Part I: The Problem

This blog post was excruciatingly difficult to write. I tried starting over, I tried taking notes, I tried changing the subject first, but ultimately I felt like I couldn't move on with my life until I had this written. Even when I was halfway across the country, hoping that a change in scenery would help me break out of my mental block, I was still stuck. This probably would have been easier as a journal entry, but I felt like this needed to be shared publicly.

The problem was that I had a problem without a solution. Usually, when I write a blog post, putting everything out in front of me makes it easier to come up with a solution. In this case, try as I might, I could only dig myself deeper into the rabbit hole of my problems. On the bright side, the fact that this is written means that I've found the solution, but I'll be saving that for the next post.

The crux of the issue was that without a full time job, I couldn't figure out how to be a person. What do I want? Am I a person, and what does that mean? If it exists, then there must be a definition. If there is a definition, then is it applicable to me? Do I matter enough to have a definition? Everything had been changing so quickly, from "not going anywhere" to "moving a mile a minute." It almost gave me whiplash; I needed a physical and mental massage to work out the knots in my shoulders and in my psyche. I missed the consistency of the before-times, even though it was boring at first. I missed having a purpose and being a part of something bigger than myself. It was easier to have reasonable expectations toward who I could be and what I could accomplish.

After sending out job apps and taking some time to unwind, I took the extra time on my hands to deliberately focus on and reexamine the dysfunction in my life: money, friends, self worth, lack of purpose. I wasn't upset about my joblessness per se, because I knew I was one of the unlucky ones, the ones with the bad timing, who hadn't done anything wrong to be in the place we're in. I was happy to be in a relatively financially stable place, where being sequestered in my apartment alone was not only acceptable, but expected, given the circumstances. Still, it was hard to move forward. I know where and why it all fell apart, I just wasn't sure how to fix it aside from simply continuing to do a good job in life, to deliver successes which can be built upon for more success. It's almost cliche, but the hardest part was just having faith that things would work out and believing in myself.

At first, it was easy to see all the things I am not: not in grad school, not a lawyer, not making a six figure salary, not yet notable in my field, but not a failure either. While I didn't have a full time job, I finally had the time to start graphic design freelancing, fulfilling a dream I've had for so long. I contemplated more, about the paradox of happiness vs. success. I considered the top consultants at big firms, corporate lawyers, or the investment bankers that chase high profile high paying jobs, only to burn out and take a step back and realize the simpler things in life are more worth it. The knowledge of these patterns and tendencies — knowing that these things would not bring me happiness — initially led me to choose to pursue purpose in less high profile but ultimately more meaningful and personally rewarding work in the education policy world.

This worked for a while, until I stepped out of the nonprofit world and then tried to get back into it. At this point, I am no longer looking for entry level jobs, but also not quite qualified for mid-level positions (apparently). I hesitated from committing to applying for grad school programs; I knew too many people who had gotten their advanced degrees (sometimes multiple) and were still stuck in non-directorial positions. I thought about law school and I talked to friends and mentors who were lawyers. I knew the career wouldn't make me happy, but maybe it would lead to some upward mobility and a position that would allow me to do some good in the world. The majority of them did not recommend the law school experience, but for every lawyer who tells me not to go to law school, the fact remains: they have a law degree and I do not.

Perhaps my concern was not the money, but the prestige. I was worried that, despite graduating early, I was falling behind. In a moment of weakness, I looked up former high school classmates online. The results were all over the place. A few were consultants (no surprise), a few went to law school, a few were still figuring it out. A high school classmate I never would have considered particularly cerebral was earning her PhD at Harvard Medical School. A good number of high school high achievers disappeared into the impersonal machine of Bay Area tech jobs. Surely then, this must be the way forward: accept that "success" is finding a way to be a part of the big names, and find happiness within that system somehow, right?

Inevitably, this was not an acceptable answer for me. I talked with a friend who had the same issue and was in the same situation, graduating early and feeling like she wasn't living up to conventional expectations of success, despite knowing that they wouldn't make her happy. She envied her hippie friends who were making minimum wage and happy, yet was also jealous of the big earners who could afford to do and buy whatever they wanted. We wanted to be successful without giving in to the conventional definitions of success that we knew would never satisfy us. To live a life worth living, happiness must come first; the advanced degrees and high paying jobs will always be available in the future if interested, but the time of youth will never be recovered. I craved something sweet and poignant to validate the presumed joy of existence and also respect my high achieving nature. I want a life where I can wake up every day and not feel like my entire body and mind is in searing pain from the dissatisfaction of meaningless employment. Deep in my heart, I knew I wanted to be a teacher, but the low salary and lack of respect for the profession did not seem like a measure of success that would validate my accomplishments. 

The challenge was to define a mission and pursue it relentlessly, avoiding the pit of despair in the meantime...

This is Normal

I have found the paradigm shift I needed to finally feel at ease.

This is normal.

Obviously, from a global perspective, these times aren't normal, but what makes this normal is that all of us are going through the same pandemic experience right now.

This perception that I'm not doing enough work, that I have no friends, that I'm falling behind — this isn't unique. I don't know how I didn't realize it before, but everyone feels this way at some point in their life. Being unemployed for a time while I figure things out in my early twenties is normal. Feeling like I don't have enough friends when I've spent two years here is normal (and for the record, I do have friends! More than I thought I do!). Comparing myself to people two, three, four years older than me and not being in the same place as them in life is normal!

My motto growing up was, "Everything will be okay." I had to believe that I would survive my childhood and eventually be able to take care of myself. It served me well and kept me going until I got to a point where I graduated college, established myself in Sacramento, and, indeed, everything was okay. At that point, I began to grow exceedingly anxious. If everything was going to be okay, then why did I not feel okay? The answer seemed so obvious once I realized it. Everything was okay, but my motto was still that everything will be — at an indeterminate time in the future — okay, which clearly jarred with my reality at the time.

