I think back on my childhood and can recall, even down to the minutest details, the lengths at which my parents nutured my naive ambitions.
They really believed I was going to be some prodigious child- the first 9 year old to land on the moon, composing etudes and minuets between launches or maybe the female counterpart of Dr. Doogie Howser minus the shitty name and doofy haircut. I was going places, or so they thought.. hoped.
My mom believed in me so much that she sent me to space camp; made me an astronaut costume, crafted from an old, unwashed fishbowl and bubble wrap; and bought me a top of the line Galileo telescope with retractable capabilties.
Then I turned 10 and all I wanted was to play my music and sing. It didn't matter that I sounded like William Hung or that the only song I knew how to play on the piano was an especially archaic version of "Happy Birthday". My sweet immigrant parents sang along and cooed, "what a natural!"
Investment after investment, I never became anything. I never play the piano anymore after 10 years of lessons, my Astrospace stuff is somewhere in the basement either collecting dust or growing mold, and my guitar is stringless laying atop an old fishbowl helmet in the garage.
Coming to NYU was my last chance to prove myself-- to become my parents' child. When I was in school, I kept telling myself "I'm going to be someone, I'm going to be known, I'm going to do something worthwhile." And still, all I'm doing is dreaming. Not everyone's child is destined to be President, win an Oscar, and go into space... I mean, how many extraordinary people can exist in the world at one time?
As I get older, I realize that I no longer have the luxury to change my mind on a whim, to decide that instead of collecting fossils in South America, I'd rather be singing alongside Ben Gibbard at the Wiltern. At what age do you have to stop dreaming about your future and start living it?
My mom believed in me so much that she sent me to space camp; made me an astronaut costume, crafted from an old, unwashed fishbowl and bubble wrap; and bought me a top of the line Galileo telescope with retractable capabilties.
Then I turned 10 and all I wanted was to play my music and sing. It didn't matter that I sounded like William Hung or that the only song I knew how to play on the piano was an especially archaic version of "Happy Birthday". My sweet immigrant parents sang along and cooed, "what a natural!"
Investment after investment, I never became anything. I never play the piano anymore after 10 years of lessons, my Astrospace stuff is somewhere in the basement either collecting dust or growing mold, and my guitar is stringless laying atop an old fishbowl helmet in the garage.
Coming to NYU was my last chance to prove myself-- to become my parents' child. When I was in school, I kept telling myself "I'm going to be someone, I'm going to be known, I'm going to do something worthwhile." And still, all I'm doing is dreaming. Not everyone's child is destined to be President, win an Oscar, and go into space... I mean, how many extraordinary people can exist in the world at one time?
As I get older, I realize that I no longer have the luxury to change my mind on a whim, to decide that instead of collecting fossils in South America, I'd rather be singing alongside Ben Gibbard at the Wiltern. At what age do you have to stop dreaming about your future and start living it?
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