Orders from the General

The general's orders to wash in snow are followed obediently, even when this brave soldier's left nipple is lost to frostbite and he's forced to hold it on with his hand.

An Asian family is a field army. The general has one goal and one goal only: to lead his army to victory. To do this, his army must win many medals and crush every other army in their path. He demands total and utter respect and obedience.

Preparing to go away on holiday with an Asian family is like a strategic military strike. This summer my family went away, something we are lucky to do most summers. But, as much as I love going on holiday there is a certain amount of dread that fills me at the thought of the preparation.  The general (variably a temporarily paranoid father or a caffeine-fuelled-packing-crazed mother) will issue orders, orders that must be followed on pain of death (read: blame for anything that goes wrong whilst on holiday).

The first lieutenant (first born child) will receive these orders and groan. Depending on the age of the first lieutenant this groan will either be internal (below the age of ten when the fear of the general overcomes the frustration) or external, though not often loudly enough to be heard by the general. Unless of course the first lieutenant is over the age of 20, at which point the groan is more a flurry of curses. However, being a hierarchy, if the first lieutenant is lucky enough to have a cadet, the obvious thing to do is to delegate. And so the groaning chain continues.

Like the army, success at a task such as taking out an enemy bunker or making sure all the windows are closed is rewarded with promotion. But promotion is not as bright and shiny as a new badge. It’s basically a way of tricking you into more responsibility. So much so that at the age of 15 you find yourself booking the rental car for the whole family for the first time. And when it turns out that you’ve booked a car that needs to be picked up from an airport two states away from where you’re landing, the retribution of the general is a force to be reckoned with.  Particularly when the aforementioned paranoid general is shouting every other minute about THE MISSING PASSPORT or about how NEVERMIND I’VE FOUND IT. You quickly learn: don’t give the general something to shout about, and once a first lieutenant, use a pre-emptive strike where possible to prevent further yelling (THE PASSPORT IS IN YOUR HAND).

In an army the newest recruit always has it hardest. The tasks that once stopped at the rank above them slowly trickle down once the recruit is able to walk, talk and boil a kettle unattended. I still remember the first time it was not I who had to make tea. It was a glorious day. My brother, on the other hand remembers that day as the dark day he should have pretended to scald himself with boiling water.

The success of the Asian Equation depends upon this hierarchical obedience. Good Asian children do as they’re told without question and they understand their place. This leads to more piano practice, more maths equations, more tea for the general and less dirty laundry. Which ultimately leads to good grades, respect for/fear of authority and a respectable profession.

The hierarchy is so well drilled in though, that even when Asian children try to rebel by painting their nails black, listening to music that involves straining guitars and men who wear eyeliner and wear only clothes that pertain to the ‘Goth’ or ‘rock’ persuasion, they STILL get straight As. And they still don’t sneak out to go to rock concerts. And they still become doctors. This is not a boast so much as it is an inescapable fear of retribution from the general that slowly becomes a way of life.

As our own Chairmistress Mao (a.k.a. dear mother) says: “You have nothing to fear…IF you have done nothing wrong”.

Careers Advice

"I wanted to be a photographer, so I made do with radiology instead. Look here are my favourite snaps! Mrs Leung's colon, beautiful"

Today my brother said something unremarkable. It’s unremarkable because I’ve heard it from the mouths of hundreds of my Asian friends. I use the term ‘Asian’ fairly loosely and somewhat in the more American sense, in that it refers to Chinese, Korean, Indians, and most of South-East Asia. I also use the term ‘hundreds’ loosely, but that’s another matter of grandiose delusions.

He said, with a note of resignation, “There are only 5 career choices for Asians. Doctor, Lawyer, Finance/Businessman, Engineer and erm…wait forget that there’s only 4”. This was during yet another discussion in which my parents pined and moaned, questioning him relentlessly on what he’s ‘going to do with his life’. A reasonable question from parents perhaps, one that’s not particularly race-specific, until you register how old my brother is. He’s 12. He’s been answering the question of ‘what do you want to do with your life?’ for at least 5 years already.

He understands the primary outcome of the Asian Equation, which is of course to produce a highly successful professional, capable of earning enough money to comfortably provide for a dear mother’s fetish for Karen Millen everything and a dear father’s dreams of starting a Why-the-Chinese-Way-of-Parenting-is-the-Only-Way School. The problem is, whilst he may fully comprehend what is required from him, he has yet to select from the narrow pool of careers which will get him there.

My grandiose delusions would have me believe I am partly to blame for the demands from him for a choice at such an early age. I, being child number 1, have a certain amount of stubborn conviction. I decided age 7 that I wanted to be, and I quote from a piece of homework written circa 1996: ‘either a doctor or a singer or an artist’. In that same homework, it transpired very quickly that I had little to no artistic ability (my illustrations included stick figures). Not that any ability would really have mattered in the choice, seeing as how ‘music and art are hobbies-NOT careers’. My parents saw only ‘doctor’ in bright Crayola-yellow stars. That stubborn conviction has held out pretty well; I’m about to start my penultimate year of Medical School.

So, from my parent’s point of view, 12 is far too late to still not know where your life is headed. However, perhaps I am not as much to blame as I think, maybe the question is posed to all Asian children as soon as possible as a segue (wow never had to spell that word before) into which careers are ACCEPTABLE. I imagine many first ‘career talks’ in Asian families go a little like this: (feel free to read with whichever accent is most appropriate to you)

Child: Look mum! LOOK! I found a SNAIL! I’m going to keep it on my hand allllllllllll day.

Mum: OH MY GOD. Why have you been in the garden? You should be reading/solving simultaneous 

equations/playing the piano!! When are you going to start concentrating? Have you decided what you want to be when you grow up?

Child: Yes. I’m going to be a ROCK ST-

Mum: Let me stop you right there. I think it’s time we had ‘the talk’. What I hoped you would say was a doctor, a lawyer, an engineer, maybe a businessperson. Something ‘Respectable’, something that can make you money. But what I think you were about to say was rock star. What have I told you about rock stars? They are all crazy and take DRUGS- what a waste of money! How you going to look after your Daddy and Mummy when all your money is wasted? So what do you want to be when you grow up?

Child: *sigh*…an engineer.

So. When Baz Luhrmann (or the woman who actually wrote the article) claims that some of the most interesting people he knows didn’t know what they wanted to do at 22, he’s basically saying that Asian people are boring.