Presently, the world has been turned upside-down and things are not okay again. But excitingly, things do not need to be okay to be normal. It sounds bleak, but truly, the only way to not lose one's mind is to accept that life, in whatever condition it may be, is normal. The alternative is to wonder if perhaps the experience of not-normal is solely a personal phenomenon, in which case one would be insane, or driven insane by wondering. Quite honestly, things have not been okay for a very long time. Yet, accepting that this is normal is the first step to figuring out what to fix so that normal is better. Believing the present is not normal externalizes the circumstances. Accepting the present as normal is accepting one's own experiences to exist within it and have agency in it. ◊

Twenty-three and Me

Without a doubt, 2020 has been a most disappointing year so far, the furthest from living up to my expectations for it. What should have been an experience of reaching new heights in my career, social life, and personal health has instead become one of unemployment (I exaggerate, I'm freelancing now), isolation, and misery. This time last year, I was in a hotel suite after a most perfect day at Disneyland. Today, I am alone at home, desperately wishing to be close to those who love me.

I arrive in my mid-twenties in the midst of a pandemic, the world locked down in quarantine (or it should be if everyone follows the rules). Clearly, everything is different now. The goals I had set for myself require adjustment. The unsustainable habits and beliefs I have grown into must be re-examined. Again and again and again I muse about my identity. I am forced to assume that this is the meaning of life, to build and improve and rebuild one's identity endlessly.

All things considered, I'm not doing so badly. I am in no danger of losing my apartment, I am finding work in graphic and web design, and I talk to my friends fairly regularly. Yet why do I still feel like I am scrambling to cling to a foundation of security that is inches away from dissolving into the void? What paradigm shift must I undertake to finally feel at ease?

My anxieties at conflict with each other are the fear of meeting new people and the fear of being alone. When my life structure aligned with other people's structures in high school and college, this was not as much of an issue. I was at once easily immersed in relationships where commonalities were high and the barriers of entry were not. It was easy to meet new people and it was easy to not be alone. Now, as an adult, and especially in quarantine, it is beyond difficult to meet new people and all too easy to be alone. Physical isolation is less of an issue as the psychological torment of wondering if anyone cares about me — would anyone notice at all if I died? I hadn't realized this would be as much of an issue for me as it is, but I'm really starting to question — am I as truly as comfortable with myself as I thought I was?

Whether I want to or not, the time has come to make peace with myself and the decisions that brought me here. It is difficult, to be weaned off the closeness of childhood, still desperate to latch on to the warmth of other people. I thought I had flown the nest when I moved out on my own; while I may have physically done so, emotionally and mentally I still have a ways to go. I suppose this is all part of growing up: having so much distance and building the maturity it takes to accept it. I don't know how much longer this lockdown will last, but while it lasts, I might as well accept that loneliness is an inevitable part of life. Even when I was in D.C., I was still around other people more than I realized. I can't be certain that this will be the only time in my life that I am on my own, so if I want to survive it, I'm going to have to figure out how. ◊

The Life of an Indoor Cat

I have two cats. Alli, my little tuxedo, is an adventure cat. Every morning, she yells at me to feed her, and then yells at me to open the door so she can go outside and roam. Most days, I leave my door open for some air, and also to give Larry, my old orange boy, a chance to go outside. But he never does. Instead, he flops down on the couch and snoozes the day away. Sometimes, I worry about him. Why doesn't he go outside? Is he depressed? How can I get him to exercise more? Silly cat, surely the world is full of wonderful things, why don't you go out to explore?

As much as I worry about his happiness, I know that he only does what he prefers. If he needs food, he comes to me to ask. If I brush him too much, he'll swipe at me. If he wants to go outside, he'll take a jaunt in the yard. He's a good boy, my Larry, and at the end of the day when I lie down on the couch, he'll jump up next to me and snuggle. If he could talk, I'm sure he'd think the same of me. Silly human, surely the world is full of wonderful things, why don't you go out to explore?

The days are innumerable and indistinguishable from one another. This is the life of a cat, who has no weekend or workday. This is the life I live now too, and I look to Larry to understand how to cope. Perhaps I prefer it, like he does, but there's still a sense of restlessness. I tolerate myself the most when I keep busy, working diligently and staying on top of my chores and social life. And yet, if life is an experience of learning myself, this self, with nothing to do all day and no real pressures of survival is a version of myself I must learn to love and be okay with as well. I don't know if Larry is depressed or has a capacity for joy. But I do know that he eats when he is hungry, drinks water when he feels inclined to, moves from sun to shade to sun as is comfortable, and deliberately seeks to be near me. Perhaps I, too, can learn to listen to my body, eat what I please, drink when I thirst, place myself in invigorating environments, and be close to the people who want me. This is the life of an indoor cat, and I could learn to love myself in it as much as I love Larry. ◊

Ingrid Goes West

I started this post a year ago (5/5/2019!) after settling down for a day to watch Ingrid Goes West. I don't even know how this movie had crossed my mind, but it seemed familiar as it stars Aubrey Plaza, in a role very different than that of her Parks and Rec character, and Elizabeth Olsen, who I love in the Marvel movies. I'm not here to offer a critique or synopsis of the movie, though I do recommend it. I might have to rewatch it to figure out what I meant by some of the commentary I wrote a year ago. For example, "Quite frankly, I'm very tired despite not doing anything or going anywhere all day, and I'm dreading the thought of hitting "Publish" on a post that I know is sub-par, writing quality-wise." This much is still true, except now we are in the middle of a coronavirus induced stay-at-home order. Times change, but apparently a lot of things in my life stay the same. Unedited text from last year's draft will be italicized for context.

