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The last entry was supposed to have a part two that would end with a happy conclusion, buuuuuut...

Yesterday afternoon, I finally told my mom that I was switching my major from French to Literary Journalism. She seemed to get a kick out of it, and she asked me, “So are you going to be like one of those news reporters on TV?” My parents only watched ShowBiz tonight. I didn’t know what my mom was picturing in her head, but I definitely didn’t see myself delving into Jon and Kate and the whole eight’s dramatically stupid public lives. (I already have my own.) The conversation overall ended well, and this was where this entry was supposed to finish.

However, I didn’t see either of my parents for the rest of the night, so I didn’t know what they might’ve discussed at dinner.

Today, we had a crowded dinner table: Salmon and rice, cauliflower stock, my mom and dad, my brother, Trung, and me. I had eaten two hours earlier so I wasn’t really feeling the food, but I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to eat as a full family.

My dad brought up my major and wanted to confirm that I was changing mine to journalism, to which I corrected him (in English) by adding “literary.” My dad, frustrated, responded by ordering (in Vietnamese), “Just change it to math already and become a math teacher!”

I was little shocked to hear that because I thought my parents would fine with my personal career choices, but at the same time I was also not too surprised. I felt that my parents had been waiting for me to change my major, the family disappointment number two, and that they had thought I would eventually come to my senses and change it to math or some kind of science. I did end up changing it, but it wasn’t the change they wanted. Now they were getting impatient.

To satiate my dad, I told him that I would take the credentialing program to teach math along with the one for English, but I said that math would just be a backup and that English would be my main focus.

He then argued back, bringing the issue of race into the discussion: “They won’t hire you because only white people can teach English!”

Race was an entirely different issue to me, and one which I had always been sensitive about, especially given my past two summers teaching Breakthrough. I wanted to raise my voice to my dad, detailing how incredibly wrong he was and how he understood nothing about race or anything, just as I would’ve done two and a half years ago, but with Trung and my brother sitting at the table, I didn’t want to start a scene.

Plus, I couldn’t argue as fervently as I had with my aunt a long time ago over French because, just as my parents were, I was currently confused about where I was going with my college career and my goal to become a teacher. Literary Journalism major. Not an English major because I would rather write more than read. But I’d probably end up being an English teacher with an LJ major anyway. Raise students to become the best writers but at the same time teach books that bore me to death?

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“I came out to my parents today, my 18th birthday.” [Not the gay kind of coming out.]
Written May 12th, 2008 (Excerpted)

[At a restaurant for mother’s day.] “Do you want to be an engineer?” my mom asked. No. “Doctor?” No. “Pharmacist?” No. “Engineers can make good money too.” No. “Teacher?”

I looked down at my food and stirred the rice a bit. I looked back up at her and said more timidly, “No.” Right at that moment, I felt something drop down my back, and I turned around to see a baby girl standing on the seat behind me, smiling at me, her right arm extended out and her hand grasped the air. I looked down at my seat and saw a balled up napkin. I smiled at her, and turned back to my seat, still smiling. I thought to myself, What a cute kid—

“Ah! You’re smiling Brian! I can see it! So, that’s it right? You want to be a teacher!” my mom beamed victoriously.

I froze. The smile immediately fell off my face. I slowly looked up at her, and this time, I could only manage, “I don’t know.” The conversation was done. For the rest of the night, we did not speak of Trung or my future career. However, I was deep in thought as I went to bed. The dinner left me feeling optimistic.

The next day, today, I woke up feeling unusual, rejuvenated. I was 18 now. For the last several years of my life, I would wake up on my birthday hardly feeling any different...but today was not the same. I knew that today was the day that I would finally do it—something that I told myself that I would not do until the end of college, for fear that it would be the last bit of shame that I could bring to my parents. It was a secret that tormented the relationship between me and my parents, what put up the iron wall separating us. I was going to...finally confess to them that I did not intend to become the big money-making engineer or doctor or businessman that they hoped I would become, but instead, I intended to major in French and become a French teacher. Live a simple life. Nothing extravagant. Probably in an apartment. Simple and fulfilling.

[At dinner that night] I turned to [my parents], and smiled. “Mom, dad, I’m majoring in French, and I plan to become a French teacher.”

And there was no shock. No screaming. No crying. In their voices, there was only the satisfaction that I finally admitted it to them.

“That’s good Brian,” my mom said. “Being a teacher is a noble job. And I’m glad you’re going into something that you like doing.”

“Are you going to study abroad in France?” my dad added. “You can always stay with one of my sisters. She’s married to a French man. They live together in Luçon.”

“Yeah, I was thinking about doing a year in France. Not too sure about Luçon though,” I replied.

They nodded. And then House M.D. came on TV, and they focused on that. I quickly finished my Pho and left to go upstairs. I didn’t immediately retreat to my room, however. I lingered at the top of the staircase, eavesdropping on my parents to see how they really felt.

My mom was telling my dad how much it made sense. “He took that one French class at San Jose City College for fun. He has all those French novels in his room and he took the AP French test even though he wasn’t in the class. I hear French music in his room every day. It makes sense.”

My dad agreed, and they chattered about it for a little more, but eventually, they both concluded, “Brian is happy when he does French.”
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As I’m sitting here typing this entry, I can hear my parents in their room muttering about something, and they don’t sound pleased. I imagine that they’re talking shit about me. My parents and I didn’t have a good relationship until the events of my eighteenth birthday, and I don’t want to wreck what we currently have. So I’m going to do what I resort to a lot nowadays: Ignore everything. But that can only work for so long.

And as for what I plan on doing with myself in college and in the future, I dunno—I’m just going to go dance now.