The smell of freshly cut grass
and the sound of golf balls churning within the ball dispenser machine; these
are all familiar sensations from long ago, brought again to the forefront of my
mind after so many years. This was not really a happy place, nor was it a sad
place. It was the place that I have often ended up after being awoken at 7 in
the morning on weekends when I didn’t have school. You may ask, who has classes
during weekends, how is that even possible? But I did. Life as a child with
Asian parents is never carefree, and when one finds oneself far from one’s
place of origin, it is paradoxically even less so. I never regretted my
childhood or lack of one; it is what gives me the discipline to excel, to be
good at time management, at organizing my time so I can have a life outside of
the rigidity of the activities planned for me. For Asian parents, however, mine
were probably more on the lax side.