What I do want to do is explore some thoughts re: the key message of the film as a critique of social media, particularly Instagram. I vaguely remember using Instagram a long long time ago, and even then, barely engaging. But even without Instagram, I see startling similarities in my life to Ingrid's, in that the inability to connect in real life leads to a crippling dependence on my phone. This of course is a key driver to the plot of the movie, but what separates Ingrid and me is the film's key message: the condemnation of the influencers and influences.

There are no heroes in the story. Ingrid, determined to find the joy she sees splashed across her Insta feed, psychotically copies the life of Taylor, her muse, but when Ingrid is exposed for her fraud, she realizes that Taylor's life is just as superficially constructed. Authenticity is a sham! Unexpectedly, her disillusioned suicide attempt brings her the online attention and validation she had hoped to gain by copying Taylor's lifestyle. The film ends abruptly — Ingrid's desire for influence is fulfilled, but not the bigger question of dependence on social media.

Such is the way of the social media profile. To craft a persona, to build an identity — who cares if none of it is really how it is all the time. That aspirational highlight reel designed to inspire jealousy and sell a product; it's easy to get caught up. After all, who doesn't wish their life were picture perfect?

I've restarted using Instagram in an effort to stay connected to friends during the COVID-19 quarantine. In a way, the lockdown has been good for my social anxiety, since I don't find myself mired in FOMO and guilt over not being as social as I think I should be. Everyone else is presumably doing the same thing I am, which is staying at home doing nothing. I've also found myself with more time on my hands than I really know what to do with. The job I was supposed to start at the beginning of April didn't work out because of corona-times, among other reasons. I'm not too anxious about this either, since a lot of people are also now unemployed due to the crisis. As far as joblessness goes, this is actually one of the best times to be unemployed.

But this extra time has forced me once again to reflect on who I am and what I want. The brief foray into consulting was clearly a wrong move. Though the two month gap on my resume feels awkward, I'm glad I had that experience sooner than later. I can't imagine going into consulting and hating it at a later point in my career. I feel reassured that education policy advocacy is the right field for me at this time, but the opportunities are so limited for where I want to be. I'm not an entry level applicant anymore, but I'm nowhere near experienced enough to be an independent advocate or high level director. Maybe I should take a step back and consider grad school more seriously for this year. Maybe I should consider going into teaching (a whole other mess unto itself).

Thankfully, there are things outside of work that I have had time to explore to expand my personal interests. I started an apartment garden in a planter on the second floor walkway outside my door. My room is filled with ferns and plants. I've been painting again, starting with portraits of all of my friends' cats. If I can get around to it, I want to clean up, fix, and ride my bike more. And of course, I'm getting back into blogging. These things are genuine expressions of my identity that I'm growing into, not just the travel and polaroids with friends memorialized on my Instagram.

Moreover, I want to be clear that this blog should not be taken as a means of influence either. I've had a friend recommend that I could do thinkpieces and discuss my ideas if I want more people to read this blog, but that's not the point. This blog is not about finding myself. This blog is about making myself. I am a brand new person, free to be and believe and do and love and explore whatever I like. I am neither trying to influence anyone or be influenced by anyone. My life is an open book that few people will ever find or read. The purpose of this blog is to express my thoughts in conversation with myself, a digital diary to capture my exact state of mind at a point in time, and to dull the aching grind of the process of living a bit. This blog reaffirms my internal validation, that I myself am enough, with or without being seen by other people, for better or for worse. I can be meaningful, without feeling like I need to be more than I am. ◊

Growing Pains

The start of a new month is coming up soon; this one especially is an important new beginning. Today is the last day of September, the first full month of the semester, and this is a benchmark point for how I'm doing, settling in and going about this semester. This past week was particularly brutal — all the glamour, and the trauma, and the f*cking melodrama — but now that it's over, I feel like I can take a deep breath and release all the anxiety in my chest, the burden on my shoulders, and the noise in my head.

I'm currently extremely satisfied by how I'm managing my academics, my extracurricular commitments, my health, and my aesthetic. I'm still working on squeezing a social life in, but even though it could be more robust, it's mostly sufficient. In doing so, I need to reassess where I'm putting my time and effort, and only continue putting my time and effort into places that I feel good about it going toward. If I don't feel good about it, it's time to let go. I will choose to be with the people that choose me, however painful it may be to outgrow the people I love.

There's really no certainty at this stage in life — everything is temporary, ever-changing. College is a time of development, transitions, and growth. As long as I have integrity in my character, being genuine and intentional in my actions, constantly striving for introspection and self improvement, I can be confident that everything will be okay. I'm not sure if there's any certainty ever, but I'm learning that a good thing doesn't have to last forever. ◊

Green Beans

My friend Wei-Wei was making green beans the other day, and we talked about how green beans are so good, so wholesome, any way you cook them. I hadn't had any in a while, so our conversation inspired me to get some. As I was meal prepping the chicken, potatoes, and green beans, I was struck by a sudden wave of nostalgia in the middle of preparing the beans. It wasn't quite uncomfortable, but I was slightly shaken by the intensity of the feeling. For what only feels like a split second, I am six years old, sitting on a little wooden stool on the backyard deck, the sun on my shoulders and on the worn, musty wood, making everything smell warm. The AC unit is humming behind me, a slight breeze occasionally rustles the leaves on the vine canopy beneath the balcony. I'm with my mom, and we're snapping green beans, pinching off the ends and then snap! snap! snap! breaking the beans down into small, same-sized segments. Sometimes we talk, about school, about summer; sometimes it's silent. When we're done, my mom takes the strainer full of beans inside to cook, and I sprint down three stairs, out the gate with the bell, and look for roly-polies while I wait for the food to be ready. Soon, the fragrant smells of green beans cooked with pork wafts out of the kitchen, and I run back in without being called. A spatula of sticky rice in a bowl, the green beans and pork and all the juices on top, running into the rice, first to shove into my mouth with complete disregard of etiquette, and then to savor. I always ask to leave some for the next day; I still maintain that leftover green beans and pork tastes even better as the flavors have had more time to sink in.

