I arrived in Sydney quite late last night. I was picked up by my brother-in-law, who then proceeded to drive me (at around midnight) for 45 minutes to their suburban house. I forgot just how big Sydney was.

At 7:30 am I was picked up by my driver for the day - that’s right, my driver! He was just a local bloke who was interested in what I was doing, but still, he drove me around.

First stop was Chester Hill High School. One of Chester Hill’s claims to fame is that it is right next to Villawood Detention Centre. The other claim to fame is that Chester Hill High houses some of the nicest people.

I met with a group of students between years 9 and 11 for a chat about things. I’m not sure whether Chester Hill is a particularly multi-cultural area, but in the handful of students I talked with there were people from Chinese, Vietnamese, Lebanese as well as Anglo backgrounds. We talked in depth about the challenges for first generation Aussies (ie your parents were born overseas) . They explained that there is always an expectation to be better than what was before you. That means they always had to perform better (whether it be school or sport or music or commando rolls whilst eating oranges (or whatever)) than their parent’s friends, their cousins and other relatives, and their older brothers and sisters. In families of 6 or 7 children, you can imagine the pressure that ends up on the youngest child.

They explained that it was a prestige thing for their parents, mixed in with their parents wanting their children to have the opportunities that were never blessed to have. The pressure that these young people feel is so real and intense. And the way they explained it to me, felt almost as if they were pleading. One student explained how this pressure had been so much it had made her sick. I asked them what would help, and they replied that schools could give them more support by working with their parents to explain the school system and the pressures on them.

I then whizzed over to Roseville College. When I say, whizzed, it took about 1.5 hours to get there, meaning that I was about 40 minutes late. I keep forgetting how big Sydney was. But everyone waited and I had a great chat with their year 11 class.

Again I whizzed to MLC in Burwood. A little dishevelled, an hour late, and cursing some crazy suburb called Five Dock we arrived. I gave a bit of a spiel about who the hell I was and why I was taking up their valuable Maths time (hah!) and then they launched into telling me about their world.

I was so humbled by meeting these girls. MLC is a beautiful school, that affords nearly every educational opportunity to those who attend. There is dance, there’s drama, there’s sport, there’s even woodworking. I was taken by the way these girls explained that their opportunities were a privilege. As a result of having this privilege, they strongly and powerfully felt it was their duty to give back to others. When they talked about giving back to others, they meant to those in other countries that don’t have enough food, or shelter, or those who experience violence or war. Even so, I was very humbled to talk with young people who are very aware of their place in the world.

Again, the way they explained this ‘duty’ (their words, not mine), I could feel the incredible pressure they felt to do with their privilege. It was a different pressure to those at Chester Hill High, but in a way it was exactly the same. One young lady explained to me how when people talk about ‘what you are going to be’ (and people usually ask these girls on a regular basis), they are referring to what occupation - not whether you are going to be happy, or care free or content. She couldn’t understand why this was the case… and when I thought about it, nor could I.

It was a thoughtful day (at the risk of gazing at my naval for a while). It’s a wonderful thing - this being young. We are continually learning, and being exposed to the most fabulously exciting things, and we have all these opportunities open to us.

But I remembered a constant chat I have with one of my friends, who loves to explain to me her theory that the curse of our generation is that we are afforded too many opportunities. Things may have been a lot easier, and a lot less complicated, had we grown up knowing that we were definitely going to work in our father’s carpentry shop (no, that is not a reference to Jesus ), or that we were going to be married in our early 20’s and have kids a short time later. Now we could do anything… and maybe we kind of expect ourselves to be able to do everything.

It seems a bit wounding to our parents and grandparents to even think such a thought. But then again, pressure comes in many forms.