Rice Cooker

LIVING IN A RICE COOKER

Unraveling the expectations that come with understanding the sacrifices of immigrant parents

Remembering my household, there are a few things that stick out. One of those is my family’s rice cooker where water and rice are heated to cook a ,usually, perfect pot of steaming rice. Whether it is lunch, breakfast or dinner, it is in this appliance where most of my meals are made and a melancholic symbol for how I feel my life and environment has developed.

I was born in Markham, Ontario, a small suburb north of Toronto. In the early years of my life, I recall fondly my elementary and middle school

days where seasons changed and the winter brought me beautiful memories of white snowy hills and warm hot chocolate along with the cozy glow of Christmas lights. As I grew older, my marvel at the environment in which I was raised slowly became dull, but I always felt at home, where nothing could ever give me problems. Schoolwork was light, and I never felt the burden of anything greater than the occasional math test or French project.

However, always lingering in the back of my mind were my parents. As time passed, month after month, through blurry phone calls and quiet conversations in the kitchen , I would hear more and more frequently that my home was not “enough”. At the beginning, I had no clue what they were talking about, but piece by piece, I realized that they were worried for my sake, and their conversations revolved around how my then home in Canada was not sufficient in creating an environment in which I could continue my studies and provide for myself in the future.

As the summer before my seventh grade approached, my parents proudly declared that I would be moving to Silicon Valley, the most “technologically advanced” area in the world. Over the summer, they would enroll me into a private school that was focused on sciences and maths. As the break ended, my days of quiet suburban life and exploring the woods with my friends were now replaced by a hectic buzz of constant work and busy people on every corner. There was no empty space, no grassy fields where I could clear my mind.

Although I never truly agreed with my parents, some part of me understood their perspective. As stereotypical Asian “tiger parents” they will stop at nothing in order to ensure that I have the perfect future, and my job, as the child, is to make sure that all the pieces that they have set fall into place perfectly. Nothing comes before my education; no amount of money, enjoyment, or any sense of family is more important than it. Through their lens, the songs of my successes are not composed of notes and clefs, but with an endless monotonous drone of numbers and percentages. In music, individual notes are free to shine in a beautiful symphony whereas in my life, any “note” below a 90 is a failure.

Tying into the mentality that my parents have regarding my education is the sacrifices that they have made for me. Not even their own families and home come before it, and they have made sacrifices that have had immense setbacks on themselves all for the sake of raising me and giving me opportunity. But what if I fail to seize it? Would everything that my parents lost in my sake go to waste? My mom had stopped her education in writing and business, said goodbye to her own family in China and has spent countless hours of her life taking care of me and making sure that every single test and grade that I have is perfect; time that she could have spent with her mother and siblings in China, time that she could have spent on herself, all for my sake. And even the mere thought that I might fail to grasp onto the opportunity that they have lost so much to give me makes me sick to my stomach. In my eyes, everything that they have lost to give me the life I have now is like water in the rice cooker that is my environment, and this water adds to the pressure that I feel.

I do not think I will ever be able to truly adapt to life in California. With all the academic stress that I have, I am pressured to succeed in all my classes and extracurriculars. I am constantly reminded of my parents and all that they have sacrificed, and the stress gets to me sometimes.

But I can at least look back on the metaphor of the rice cooker, I can still think deeper than just the pressure that it creates. In the end, the rice cooker is meant to nourish. Behind every drop of water and every touch of heat is the promise of a bowl of rice. And my parents have sacrificed so much for this promise. It all comes down to whether or not I grasp the opportunity that my parents have given me and I as long as I persevere, I think that I can survive the rice cooker

LIVING IN A RICE COOKER

NORMAN CHOW

“WHEN I DON’T DO WELL, I AM REMINDED OF ALL MY MOTHER’S SACRIFICES TO BRING ME TO WHERE I AM, THE JOB THAT SHE LEFT IN CHINA, AND THE EDUCATION SHE COULDN’T COMPLETE IN ARTS AND WRITING ”NORMAN CHOW