Then it's back to my task. I finish prepping the green beans, and it's time to cook. I don't have pork, so I make a mental note to myself to pick up some bacon the next time I decide to cook green beans. I inexpertly tend to three large skillets, the struggle of trying not to burn anything burying those memories as quickly as they were unearthed. The food turns out okay, but it's a shame I didn't have pork.

Later that night, I remembered it was also the day of my little sister's birthday, and even though I called her, I couldn't think of a single thing to say. I struggled to figure out how old she was, mistaking her birth year for that of my little brother at first. I felt terrible, but sometimes I forget I have a family. It's been over two years since I've lived with them, a tenth of my life. The one thing that is more or less a constant structural support in most people's lives does not exist in my personal landscape. Usually, hearing my parents' voice is a source of anxiety, and is something I happily do without. Most of the time, I don't feel like I'm missing something. But sometimes, there are little moments, like when I'm snapping green beans, that I think about what could have been, what I had before, but not anymore. ◊

Knowing My Limits (Update)

An addition to last night's rather frantic post:

As they say, hindsight is 20/20. I believe the cause of feeling like I was "hitting the wall" was a mild hypoglycemic crash. For context, in the absence of professional medical evaluation, I was probably hyperglycemic for most my life eating so much sugar and chocolate. It might not have been diabetes but I had all the symptoms: hunger and fatigue, drinking water all the time but still being thirsty and having to go to the bathroom frequently, dry skin, and vision problems. I've had these concerns for a number of years but they remained unaddressed because my parents were somewhat neglectful regarding my medical issues. I'd bring up concerns and they'd be dismissed, and I wasn't encouraged to bring up my concerns to the doctor at regular checkups. Now that I'm responsible for my own health, I'm determined to take care of things properly.

So, suddenly, I've decided to take action. In changing my lifestyle so abruptly, the healthy eating and exercising intensity caused a hypoglycemic crash, as my body couldn't adjust to the lack of sugar. All I could feel was frustration when I couldn't figure out why, but now that I've recovered and I think about it, it all makes sense. It wasn't that I was mentally incapable of writing, it was a physical issue, not something I could address through discipline and willpower alone.

I might not be able to fully control how and when my depression and anxiety manifests but there are things I can control, like my diet, exercise, and sugar intake. I used to not bother, but now I have the autonomy to make decisions about my life, and these are things that will be important to me. I now know to make these changes gradually and to be forgiving to myself when I'm not able to adjust instantaneously, but eventually I will be at a comfortable balance. Until then, I'll have to be careful and do what I need to to keep myself functioning. ◊

A Girl Has Needs

There's a boy and he was everything I wanted. Six foot one, built like a demigod, dark hair, hazel eyes, smart, and kind. He liked archery and the color purple and cats and he laughed at my puns and held my hand and took me out to dinner, and he liked me too, until it all crumbled before me like a sandcastle at high tide, for seemingly no reason at all. I watched what could have been slip away like sand between my fingers. It felt like a big, "Fuck you," from the universe, to be shown something so beautiful and magnificent, and to have it all washed away like it never existed.

I keep trying to figure out what went wrong. Part of it was my fault — I rushed into it, I couldn't help myself, I couldn't stay chill. But I tried, I tried, I tried, I tried everything I knew, and nothing was getting a response. He'd talk to me some times, and then he wouldn't. I grew frustrated with every interaction, the on and off conversations where nothing was being said and it felt like he didn't care. It wasn't out of any malicious intent; it was just who he was, somewhat oblivious and too much in his own head to consider how other people felt. I struggled to accept this, and part of me still hasn't, but it's past time for me to let go. But the worst part is I know I'd throw myself back at him in a heartbeat if he made any effort at all.

The fact of the matter is I'm alone again, and I need to be not alone, just not in the way you think. I thought I'd be growing my circle of friends in college, but instead I find myself losing people. One friend temporarily for some business travel, another off to study abroad and no longer speaking English, one former friend to the complicated matter of a possibly non-consensual encounter between us, one friend to his own anxiety, one friend to her numerous other obligations, and countless others to distance and time and no reason to talk. I fill my time as much as I can with classes and notes and work and exercise and digital distractions but still I am faced with empty weekends. Nobody blowing up my phone. The people I make plans with don't invite me back. All the discipline in what I eat, when I exercise, how I study, how I live my life, has no impact whatsoever on how other people live theirs and whether they choose for me to be a part of it. Maybe it's a bad case of FOMO but I think there's something more there: I need that connection, I need communication, I need a sense of security that people care. Regardless of my self worth, I am only human, and humans are social creatures. I have no idea what to do about this but to continue to reach out, and hope that someone reaches back. ◊

Nausea

There wasn't enough time. Back from DC, unpack, set up, help people, sleep alone at night, go to meetings, sleep alone during the day, shop around aimlessly, rinse and repeat. Start classes, figure it out, go through the motions, have an emotional talk with an ex-friend (minus the emotions), have a talk with a friend (again, minus the emotions), feel confused, feel ignored, feel confused, feel hurt and upset and say nothing.

Girl, it takes guts just to survive.

I'm feeling like a computer and there's a setting in my control panel that's wrong. I don't know how to process emotions, don't know how to make conversation, don't know who I am. Everyone is going out and hanging out and having fun, and it feels like I don't know how to do that myself and no one cares enough about me to show me how. I know this is something I can work on myself but goddammit it's difficult and I'm so tired and scared. People in their twenties are awful and selfish and oblivious. So am I. Don't take your friends for granted. Don't stop showing your friends you care. Things get bad but that doesn't mean you stop caring.

Finished the first week, really just half a week, and I'm already out of it. Nausea, headache, fatigue, whatever this is that's keeping me down, I'm sick of it, but I don't know what to do about it. Actually, I know what to do. Do better, do better, do better. Goddammit it's difficult and I'm tired and scared.

