The Other Seat.

My failed cash withdrawal at the bank turned into a deeper acknowledgment of the immigrant experience.

A conversation with a bank teller sparked a thought. My debit card was restricted as I tried to withdraw money to stuff my red pockets (ang baos) for Mum and Dad for Christmas. I decided that red pockets were as good a gift as I could give my parents. The gifting of money in Asian cultures wasn’t foreign. It provided freedom for any spending without restrictions, and it was also a minor demonstration of success within our culture. It sufficed as a Christmas present, alongside other small goodies. Pursuing the gifting idea, I proceeded into the bank branch to rectify the card issue despite being hesitant about the wait time.

I got to learning about the bank teller, a second-year university student, finance and accounting specifically. Your stereotypical B-Com kid. You could tell he was bored out of his mind; it was an effort to smile despite the polite and professional words that still flowed from his mouth. He became a bit more expressive after we took a snap into my bank account. Intrigued as if it were a metric of merit. Though when I think about it, it's probably one of the few things he could really talk about, he did work at a bank after all. To be clear, I don’t have an exuberant amount in my savings, it was just enough to be a talking point - apparently. We got talking; we spoke about Melbourne, sports, and the relentless capacity of basketball coaches whilst training their teams. He used to play basketball across several states. Strangely, he didn’t give it up because of an injury; he gave it up because he fell out of love with it. To me, that was unusual. He explained that he gave it up because he knew his heart had to be all in, or it was nothing. That gave me insight into his character.

He asked about my job and who I was. I was previously a B-Com student myself. I understood the mentality of wanting to crack into investment banking, the nature of banks and accounting firms working you relentlessly when you're a junior until you've earned your stripes. I reassured him that you pick your battles heading into any industry, but be strategic and honest with yourself about the realities and where you want to be. Do not give in to glamourised pathways unless you’ve assessed them accordingly. For me, banking was never a pathway I picked, but I was awfully familiar with it. He probably sensed some familiarity and acceptance from my lines of conversation; I found him relatable.

This was the first time I had ever been in the other seat. I don’t mean having my card restricted. Though the concierge did frighten me when he lightly expressed, “let’s hope it's not fraud haha.” I had always been the youngest in the room, but I knew that didn’t mean I was the smartest or the brightest. All I knew was that I was willing to move first, and I was daring enough to give things a go. Grit, ambition, and the right risk tolerance. For the first time, I saw a younger leader with the same determination, going through the same motions of entering the labour market. I felt a responsibility to further encourage his drive and plans, it is apparent when you see a fish slightly too big for the pond it’s in and he was indeed that fish. His intentionality to ask and listen was awfully thoughtful. I embraced conversation, curious about his temperament.

He sat there intently. I told him about my leap to a new state for career development, my journey as a leader, and trying to develop people as someone who was young and learning myself. It was all a foreign journey, and I loved experimenting with it all. I told him about my boss instructing me to watch Moneyball to see what I could learn from it. He wrote it swiftly on his sticky note before I could share my learnings. I found that gesture awfully pleasing to see. There is a pause that's warranted when you see someone with similar traits to yourself. I felt like I was looking through an old mirror, almost felt nostalgic. This old mirror prompted a few thoughts. My upbringing in an immigrant household, the public school education system I went through, and the navigation of university and trying to develop a meaningful career and understanding what that meant. As the conversation flourished, he asked me, “You’re also second generation, aren’t you?” I smiled and answered, “I sure am.”

In journeys of success, everyone defines their own path. There are a myriad of things that occur in life that we can't control. Challenges, opportunities and people that you encounter in life feel deeply personal. As if you are the only one enduring or experiencing this journey, and that is true. However, there are of course shared themes that we all or some of us experience together. Here I found myself in the other seat, in Perth, with my card restricted, across from an African descent B-Com student who struggled to smile at me initially. Despite being of Asian descent, we realised that we were embarking on the second-generation immigrant experience. It was a deep acknowledgement of our temperament, our past, and where we had left to go. It made me curious about other second-generation kids. It’s easy to see why second-gens are often successful. Not that I am claiming to be, but I cannot deny the achievements of my fellow peers. Perhaps it’s the balance of witnessing the sacrifice of our parents while being gifted a landscape of opportunity and privilege. The contrast between what has been, culture and family. To what could be, where that “could be” is made tangible through ambition, drive, and a bit of risk-taking. It is inheriting sacrifice without the handicap. And that is fertile ground for success.

We rambled, and I was due to leave. In good leadership spirit, I shook his hand and told him I wished him all the best and was excited to see what he would achieve. I successfully withdrew my cash to stuff my ang baos. I was not only left with cash for my parents, but a part of my soul that was nourished in a way that it hasn't been before. All you can wonder is when that fish will find its right pond. It wasn't a matter of if, it was a matter of when.

Jenny Dinh