Low on the Go!

a different kind of life.

Four years ago, I had just arrived in Toronto. The February prior, I had completed all my university applications. I watched as letters streamed in.

Princeton.
University of Alberta.
Queens.
University of Toronto.

The last one was the one I had been waiting for. The one I had dreamed of receiving ever since I had decided to be a pediatric cardiologist when I was five.
In high school, when I finished Calculus at some ridiculous age like 13, I thought I'd become an engineer. Math and Physics were always my favourite subjects. Ninety seven throughout high school. A seven on my IB exam. My physics teacher STILL loves me. We talk once in awhile. Engineering seemed like the right option. When I got a full scholarship into the Engineering programme at the U of A, I toyed with the idea of staying in Edmonton for about five seconds.
But the U of T package came. A decision had to be made. Engineering? Arts? Science?

I chose Arts, because I couldn't see myself sitting in an office or out on a site, and as a way to rebel against the Asian destiny. I was going to become a lawyer.

Instead, in May I convocated with a B.Sc (Hon).

I still chuckle, because until October of this year, I did not know I was graduating with a science degree. Way to rebel against my Asian roots.

Recently, I was telling a friend about how i could've turned out to be Lydia the Engineer. I'm not quite sure if he believed me. It's funny. When I was in high school, math and "smarts" were all people remembered me for. I was a hollow shell of a person. Now, most people don't know me as the math lover. The words Lydia and math hardly ever occur in a sentence together.

The new school year is starting. People are heading back to school.

I am not.

I'm headed into the working world. But I'm not sitting in an office, nor am I on a site. I'm not in law school and I'm not going for a masters.

Instead, I get paid to tell people about Jesus.

When David Naylor shook my hand and asked me what my future plans were, up on the stage in convocation hall, I told him I was going to be a missionary.

It's almost surreal. Almost ridiculous. It's not prestigious.

At times, I lose focus. I forget that this is what I want to do. I want to become a photographer. Go into graphic design. Apply for law school. Go into journalism and have my name in the byline.

But then I see my 15 year old neighbour who tells me I have "street cred" because I've watched UFC. Just once, but apparently it's enough. He tells me that he'll listen to me talk about that "Jesus sh*t" because he thinks i'm a cool twenty-one year old.

And my heart feels happy I did not become a pediatric cardiologist, an engineer or a lawyer.