There's always that part of me that tells me to accept this emotionally stunted aspect of myself. I can't change the way I was raised. I could forego the entire struggle of feeling like I don't know how to fit in. I don't know if that's possible in this kind of society. I could move to a small farm with some cats and paint in my spare time. I'm already familiar enough with being alone, and this way, at least I won't have to struggle with being lonely if I have no one to miss. It's probably not going to happen, but I can always wonder. ◊

Summer in Review

As you may have guessed from my previous posts, I've spent ten weeks of this summer in Washington, DC. Going to DC came at a good point in my life because I'm stepping into my twenties and learning how to be really independent, without the structure of college to hold me in place. At the same time, doing the Cal-in-the-Capital program gave me the support I needed when I needed it.

As much as I enjoyed it, this summer was also incredibly difficult. However, the challenges also made me learn and grow tremendously. I found myself more confident in my ability to take initiative to make things happen. I've always been fairly independent and capable of managing my own affairs, but this summer really forced me to put those skills into practice. I found myself confronted with many new questions: how do I network? what do you do with your free time? I realized that it is perfectly fine to enjoy doing nothing for a bit, but ultimately it is up to you to take the lead with opportunities. Nobody is going to give you anything until you ask for it.

Speaking of networking, I experienced firsthand the power and necessity of it. My first two weeks at my first internship just didn't feel right, and I'm certain I'd have been miserable all summer if I had stayed. Instead, I took a risk during week three, when that internship was on a break, and started looking for new places through networking. It was simple enough once I got the hang of it: talk to a person, who introduces you to another person, who introduces you to another person...

Somehow, in week four, I started at my dream internship at the National Education Association. The networking had paid off, and had landed me at the perfect opportunity to explore American education policy. Things were still kind of slow and I had no real work for two weeks, but this was an organization that had the potential and connections to introduce me to new things. At this point, it was over halfway through the summer, yet somehow I was still just moving in. I received a new placement in the Center of Communications after I took it upon myself to march down to HR for more assignments and finally receiving some work instead of waiting around for events.

In week six, a wave of loneliness suddenly hit. I was familiar with feeling alone but not lonely, but now I was definitely lonely as well as alone. Now that I was all settled down, with no one to hang out with, I took it upon me to explore the city on my own. Looking at the list of all the places I intended to visit, I was shocked me how few items I had checked off. My first destination: the Library of Congress. Initially, I was almost deterred by the amount of effort required to get a library card, navigate my way around, and figure out what I was going to do there. Though I was physically shaking from social anxiety, I trekked around and (after getting lost a gazillion times) made it to the main reading room. The view was breathtaking, and even though I was still shaking, it was worth it. I felt so privileged to be sitting underneath that resplendent domed ceiling. I meant to do some work in there, but all I wanted to do was to soak in every detail so I'd never forget the feeling of being in that space (what can I say, I'm a sucker for high ceilings). Emboldened, I made it my mission to do all the things I wanted to do that summer, regardless of if anyone else would be doing it with me.

The rest of the summer flew by. I made new friends, explored more of the city being comfortable on my own, and learned so much with the most amazing people at the NEA. I cried on my last day, but at the same time, I was struck by a disgusting sort of homesickness and terror. The unknowns of the upcoming semester loomed in front of me, but I missed California desperately as well. But there was no time to dwell on that as I scurried to pack, and then was whisked across the country at a five hundred miles an hour. There was no time to reflect amidst the frenzy of unpacking.

Tomorrow, the first classes of Fall 2017 semester start. I have some baggage in the form of essays I have left from incomplete classes for Spring, but overall, I'm looking forward to the incredible potential to do good things with good people around me. I feel confident to start on the right foot, mostly because my packages finally came in the mail and I have my shelves and lamp up. My roommate made me realize that this is my last first day of the school year for a very long time (technically, I have another first day next semester, but that doesn't really count), and I'm determined to savor every bit of it. Here's to adventure and friendship and love and joy and identity and everything that could possibly happen in this upcoming year. ◊

Journals

Blogging is a commitment. This post itself is retroactively published because I haven't blogged for about a month. Blogs make it easy to organize a compilation of thoughts, but sometimes when there's not enough time for that, journals are nice to jot down tidbits of thought and feelings. Despite my preference of keeping a blog to keeping a journal, I feel most connected to myself with pen in hand and ink flowing. Lately, having bought a Moleskine, I've been journaling and sketching a bit more, but again, my issue with journals is that I can't easily go back to edit my thoughts from the spur of the moment. Here, I suppose, is an augmented compilation of those inspired snippets. (Content warning: explicit language below the break.)

On My Own

After the last (somewhat incoherent) post and two therapy sessions, I'm taking the time to revisit what it means to be in touch with myself and my interests. Turning twenty was a wake up call to love myself first, to spend my money and my time and effort on the things that make ME happy, even if that means spending less money/time/effort on other people, and that's okay! The more I'm comfortable being myself, the more I will be comfortable being with others. It's time I rethink the meaning of independence; as much as I like to think that I am independent from, say, my parents and most other people, perhaps I am more dependent that I think upon my friends. We're growing up, and people are getting busier and handling new things in their lives. They won't be here for me as much as they were in high school, when we were all together. That was a concept that was very difficult for me to accept, but I'm learning to give people their distance so they can continue to grow and interact with others. It's terrifying for me, but I'm going to have to step out of my comfort zone and get to know new people too, so I too can continue to evolve as an individual. ◊

The Twentysomething Selfish Years

In setting the tone for my twenties, I'm forced to remember a few key aspects of my identity that are harder to change than others, namely my social anxiety and the habits that I am not yet aware of. Lately, a vaguely unfortunate confluence of events has brought me to think, question, write; wonder if my relationships are genuine and worth it; review the way I treat people and the way I am treated.

