Between me and my two other siblings, I was the least likely to get in trouble and so I have little to recount in the way of childhood mischief and adventures. For the most part, I followed the rules at home, maintained my reticence and decorum in public, and kept my grades up.

My childhood disposition largely served me well. I was focused on learning and received constant positive reinforcement for my classroom performance, which allowed me to develop a solid foundation in English and Mathematics- skills that would later serve me well as I pursued higher education abroad. Good grades in school also helped me stay out of the ire of cruel teachers, at a time when physical punishment was still widely practiced. At home, much to my siblings’ misfortune, I often became the yardstick for comparison, which also meant that I was spared of the same humiliation by contrast.

I maintained this role of a golden child well into my late teens. Despite being the middle kid, I was often expected to assume the responsibilities of an older sibling, which meant that I frequently had to answer (not always in words) for my older sibling’s mis-adventures. A recurring image in my mind is that of me when I was about 10 years old, sitting at a dinner table with my dad, trying to justify my older sister’s behavior, solemnly promising him that I would somehow guide her into obedience. In another example, dating, which was even more of a taboo back then, usually meant that teenagers snuck out behind their parents backs to bat eyelids and giggle at their crushes. While my friends were holding hands and stealing innocent little kisses during lunch breaks, I was so terrified of my parents’ horror at finding out, that I never so much as flirted with a guy until I left home for college.

What I did not know then, and now understand, is that my inclination to be the good kid, who lived up to her parent’s expectations, was largely a coping mechanism to the unending chaos at home. Fortunately for me, I chose to cope with compliance rather than rebellion, in an environment that severely punished any act of defiance. While this saved me a lot of trouble growing up, it also meant that I grew into a people-pleasing, fall-in-line kind of person that inadvertently ended up in the sidelines. Being a parentified child meant that I developed excellent skills at forming coherent arguments and conflict resolution; it also meant that I never allowed myself to question authority or take big risks that could propel my growth and career advancement.

While time and distance from home offered some objectivity regarding my patterns, it wasn’t until recently that I became acutely aware of how my childhood coping mechanisms were severely impeding my growth in adulthood. When all your life you are reinforced for how well you adhere to the rules, it is hard to think outside of the box. Naturally, I followed the conventional path going from an undergraduate degree to a doctorate program in Economics. It was the safe route that would give me peace of mind regarding my visa and ensure the approval of my parents.

Only things did not go as expected. Fast forward a couple of years, I was in my late-twenties, struggling through a rigorous graduate degree while questioning my life choices and the conventional path that lay out in front of me. I was in a constant state of guilt - of not having accomplished enough and falling short of the expectations and financial investment that was put into my education. I was in a vicious cycle of trying to hang on to the expected path that had been carved out for me, all the while being mentally checked out- the combination of which ensuring that I stayed stuck in place, making little progress in either direction.

Over time, I realized that I wanted more from life than I had allowed myself to imagine under the weight of family expectations. My lack of courage and the inability to disappoint others was severely limiting my own existence. I operated constantly from a state of fear and loss aversion, both at work and in my relationships, all in an attempt to ensure that I was maintaining the status quo, which ironically was also making me more miserable.

That is until I reached a tipping point. Somehow, my slow progression and struggle through graduate school ended up being the catalyst towards this transformation. As I allowed my performance to lead to personal and social disappointment, I had to learn how to embrace failure and carry forth solely on my own convictions. One of the most transformative pieces of advice that I read in this regard came from Dr. Nicole LePera, who states that adults are capable of handling disappointment. Despite seeming so obvious, somehow this insight had eluded me until I finally read it in writing. In the years that followed, not only did I have to teach myself how to bounce back from personal failures, I also learnt that I am capable of disappointing others without them crumbling from the severity of their dismay. As a parentified child, I had spent my entire childhood trying to cater to my parents emotions- curating, editing and omitting things, to ensure optimal response. If I wanted to venture out into the world boldly, I knew this had to stop; I needed to stop acting as if my existence was an appendage to my parents’ and start living my life unapologetically.

As I write this, I am now nearing the end of my graduate school. Despite many setbacks, I have managed to get back on track and finish what I started- but not without a radically different vision for my life. I no longer wish to follow the conventional path of an esteemed academic or an enviable corporate worker. Instead, I am venturing out to carve a path of my own-one that includes creativity and entrepreneurship. I know this journey ahead is uncertain- ridden with risk, failures and plenty of judgement- but what I know for certain, is that I will not allow myself be shackled by the limits of other people’s imaginations.

As I am nearing the end of my PhD program, I have started looking for jobs and recently sent in a handful of applications. Since I am no longer interested in pursuing an academic career, my search criteria entail the wide umbrella of Economist, Analyst and Data Scientist roles.

A couple of things have become immediately clear. Firstly, most, if not all, job postings on LinkedIn have hundreds of candidates who click on apply. Whether or not all of these candidates actually apply (once they are re-routed to an external page) is unclear but seeing a post from as recent as a day prior already stack up hundreds of prospective applications, is certainly discouraging. Is there such a wide gap between the demand and supply of jobs in these fields? Or is this LinkedIn’s clever way of trying to get me to sign up for premium?

