Be a doctor. Be an engineer. Earn a lot of money. Own a mansion. Get married. Have kids. These were my parents' expectations for me growing up, and they still are. Not only am I my mom’s only child, but I’m also the first child born into the first generation of Asian Americans in my family. Under these conditions, my parents entrusted me with building our family's future here in America.

For as long as I can remember, my parents would push me to be perfect. No matter the topic, my parents expected me to be the greatest at it. They pressured me, “You need to be the best, or else you’ll get nowhere in life.” I didn’t necessarily feel I had the drive to be great, but I felt obligated because they told me to. I began to excel in various areas and learned to adapt to new situations: mastering the ability to speak a second language, Khmer, when I was five or six so I could talk with my grandmother; learning how to grasp mathematical concepts like five-digit multiplication in second grade rapidly; becoming a Black Belt in Tae Kwon Do in seventh grade. Although I am grateful for how my parents shaped my talents, there were harmful drawbacks. I used to think my peers viewed me as an ordinary, intelligent, reliable kid, but I learned others thought I was obnoxious. My days grew more tiring, with even daily tasks like brushing my teeth and eating becoming daunting. What hit me hardest was the steady realization that I couldn’t even begin comprehending who I was or what I wanted to be.

My issues became more prevalent in the latter half of seventh and eighth-grade middle school. As I began to make new friends, I noticed how free they seemed. They all seemed to have unique traits that made them special, like nothing held them back. Why wasn’t I able to feel the same way? So I approached my friends. Through the survey of my diverse friend groups, they all shared something in common: Their parents seemed to be supportive of everything they did, which allowed them to find things they could be passionate about. I began to feel frustrated with myself, feeling helpless. Why couldn’t I hang out after school while many friends could? Why couldn’t I even begin to immerse myself in something like everyone else?

Even heading into my freshman and sophomore years, my issues continued to torture me as my mental health deteriorated. It wasn’t until my junior year of high school that my life began to change for the better. During this time, I underwent two game-changing moments: breaking up with my now ex-girlfriend and the entrance of Kevin Wetmore into my life. Kevin is our school’s digital media producer at the time, and the man who would introduce me to the world of film. With the exit of that relationship, I found more time for myself and the friends I had neglected because of it. It also allowed me to explore many new activities, eventually finding myself in filmmaking with Kevin's guidance. Working behind a camera, on a set, and seeing the process of what goes into a film was genuinely inspiring; not only was Kevin there to help all the way through, but I also found this sense of comfort, something that I had never felt before. Throughout my entire life of trying to figure out who I was, what I wanted to be, and trying to sort out both of these concepts at the same time, my life and mind have felt restless this whole time, but I feel at peace with a camera, and this oddly familiar sense of creativity that seemed to have laid dormant in me, waiting to blossom for a moment like this.

Although I am still struggling with my issues of the past, they are currently in the works, and I can finally say goodbye to the old me and safely welcome to the world: Justin.

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