It occurred to me that we don't always receive the same amount of love that we give to the world. At first, the thought of this made me bitter: why should I waste my energy on people who don't reciprocate the effort? Again, I faced the agony of the thought that I am nobody's priority. But why should this matter? Perhaps I am too sensitive. Perhaps I care more than I should. But continuing to be thoughtful and kind is my choice, and how other people respond to that is a reflection of their character. I can only keep doing my best, even if it is not enough, even if I make mistakes.

It's a contradiction that's maddeningly difficult to make sense of: I want to connect with more people, so I need to stop connecting with people more. My social anxiety keeps me dependent on the few people that I know well and prevents me from reaching out to meet people. I have to be comfortable maintaining distance from my close friends if I want to overcome my social anxiety and reach out to new people. I need to focus on myself in order to know others.

However, a few changes are necessary. I remind myself to make myself a priority to myself. I have a difficult time allowing myself to do this because of the echoes of voices telling me I'm selfish and ungrateful. I end up being a doormat, ready to inconvenience myself at every whim. It will take a long time to convince myself that acting in self interest and self love is not selfishness. I am allowed to take care of myself first before catering to others. I do not need to set myself on fire to keep others warm. I don't remember where I saw this but sometimes, "You can lie down for people to walk on you and they will still complain that you're not flat enough."

They say your twenties are your selfish years. I'm learning to be okay with that. It's ok to be selfish, to act in self interest, ok to say, "No," to people, even the ones I care about. I'm still learning and growing. I'm not sorry for chasing after the things I want. I'm not sure if this post makes sense. ◊

Perfect Places

With a lot of free time spent in isolation, I've been blogging much more lately than I have all semester. It would be nice if not for all the anxiety gnawing at the back of my head. What for? I'm not sure, but I think it has something to do with the ever present threat of inadequacy.

Can I accept that I don't have it all figured out? Can I accept that I've acknowledged my negativity but it's not something I can fix overnight? Will I ever come to terms with the concept of my mediocrity, that I am, perhaps, not meant to be effervescent?

I can suffer from everything my anxiety throws at me, but at the end of the day, it's still my responsibility to do something about it. I am accountable for taking care of myself. As much as I wish someone can fix things for me, it's not going to happen.

My dissatisfaction with my internship. My frustration at being alone. My uncertainty about my future. These are all things that only I have the power to change. Yes, these are areas of my life that I feel inadequate in, but they do not last forever.

I'm nineteen and I'm on fire — still young and chock full of potential and opportunities and the overwhelming desire to do good things. The last sweet dregs of teenage glory dry up in less than a month: why did I ever waste a second of it feeling helpless? ◊

All My Friends Are In Relationships And I'm Still Single

"I give up on relationships," I say, lamenting my lack of banal relationship drama so wonderfully evident between Wei-Wei and Daniel. Without skipping a beat, Wei-Wei retorts, "That's dumb."

I'm nineteen. I can't give up already, can I?

This post has been a long time in the making, but the issue really came to a head last night when I found out my roommate has a girlfriend. I'm in a new city, I don't know a lot of people, and at the very least I was hoping to be able to hang out with my roommate and explore DC. But nope, she spends her evenings Skyping her SO. Cue me going to bed and reading articles on being happily single (and yes being single is great, but more on that later). A heads up, this post is going to be long and rambly because I've tried to edit it so many times, so I'm putting it under a cut.

Three Hundred

If I don't decide to go back someday and delete any old posts, this will be my 300th blog post to date. It's astounding how long I've managed to maintain this blog and post on a somewhat regular basis. I feel like I've put off editing this draft for a long time because it does reflect on some heavier topics, but it needs to be said. I'm currently sitting in a library at UC Davis (visiting Wei-Wei!) with nothing else to do for a few hours anyway. All the events on my schedule so far have been checked off — blood work, Teach For America interview, housing, internship prep — and soon I'll start packing for my new apartment and D.C. I'm looking forward to my summer even though I was initially hesitant that I wouldn't be doing enough of a "prestigious" internship. If anything, this semester has taught me not to overcommit myself. Additionally, I have five essays to make up, and I want to enjoy and sightsee in D.C. as well. Besides, non-profit work in D.C. should be very engaging politically.

This summer has started off on an incredibly happy note. My friend Madison graduated, a year early similar to my own plan, and we went to the beach to celebrate surviving finals together. We headed out via public transport to Ocean Beach in SF. It was excessively windy, but warm. I felt like a child again as I waded through the gentle, but bitingly cold, waves. We dug around for sand crabs for a bit before moving further up the beach into warmer sands. It might have been too comfortable as I ended up falling asleep for two hours. I thought I escaped the sun unscathed but unfortunately woke up the next morning with a very angry red sunburn on the back of my legs. That was a week ago, but you can still see the purplish patches on my legs even now.

I honestly don't know if I'll ever see Madison again now that she's graduated, but something she said to me will stick for a very long time: "I don't know what you'll do in the future — it could be big things or little things — but I do know it will be good things." Coming from someone who's only known me for a semester, yet said with so much conviction, her words renew my resolve to strive to be a good person despite my habituations based in toxic defense mechanisms. Sometimes it's weird to realize that so many things in my life have been not normal. A friend offered to help me figure out my insurance and lease and bank account; in the process I realized that my parents had been neglecting to provide me healthcare except in the most extreme cases all my childhood. I didn't know how a lot of these things worked for most people. It turns out, insurance is pretty straightforward and is not as much of a hassle as my parents made it out to be.