Secondly, I cannot help but wonder if I am tossing my applications into the void. To keep track of my jobs, I create a spreadsheet with a dropdown that indicates the status of each application: moved to round 2, interview, accepted, rejected and non-response. Non-response is easily the biggest category so far. When you are expected to spend several hours curating the perfect application with tailored resumes and cover letters (along a personal note to the recruiter in the hopes that you will somehow stand out in the sea of applications), you would think there would be at least some sense of accountability on the recruiting end- an automated rejection even- but most employers do not bother extending that courtesy. Should potential candidates be looking into this career equivalence of ghosting as a sign of overwhelm, discomfort with handling difficult conversations or a plain lack of empathy? Do I even want to work for such an employer?

Which leads me to a rarer occasion in this process- a second round of assessment. Yesterday, I heard back from one of the jobs I had applied to in January. While it was certainly not a top choice, I was still grateful for the opportunity to move forward with the application. The follow-up email requested that I finish a 30-min technical questionnaire, that I quickly realized also consisted of elaborate behavioral and leadership questions. Here’s one such question for reference:

Describe a time you worked with a large, complex, or unstructured dataset. Please also address:

• Main challenges faced
• How you cleaned and validated the data
• Tools or methods that you used
• Outcome that you achieved

I started answering the questionaire with the tentative timeframe in mind, only to quickly realize that each question (of the 10 or so total) would take at least 15-20 minutes, if answered thoughtfully (read: not using AI). I finished over 3 hours later, past midnight, wondering if this gross misrepresentation would be limited to the recruitment process.

While I am still early in the search, and I refuse to let myself be discouraged by a few less-than-ideal scenarios, I am moving forward with more discernment regarding alignment between my own values and that of a potential employer. Not to mention, this process has fueled a greater sense of urgency within me to channel more of my time and energy into projects that I really care about- whether that is research, writing or any form of creative work.

After all, I can only spend so much time scrambling and unscrambling my resume, keyword-matching each job description, hoping it somehow makes it though the Application Tracking System (ATS), into the glorious labyrinth that is the second round of assessments.

One of the biggest regrets I have for my 20s is that I let fear lull me into a standstill.

Everywhere around me, I saw life speeding by me, and all I could see were missed deadlines and unfulfilled timelines. When I failed at school or my career, it further reinforced my belief that I had faltered one too many times to remain competitive in today’s market. When I saw other people’s accolades, it was painful reminder of how I had nothing to show for myself. Despite my multiple degrees, I had very little “real-world” experience, and while a part of me attributed it to my visa status or other woes, deep down I felt like I had underachieved my potential. I mean there were people who had overcome similar constraints as me, why couldn’t I do the same?

I remember one particular evening in 2020, just before my 25th birthday, as I strolled around the city at night, I truly felt like I had let life slip by me. Looking down the city river, I felt old- ancient even, like the river itself- life flowing by me with nothing to show for my years. Is this what the rest of life was going to feel like? Five years later today, I scoff at my younger self for feeling that way when I was barely 25, but I also know that the feeling of deficit that I had in that moment, was very real and all-consuming.

After years of trial and error, I have realized that one of the quickest way to feel stagnant and left behind is isolating yourself from the world. 2020 marked the beginning of what would be a long stretch of isolation for me (and many others). I was drowning in little problems that could easily be resolved, with a little help, but I was too terrified to ask for help and let others see my failure. So instead, I let my problems compound in isolation. At 25, it wasn’t my age that was making me feel old; it was my inability to connect with others and be vulnerable to their judgement. Had I let them judge me, I would have realized that I could survive and thrive despite their judgement. Or even better, that no one is putting that much thought into me to begin with. Yet, the fear of being found out kept me home and kept me from growing.

Whether in school, in career or in relationships, the more I withdrew in an attempt to protect myself, the less resilient I became. For example, the only way to get better at school was to ask questions- stupid questions even- that would others realize that I don’t really know what I am talking about. But there in lies that truth. Indeed, I did not know, and in not asking, I continued to not know. When we ask questions and express curiosity, we propel ourselves from rest into motion and this forward momentum is what breathes energy into our lives. Because, I shut myself to the world, my life was sorely lacking in momentum. No wonder I felt as old as the trees.

When we stop asking questions, when we retreat to our comfortable corners, we are essentially saying ‘no’ to life, to learning and to new experiences. In doing so, instead of assuming the role of an active participant, we become a bystander in our own lives. We do not put ourselves out there because we fear that we may not survive others critiquing us, but what we should be most afraid of, is our own judgement- the voice in our head, that grows louder and more relentless, the more we withdraw from the world.

When I turned 30, I decided that I am going to put myself out there, for the world to critique and pull apart, find cringeworthy or perhaps simply too mediocre to even be noticed. I may not win any accolades for it but at the very least, I would have the proof of my courage. I would have credibility with myself, which I now know outlasts any external validation I seek.

As I venture into my decade of public failure, here are two reminders I have for myself:

1. Sure, you could be an epic failure. Everyone would know what a loser you are, and that you are truly unworthy of anything good. So what? Will life stop there? You will continue on from one failure to the next, until something finally sticks. In fact, the public failure will set you free, from your own judgement.. Then you will have nothing to lose. Then you can begin.


2. You want to arrive on the stage fully prepared, looking stunning and ready to wow the crowd. But someone’s perfectly polished state is not inspirational- perhaps enviable to some and unfathomable to others. What is inspirational is your transformation- your movement from from wishing to willing.