Dreams from MY Father, or, WHY YOU NO DOCTOR YET?

…and we're back.

Sorry for the absence, but I've been traveling all over the U.S. and A. basically every single weekend for the past three weeks in my seemingly endless quest to become a depressed gunner and eventual doctor.

 In my past three interviews, every interviewer has asked me the question, "Why do you want to become a physician?" This is one of those basic med school interview questions that will screw you if you don't have a good answer.

The problem with this question is that every answer under the sun has been used at one time or another. They've been doing this for a long time, and trust me, they've heard it all. You have to find other ways to make yourself memorable among the hundreds of worthy applicants being interviewed for the incoming class.

There are two big ways to make yourself stand out. First, how non-generic is your answer? If you go with the good ol' "well, I like science and I like to help people, so being a doctor is the perfect combination," you might be faced with a polite smile and an unconvincing look. If, however, your interviewer missed the bus that morning and had not yet had her morning coffee, she will inevitably retort with, "Then why don't you want to be a nurse or dentist or P.A.? Hell, why not a science teacher?" This is the point when you wish you had brought your AstroGlide while you embarrassingly try to defend yourself because you hadn't done your homework. So responding to this question with a fully fleshed-out answer that shows maturity and depth of thought truly does matter.

The second key is the Oscar-worthiness of your performance in that interview room. Nobody cares if your answer is some epically deep life-affirming statement that the Dalai Lama told you in a private meeting two years ago. If you can't look your interviewer in the eye, smile, and respond coherently, your answer doesn't matter because you show lack of patient interview skills and bedside manner. So make sure you call up George Clooney and have him run your lines with you. Alternatively, you may hire me and my jazz-at-midnight, radio-ready baritone for $2.00 per minute. (And yes, the way you dress is part of the package. Please don't wear all black with a silver tie – this is an interview for a professional school, not Saturday night at Ruby Skye.)

When faced with the "Why" question, I always have to go back to my father. My dad is a physician who lives and works in Taiwan. And I won't deny that hanging around his clinic when I was a wee lad in Taipei definitely had a significant influence on my decision to enter the medical field. But of course, since interviewers are perpetual skeptics, you are always expected to defend the question, "So are you entering medicine because YOU want to, or because your [insert doctor parent/guardian] wants you to?"

Every time, I almost want to respond, "Have you MET my father?"

Not hard to see why I love sweater vests.

This is my father, a visibly aging and tired 60-year-old man who visits his family in America once a year. He's basically our personal Santa. Only Asian. And brings bagfuls of airplane snacks, pirated DVDs, disposable hand warmers, and outdated Taiwanese presidential election scarves as presents.

This is the hallmark sign that you have a Chinese physician at home:

Walter White would be proud.

Because health care in the U.S. is ludicrously expensive, and because my father has access to all sorts of fun drugs, he always brings truckloads of medications from Taiwan, organized into unlabeled bags and plastic containers.

I take a couple uppers, I take a couple downers/
But nothing compares to those blue and yellow purple pills

Mysterious packages of pink, beige, blue, and white pills abound. If you were a burglar rummaging through our cabinet, you might be legitimately scared that you were robbing a drug lord who runs a huge meth lab operation in the basement. The only way I know what any of these pills do is thanks to my mother's instruction. That, and numerous counts of trial-and-error.

It has now been 20 years since he made the very difficult decision to separate himself from his family and stay in Taiwan to work while his wife and children enjoyed the luxuries of a Bay Area lifestyle and education. He's old-school. You'd be hard-pressed to find that kind of sacrifice from anybody nowadays.

Despite having spent almost no time together, I somehow picked up many of my father's attributes. We are both huge film buffs, we have a passion for helping others, our severe sarcasm knows no bounds, and of course, I was not spared from the hypertension that runs in the family. Sometimes it scares me how much I really am my father's son.

Which brings me back to the interview question. I talk to my dad once every couple of weeks (because it takes him about that long to remember how to boot up Skype each time). When my dad talks to me, he is a man of few words. Part of it stems from the fact that we have spent no time together; we simply have nothing to share. Of course, his terrible work hours don't help, and he's always tired. Because I rarely have the chance to communicate with him, I've always taken his advice rather seriously.

"Son, I have to be honest with you. You're old enough now to understand that nobody is on this mortal coil forever. Pretty soon, your mother and I will be gone too."

"Jesus, ba. This is a terrible way to start a conversation with your son from the other side of the world. Do you want to try starting over?"

"Hush and let me talk. We're all put on this Earth for a reason. And everybody has a different purpose."

"You're not trying to get me to go back to church, are you? Because I think I might hang up."

"No, I'm pretty sure you're a lost cause to God. What I'm trying to tell you is this: nobody makes it alone. You made it with the help of your mother, your sister, your friends. And so did I. None of us got to where we are today without help. We owe them everything. So you are obligated to give back to your community in whatever way you are best fit. I'm glad that you've discovered that through music and that you have a passion for performing, even if it's not for a career. But music is fleeting joy. You can do more. Educate. Find a cure for a disease. Cook for the masses. Heal with your hands and heart. Whatever it may be, reach out and do what you can to help others. Remember, you owe them."

"Um. This is, like, the absolute deepest level of Asian Parent Guilt you've ever dumped on me."

"I know. Good luck with that one. Now put your mother on."

And therein lay my answer to that nagging interview question.