Hello, World

Hey. Hello. Sorry. 

I haven’t posted for a long time, and today is the day that I tell myself to just write something, anything, to share it with the world and get back to the habit. 

I didn’t stop writing. I made progress on my novel The Promises of the Wilderness and I kept a journal about things that are the most important to me. I had something that I really care about and wanted to share, but I put too much pressure on myself and my anxiety started to act up and I ended up not being able to do it.

I have done a lot in the past month. I read lots of books, went to a fascinating field school, and started a new relationship. I slept in and watched Netflix in a bathtub (don’t worry, there wasn’t any water) and took care of myself. I went to the pride parade and grew more comfortable in my identity. I went to the mall and got ice cream with my roommate and walked barefoot in the grass to watch the sky. I took sunset photos every day because often times we forget how beautiful the earth is, from pink to orange to purple to blue. 

I write this blog post because it’s something I really like to do, and so many times I gave up (or worse, never started) things I love due to fear and anxiety, and this time I don’t want to.

It stormed several times the past week. Once when I was driving to a friend’s house, the rain was so heavy that I couldn’t see what was in front of me. I was frightened. Another afternoon, the thunder was roaring so angrily that even though I hid under the blankets in the bathtub, it haunted me until I was unable to breathe. Even narrow spaces were no longer safe enough. I’m writing this while listening to the fireworks that sound like bombs (I’m sorry but they do) and my anxiety is currently too much for me to watch fireworks.

I knew my fears are irrational. Anxiety is irrational. 

But I safely arrived at my friend’s house and we had fun hanging out. My significant other supported me through the rough times and I did not have an anxiety attack. (In fact, I haven’t had an anxiety attack since February. It almost got me a few times, but I learned more about how to manage my anxiety and things that trigger me. When I saw it coming, I turned up my music and told myself to breathe and reached out to someone, and I got over it.) My roommate just made me hot tea. I ate two cinnamon sticks. My version is not blurry anymore and I write this blog post, even though my body is still shivering.

It got better, and it will get better. Not immediately, because everything is a process. But it does get better, I promise. There are no happy endings, only happy middles. 

The sky was dyed from blue to pink from fireworks.

Happy Fourth of July!

I am grateful that I came to America. America isn’t perfect. I hesitate to say this, but it’s far from perfect. If you’re not white, male, straight, cisgender, Christian, upper-middle class, able-bodied, etc., life can be even more difficult. Terrible things are happening in detention camps (or concentration camps, as someone accurately describes). We’re allowed to be proud, but we’re also allowed to be angry. People told me that it’s not my country and thus not my place to judge. But my friends and my chosen family are here. I care deeply about this place, and I want to be a part of the change that makes it better.

Like many people in my generation, I want to change the world one day. Baby steps.

~ Ocean ~

Merging Into Another Culture

When I decided to come to America, I had no idea what I was getting into.

I was fourteen years old, and despite the adversities I endured, naive and unsophisticated. I exceedingly underestimated the cultural difference and overestimated the quality of the social rules my no-often-around parents taught me. When someone told me I should say “can I please use the sink water” instead of “I’m gonna use the water sink”, I was enraged and ashamed.

Since then, I had always been afraid that people will find out something uncouth about me.

When I look back, it’s less about cultural difference and more about social interactions. Spending all of my childhood weekends alone and never really talked to anybody besides my one best friend in the boarding school (spoiler: we broke up), I never learned how to interact with other human beings. The misunderstandings caused by language and the cultural difference just magnified the problem. 

The fear still exists, but I’ve learned a lot about American customs.

There are millions of unspoken social rules in this country, in this area, even in our tiny high school. I observed and analyzed how others behave and imitated them. I made countless mistakes, recovered, and learned from them. I felt a secret accomplishment each time someone asked how long have I been here and dropped their jaws when they heard the answer. Your English is really good, they said, and you seem so American.

I’m proud of my adaptability, but did I lose myself?

In a casual conversation, one of my friends mentioned that they admire people who came to America but kept their own cultural identity. She wasn’t referring me, but the incident made me wonder: did I keep my cultural identity? Off the top of my head, the answer is no. I say “oh my god” and swear like any other American teenager. 

How can you still be yourself when you can’t find a hint about where you come from?

Sure, I have yellow skin and black hair. Stereotypically speaking (by the way, I hate stereotypes), I’m good at math. But I haven’t practiced my native tongue except for the occasional phone calls with my parents. I have wondered if I am cold-blooded by not feeling joy when I see someone with the same heritage. But there is nothing wrong with being indifferent with race, is it? I guess in a foreign place, people who came from the same country are supposed to help each other out. America isn’t a foreign place, it’s my second home. But I admire other transplants and use my experience to help them. 

I haven’t forgotten where I came from.

Since a young age, I was fascinated by the rich, enchanting culture of ancient Asia. How the language evolved in thousands of years, how empire raised and fell, and the food……omg. THE FOOD. It would be a lie if I say I didn’t miss Asian cuisine at least a tiny bit.

Sometimes I think that if I stayed, I’d be a completely different person. This realization terrifies and excites me. I’m content with where I am now and I will stay in America because of the culture, the possibilities, and my friends. Not gonna lie, last time I went back to my native country, I had a culture shock. I didn’t have any culture shock where I came here……

So maybe, this is the place where I’m meant to be?