not going to start dating twenty-somethings in an attempt to feel young and virile. And I don't need to lament all of the things that "never bloomed": my own house, my own family, my own business, etc.
It only took 40 years to recognize the introverted, sensitive, and empathic powers I've been given. It only took 40 years to continuously root and uproot myself until I found the proper environment for me to grow. It only took 20 years after my freshmen orientation to go from "undeclared" to declare my major in life.
I enter my 40's finally ready to solve problems, make art, and continue to feel deeply. I'm blooming right on time, better late than early.
Portrait photography by: https://www.zacharyleeportrait.com
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