Most kids in America grow up with fictional narratives like “Hansel and Gretel,” “Cinderella,” and “Jack and the Giant Beanstalk.” I grew up with those stories, too, but I also received one extra: an adventurous tale unique to my family and my family alone, a sort of spin-off of the hit comedy sitcom How I Met Your Mother. This story is something I like to call How I Came To America.

My mom and dad got married on July 7, 2002, in South Korea. Just a few months later, they said goodbye to their friends, their family, their home country, and everything that was familiar to them to come to America in the hope of providing my sister and me with a better life.

My parents’ story is more favorable than most other immigrants’ stories. They were fortunate to come here with enough money, the proper paperwork, and a solid plan to study in graduate school.

Yet my mom and dad still left behind everything they knew and decided to face the daunting challenge of starting a new life in a foreign country. As the daughter of these brave immigrants and a first-generation Korean-American, I carry a heavy burden with me.

In my mind, going to a top university, finding a professional job, and earning a good salary while taking care of a family is the least I can do. After everything my parents have gone through for me, I need to, at a minimum, find some kind of success.

But, at times, that pressure can be overwhelming. The constant need to feel accomplished weighs heavily on my shoulders and is oftentimes suffocating.

Even without constant reminders of my parents’ struggles and warnings against failure, there is a steady voice in my head that demands compensation. It whispers to me that being anywhere else but at the top will let my parents down and render their sacrifices void.

And I know that I am not alone in my sentiments. I know that many other children of immigrants feel the same obligation to succeed that I do. How can we not when we are able to see firsthand the difficulties of a language barrier and the heartache of living in a different country from the rest of one’s family? Our parents may have been able to build a good life for themselves here in America, but the process was not without its share of sweat and tears.

However, I recently read a webcomic that resonated deeply with me and altered the way I think about my duty. The character, a fellow first-generation Asian-American, gets fed up with the same pressure I feel, and rants, “I didn’t ask for you guys to make such a huge sacrifice for me!”

Reading that quote made the voice in my head that continuously pushes for success finally grow quiet. And in that silence, I realized that the character was right. I never requested that my parents move across an ocean for my future. I hadn’t even born at the time of their decision. The sacrifice they made for me is a gift, not a favor to return. Why should I continually feel obliged to repay them?

And really, success doesn’t always mean six-figure paychecks and BMWs. My parents didn’t come to the U.S. so that I could become a hotshot in corporate America. They came here so that I could have full liberties to chase after my dreams.

Isn’t my real duty to fearlessly aim for self-satisfaction in the endeavors that bring me joy? For me and for all of my first-generation Americans, isn’t taking hold of our unalienable rights and truly pursuing happiness the best life we can live?

This story was originally published on The Uproar on November 30, 2020.