As much as I have an idea of what I'm doing in life, I'm still working on figuring out who I am and how life works. Easy things to start with are exercise and eating right; harder still are interpersonal relationships and being a decent human being. I'm in a constant process of unlearning toxicity: my manipulative tendencies, my selfishness, my carelessness for other people's feelings. These things developed as protective mechanisms against abusive parents, but as I move into a new stage of life removed from these negative inputs, I feel ready to get help for my mental health problems via long term counseling and medication if necessary. Medication will probably depend on what happens when I go to get a diagnosis. I think that it is likely bipolar II, which is effectively treatable with lithium. Right now I feel very stable but the past few weeks have proved that things can spiral very quickly, very intensely, especially after contact with my parents. I'm seriously considering going no contact after I graduate. Maybe someday I can reconcile with them, but right now there is some need to maintain a separation. Just the other day my mother called me and started to guilt trip me, bringing up hurtful things that happened over a decade ago. My core anxiety is based in the belief that maybe they were right all along and they're wonderful people and I'm simply too sensitive and ungrateful. Of course, there is plenty of evidence otherwise, but I think therapy is necessary to help me fully accept my circumstances.

Sometimes I am frustrated by how these things outside of my control have hampered my ability to live fully. I wonder what I'd be able to accomplish if I had a different childhood, one that didn't leave a burden of mental health problems and trauma. Honestly, either way, I'm probably going to live a fairly unremarkable life. But as long as I can live a life with integrity and always work on self improvement, that seems pretty good. I'm working on accepting the in-betweens: I am not perfect, but I am not a horrible person either. I'm generally a decent human being, but I have my flaws. My environment is not perfect either, but I must accept that this is life. Sometimes my schedule isn't ideal. Sometimes I need to have time to do other things. I can't anticipate all of the things life throws at me, but I can accommodate when there is time in schedule. And yes, maybe I'll be a bit bored, but that's probably better than dying of obligations I can't handle when my mental health downswings. I need to have time for my hobbies, to go out and have fun, to be there for my friends. I have as much control of my life as to not give up on my ideals and not give up on addressing my shortcomings, and as far as I'm concerned, that's not settling.

There is time still for figuring out how to be a responsible adult. I have a year left of college but I'm already excited to graduate and live my life on my own terms. The dream is to get an apartment, get a cat, and work out all the technical details from there. The soft skills, like organization, perseverance, resilience, I have down already. Ideally there will be time and money for personal endeavors and all the things I want to do, like traveling and painting. Above all, the autonomy of living on my own will allow me to continue to develop my identity. I think it's safe to say that I spend an above average amount of time drowned in introspection, but there's so much more to understand about myself.

With this dream comes the urge to completely start afresh and isolate from everything I know now. Granted there are some people who I do need to distance myself from, but despite my insecurities, I need to remember I do have real friends who care for me, even if they don't show it all the time. Consequently, I am making an effort to appreciate my friends who are there for me even when I'm not able to be a good friend. They are so important in part because they represent positive external reinforcement to validate the internal thought processes around the good and bad aspects of my life. I am capable of validating myself but sometimes it is exhausting, and it is ok to let others help. Furthermore it is necessary to reciprocally support them too, especially during times like finals when everyone is stressed. My deficient mental health is not an excuse to hurt people, ever, and if there are inadvertent consequences, it is my responsibility to make sure that my friends are ok too, as soon as I am able.

On a final note regarding mental health, in honor of Mental Health Awareness Month, I'm moving toward a more realistic approach to handling my mental health. I'm going to have to accept that it takes more time and energy than I'm currently allowing myself to expend. I'm trying to convince myself that it's the responsible thing to do to actively maintain my mental health instead of ignoring it, letting it fester and deteriorate to the point of crisis. When I write it out like that, it does indeed sound reasonable, but for some reason I can't help but feel like I'm being lazy or making excuses when I'm in the midst of a mental health trough. For some reason I feel like I don't deserve the extensions and accommodations; it's difficult to accept that this is my reality when I want it to be different. A part of my reality is that I need to stop and think, "Hmmm, I'm feeling vaguely suicidal, maybe something is wrong and I should stop," instead of feeling like I'm deficient for feeling that way and getting more stressed. I want to work but my brain is not able and I don't know why. I don't have an excuse, because this is not an excuse. It's time I show myself the sympathy I would show for other people. ◊

Existing // Momentum

From time to time, it strikes me how severe my mental health problems are. This weekend has been the lowest I've felt in a very long time. Depression and panic attacks I typically can handle, but being legitimately suicidal again is something that I don't know how to fix. I was horrified to suddenly realize: I am 19 years old, and I want to die. There are so many things wrong with that. I am so young, so full of potential, so excited for the things that will be happening in my life. I have no idea why I want to die. Yet at the same time, my brain has abandoned its biological purpose of self preservation in favor of an overwhelming impulse to self destruct. This is not okay.

With that in mind, it's not surprising that it's taking all my energy to be alive. All I'm capable of is existing — not knowing what to think, not knowing what to do — struggling to keeping moving, going through the motions, clutching my phone desperately looking for a distraction. I've been latching on from friend to friend to stay alive, knowing as long as I am in another person's presence, at the very least, I won't do anything impulsive. So far it's been working, and I could cry over how lucky I am to have friends who are willing to be there for me and care about me when I'm not capable of doing that myself. I know it must be frustrating to want to help, but not knowing how to fix the problem, especially when I am not sure what the problem is. But their existence has kept me existing, and I am forever grateful.

//



There is so little time left in the semester and so much left to do. I've been trying to catch up on my essays and assignments, but I've been running into a mental block every time I open up my computer and stare at a Word file. Wanting to do more than simply exist in a miserable, unproductive state, I went out for a walk around campus. I had no goal, no destination in mind; I was simply trying to get out of my head and do something, anything. I was hoping it would kickstart my motivation, that after the walk everything would be fixed and I could do things again, but this turned out not to be the case.

