I had a mini epiphany over water-cooler conversation this morning. Somehow, we got into the topic of parental expectations and fulfilling them—and all the associated anxieties with those. And after the fairly long (ten minutes—which is a lot of puttering around a small area) debate, I said, “Well, I’d sooner be miserable and live to regret my decisions than have my parents be unhappy.”

Which, on hindsight, didn’t make a lot of sense, since I ought not regret whatever it is that has made my parents so happy as my original premise (going by the logical flow of conversation). But the point is, grappling with that notion really has underlined the better part of my life, and indeed the better part of my decision-making abilities.

People always say, if you live by another’s rules, will you be happy? Problem is, if I don’t, is that even possible? My family, I think, is an amalgamation of all tightly-knit, waytoointerdependent stereotypes you watch in the movies, shrouded in an even more cloistering Chinese culture where what they say goes, and children live to please.

The thing is, I don’t have a problem with this. What worries me of course, is how this will eventually pan out in a life I foresee clashing with their expected template.

Doubly worrying is their immense niceness and understanding about everything. Everything. It makes you feel so lousy that you just want to please them because if you don’t, you fear you’ll crumble into the dustball of caterpillar excrement you know you could be.

So you live your life, bit by bit, checking your rearview mirror and blindspots for all the areas you could please. And when you finally get to your destination, you see barren land, and you don’t know why you went there in the first place. But at least you were good during the journey.