My working-class roots

Admitted Student's Weekend at Scripps College for the class of 2020 took place in late April of 2016. To say I was excited to participate would have been an understatement.

I saw my chance to attend Scripps as a ticket to a whole new world. Born to working class parents, I knew the opportunity to pursue higher education at an elite academic institution would open doors for me I never thought possible. As an educator herself, my mom also preached the importance of higher education. She taught me and my brother to shoot for the stars, always try our best, and take advantage of every opportunity that presented itself. 

With all of that in mind, I was itching to attend Admitted Students Weekend. I could not wait to meet my future friends and professors, as well as get a chance to explore the campus. 

After listening to the school's president give her opening remarks and touring the campus, our first break in the day came during lunch time. Numerous white tables and lawn chairs were set up all over the main lawn so students and their families could each lunch while getting to know each other. After going through the buffet line and loading up my plate, I selected a seat at a table with 3 other girls and their accompanying parents. 

I sat down and introduced myself to everyone at the table. After some brief small talk, the conversation quickly turned to where each of the girls vacationed for spring break. I was shocked to hear some of the destinations: Mexico, London, and Thailand. When the girls turned to me, I told them I went to San Diego to visit some of my extended family, but my parents promised me I could go somewhere international next spring. 

What I told them was a complete lie. 

I was not prepared to share that I had only been out of the country once, and it was only because I vigorously fundraised so I can attend the trip with a cohort from my high school. My background as a working class kid felt so small and menial compared these girls who (come to find out) were had parents that were doctors and investment bankers. 

While I thoroughly enjoyed my time at Scripps and received an amazing education, I never quite found people I connected deeply with. Sure, I had a group of friends and enjoyed socializing as much as any other college student. However, I came to learn my concerns were somewhat different than those of my friends. 

While my friends were always on the hunt for the next best place to party in downtown Los Angeles, I was hunting for extra hours at my work-study job. When they were worried about paying for a new outfit for an upcoming formal event, I was worried about saving money for gas.

Now five years removed from college, I wish I would have been more honest with my peers about my working class background.

In the article entitled "Coming Out as Working Class," Justin Quarry argues that those who have risen from poverty to assume positions of power and influence should "make ourselves be heard and known." This, Quarry stipulates, will show students it is possible to achieve upward mobility and that they are not alone. 

I could not agree with Quarry more. 

Authentic representation helps dismantle the stigma associated with the working-class identity. Too often, media and educational institutions perpetuate biases that portray the working class negatively or as "other," creating barriers to inclusion and opportunity. By openly sharing our stories, those of us from working class backgrounds can counter these narratives and offer students a relatable example of resilience and achievement. This visibility normalizes diversity in positions of power and expands the concept of who belongs in spaces traditionally dominated by middle- and upper-class individuals. 

In the years since, I have been doing my best to change my habits. When Scripps students reach out and ask to meet for a coffee chat, I always make sure to weave in my background; I want to make sure they know anyone can do it and their struggles are not solely their own to bear. By sharing my story, I hope it encourages other to share their own experiences. 

To live, or not to live with our parents, that is the question

Living at home with your parents as an adult was traditionally seen as a failure in American society. People who did so were often deemed as lazy, incapable of being independent, and moochers. Living on your own signifies independence, freedom, and success.

On the other hand, growing up in an immigrant household I was taught the exact opposite. Family is the most important thing in life, and this means living with or nearby, at the very least, family to care for them. Additionally, living at home is ideal since it would save money. Why pay rent to a random stranger when you can pay your own parents for rent by helping them out? In theory, this is a “win-win”.

However, an ongoing dilemma I have, one I am sure many other young adults have, is whether the monetary savings of living with my parents are worth the non-monetary costs. Fortunately, I am lucky to have grown up in a loving household and my parents would welcome me back to live with them, so I should want to live with them right? Yet, there is a part of me that does not want to go back. It is not that I do not miss being around my parents, but more so I do not particularly enjoy the heightened familial obligations, stunted personal growth, and lack of independence that comes with being under the same roof.

When I am home, I am expected to help the family, like running errands for my mom or folding laundry for my entire family. Honestly, this is not too bad, but pairing this with not being able to stay out late with friends or constantly updating my parents on what I am doing or where I am going whenever I leave the house, it is hard to return to this lifestyle when I have had a taste of freedom while living on my own in college and law school. 

Additionally, returning home also means returning to my past self. The old me was the family therapist who resolved conflicts amongst the family and also had to seek my parents' approval before doing anything. I would be returning to the room filled with my childhood stuffed animals, my bed where my feet hang off the mattress if I move a couple inches deeper under the covers, and missing a door since my brother and I broke it when playing at least 15 years ago. My room at home represents the old version of me who felt lost and unsure of herself. Going back after all the growth and independence I have gained while away feels like a regression and losing the progress I have made. 

The flip side to maintaining my independence and freedom is the exorbitant costs of living on my own.  According to data from the U.S. Census Bureau, one in three U.S. adults between 18 years old and 34 years old live in their parents' home. The Harris Poll for Bloomberg reported that more than 60% of Gen-Zers and millennials moved back home in the past two years due to financial challenges. 

Even if I do not move back in with my parents, my familial and work obligations would require me to live in the Bay Area, meaning I would have to rent in the Bay Area, one of the most expensive places to live. What's worse is not only would living on my own be unaffordable but there are additional hidden costs of feeling guilty and selfish for not staying with my family when I am so close by.

Throughout college and now in law school, I looked for work to be close to my parents. Previously, there was no doubt that I would live at home to save money because there was a tangible end date for when I would move out and live on my own again. More recently though, thinking about my post-graduation plans that feel more long-term, I am seeing the situation differently. I am lucky to be able to talk to friends my age with varying living situations to help me determine what I may want to do myself. 

I wish I could say I have figured out my plans, but unfortunately, that remains to be clear. I am glad that I  understand the cost of independence and freedom is more than money before I make any decisions though. In the meantime, I will embrace this period of my life where I have the opportunity to explore my options and be grateful that I am lucky that my family is there to support me by providing a place for me to stay in the first place.