Later that day, I ended up at my friend Dana's house. I sat around and played with her cat, Fish, for a bit, but there wasn't much I was capable of doing at that point. A few hours later, she invited me to come with her to the gym. It is true that exercise helps with mood stabilization, but it is useless to say to someone with depression, "You should go get some exercise," which is usually what I encounter. In this case, by inviting me along, I felt reassured that she wanted me around, but I also was able to try something new without having to confront an unfamiliar environment. The exercise in and of itself also helped. I'm hoping starting a new habit can help me restart my ability to do my essays.

I think I have figured out why I can't complete any assignments yet. I had built up so much momentum this semester with everything I was doing. All of sudden, the incidents over spring break brought that ability to perform to a screeching halt. Trying to immediately resume performing at the level I was at before spring break felt like an insurmountable obstacle. I'm trying to incrementally ease myself back into a heavy workload, but without some kinds of accommodations, I don't think it's realistic to achieve the lofty goals I had at the beginning of the semester, grade-wise.

The reality is that I need to have an identity outside of my work, or at the moment, my academics. It is satisfying to accomplish things and earn good grades, but attaching my self worth to an assignment is easily a problem. I may have said this before, but I really need to make self care as a priority. Spending time with friends and doing things I enjoy should not be an afterthought for when I have some extra time. I need to give eating, entertainment, and exercise its proper consideration in my schedule to be fulfilled as a person. ◊

Another Existential Crisis?

It is finally, finally spring break. I've cleaned the entire apartment (I even bought fabric Febreze!), sorted out all the minor tasks that I totally had time for but didn't feel obligated to do while I had essays, and napped for about 36 hours straight. The plan for tonight is movie and spa night, then more minor tasks and sleep, and then after Monday, back to work on essays. While I'm at it, I'm trying to get back into a regimented mindset to get shit done. It's been a weird semester, and March has been the weirdest month of all.

The first round of essay midterm grades were returned at the beginning of this week, something I've been mulling over all week. After getting an A- and two As, including the high score for a class, I received a C for ED182AC. It really threw me off — I know I'm not a bad writer, clearly, from the highest scoring essay for my other class, but nevertheless, the existential despair once again set in. The grade option change deadline just passed on Friday, so whether I like it or not, I'm going to have to put my nose to the grindstone and take whatever grade comes at the end of the semester.

I keep telling myself to hold out and take the stress because it's going to be the last semester of academic grind. Five classes is a bit much, and maybe aiming for 3 A's and 2 A-'s at least this semester is a bit ambitious, but I think it's doable. I'd then have to get 4 A's and 3 A-'s minimum for my last two semesters in order to achieve a 3.8 GPA. Of course, I could also take an easy A GPA boosting class my last semester, or take the 8-unit Greek course I'm planning to do for fun for a grade instead, but that feels like cheating somehow.

For my last year I want to shift toward a more career oriented focus, learning about certifications and experience and whatnot. It's frustrating to think about everything I need to do in order to get to my ideal career because I expect instant gratification, but everything I want to do not only needs a degree, but also years of experience. I don't want to be schlepping through mediocre positions for five years after I graduate — I want to make a real difference doing real work. It is every college student's constant conundrum: what am I going to do when I graduate?

At this point, my best course for action seems to be Teach For America. I can simultaneously get work experience, a certification, and maybe even a Master's degree if my location has a joint program with a local university. If I do go that route, I'm interested in a Master's in Public Administration (or Education Policy, haven't figured out the specifics). It's reassuring at least knowing that I'm building enthusiasm toward a career in public school administration.

To me, making a plan is reassuring, rather than being anxiety inducing as it may be for other people. But of course, I am not without my doubts. Once again, there's anxiety about over-promising and under-delivering, but this is the goal I've set myself to work towards and I am putting in the effort to make it happen. I also realize that this decision to work hard for one more semester feels like falling into the trap of once again thinking, "After this thing happens, I will be happy." I'm not yet sure how to confront this one, but I'm ready to pursue personal growth and character development, even if it may be painful. With little over a month left of Spring 2017 and so much yet to happen, there's nothing to do but try my best and embrace it, come what may. ◊

Play Hard Work Hard

Things are starting to look up again this semester: I interviewed for a D.C. non-profit (and I think it went well!), I received A's on two of my midterm essays, and I finished my application for a fellowship a whole hour ahead of when I thought it was due (hence, now having time to blog). Granted, there is still a ton of stuff to do, but I'm incredibly satisfied with everything I've accomplished this weekend. One more week of classes and meetings, and a ten page paper due Friday, and then I'm free for Spring Break. Arguably, Spring Break will be just as busy as I catch up on appointments, but I am definitely looking forward to having some time to rest and not traipse around campus all day.

Sometimes when I feel this happy, I get anxious because I start thinking about all the things I still need to do; this time, the satisfaction feels well deserved. One night, when I was so stressed I couldn't even stay asleep, I tried to listen to music to calm myself, and inadvertently played a few of Lorde's old songs. I don't know how, but I instantly felt my stress melt away. The line that resonated with me the most from those moments was from "Tennis Court:"

"Because I'm doing this for the thrill of it, killin' it // Never not chasing the million things I want"

Between midterm papers to extracurricular meetings, I'm starting to really embrace the notion of work hard, play hard. Despite the busy week last week, I still committed the time to plan and throw a surprise party for Anisha, a fact that I'm proud of not only because she deserves the occasion to be valued and celebrated, but also because it proved to me that grades and academics are not the most important thing in life.

That said, I think part of the reason why I have been enjoying my academics lately as well is the greater incidence of "fun" events. Though I strive to "work hard, play hard," what ends up happening more so than not is that I work hard at the expense of play hard — and I enjoy it, the thrill of it, killin' it, chasing the million things I want. However, it's been making more sense to me that the notion of play hard must be available to motivate the work hard. Otherwise, the existential despair of "what is the point" starts to settle in. With that in mind, I am going to continue to work hard, but also prioritize things happening outside of my academics. ◊