Submission by: Kathleen Mak, OMS-III

I grew up in a neighborhood where homelessness, drugs, and prostitution painted the backdrop to our daily lives. My elementary school lacked a science and history curriculum, pipe leaks streaked the walls, and our free lunches frequently had mold in them. Although I yearned for an education, nothing really seemed amiss to me at the time. My peers either lived similarly or were going through worse.

Back in our one bedroom apartment, I lived with my parents and brother. On my mother’s side, she grew up in China’s Cultural Revolution. On my father’s side, his family endured the horrors of the Khmer Rouge. As a child of immigrants, I saw my parents put every ounce of effort into providing the best possible life they could for my brother and me. We lived frugally and faced the unpredictable financial cycles of a small business, but I was never short of their unwavering care. Not once did they ever take a vacation for themselves. I’ve always considered myself living in abundance in this respect. Growing up, I imagined life’s happiness was one filled with stability and time well-spent with the people who meant most to me. Part of that is still true. However, I have stumbled upon other paths that also breathe purpose into me. And since some these endeavors go against the grain and pushes against certain structures of power, this is where my parents and I differ in opinion.

Perhaps many families of immigrants can relate to this particular lesson of “keep your head down and just work hard”. So when I shared my thoughts about issues such as racism, prison reform, or my decision to give up my administrative job for a case management position, I was always met with resistance. My parents warned me about hardship. That it’ll be a troublesome path. Dangerous, even. And for years, I wondered how they could live through what they did during their youth and not want better for others. I saw it as selfish. It wasn’t until stories were told and the gift of retrospect that I was lent, not a means of justification, but rather a deeper understanding for their outlook on life.

Imagine a youth, an impressionable time, marked by unimaginable strife. Imagine if any of your words that were even remotely critical of the governing authority, spoken at any timepoint in your life, could be used against you. Interrogations that turned children against parents, husband against wife, and neighbor against neighbor. Or if you dressed, spoke, or held a profession that goes against what the government envisions society to be – you and your family could lose your lives. And perhaps they would take out your entire lineage, too, because of the need to uproot “bad blood”. Steering the middle ground and never standing out just may be the closest thing to a guarantee for survival.

In my parents’ time and circumstance, fighting against injustice could have cost them more than just their lives. However, when I looked around I saw childhood friends come to school with bruises and scars, seen and unseen, trafficking occurring in broad daylight, and needles littering every corner block. It’s a very different time and my circumstances are much more fortunate, but in my world, it is the act of not speaking up or standing up for others that will cost lives.

The work and effort put into becoming a physician has both been exciting and challenging beyond what I imagined. This, all happening alongside the injustices that take place in this country every day, sometimes running like an unseen current, deep and disturbing. Those living through these injustices or fighting against it, it sometimes drives them into the ground for it is taxing and consuming. Many of us medical students are involved in a variety of causes and this can feel draining because we also need to meet the rigorous academic criteria in order to become full-fledged physicians.
I cannot speak for anyone else than myself nor am I asking for anyone’s approval for how I build my own resilience. But reflection and perspective is where I draw my strength from when I don’t quite feel like I’m on solid ground. Seeing family survive what they did, I wonder how far my own limits go. When I sense fatigue and feel the need to step back, I realize that it is a privilege to do so. Many others do not have the luxury of choice to “take a break” from injustice because they are living it, in their past, present, and future.

Where my future paths and crossroads go, I don’t know. And personally, becoming a physician was never the end goal for me, if one even exists. Neither am I simply pursuing happiness, but I do know I seek a life of meaning and purpose. And not one that’s only for me, but also for many others, to relish in.