This has truly been a strange and unprecedented time. This is something we know. This is something we’ve known. Nothing shocking here. What I say next will not be mind-blowing, controversial, or surprising. I miss the little things. That’s the thing I’ve realized the most during social distancing. The greatest lesson has been counting my blessings, appreciating what I have, and not taking anything for granted. I’m someone who likes routine, needs a schedule, prefers structure. What can I say? I’m a creature of habit, I like to keep my mind organized. Having these things helps me feel balanced. Helps me feel a sense of worth, a sense of accomplishment. It helps me not feel like I’m sitting around wasting my time, which I feel like I’m wont to do when completely left to my own devices. I mean what was I doing for the last 5 years? Slowly eroding. Wasting away at the same dead end job, hoping and praying for greater things but not seeking them out. Wallowing in self-pity and regret. Feeling sorry for myself and not understanding that I was made for more than this. So much more than this. Not maximizing my potential or taking advantage of my skillset. I have a gift. You know it, I know it, everybody knows it. But I needed to unlock it and unleash it. Stop giving a fuck about what people “expected.” Stop making up the same bullshit excuses. I’ll write when I feel like it. I’ll write when I’m inspired. I’ll write when I’m in a work environment that facilitates it. SHUT THE FUCK UP!

Stop talking and just write. Write because it’s healthy, write because it’s what you do, write because you have to, write because you want to. Don’t worry about acceptance, don’t worry about approval. As long as I’m happy with my writing nothing else matters. The only expectations that matter are my expectations for myself. I expect greatness, I want greatness, and I need greatness. The person I was before no longer exists. I can’t let it. I’m not happy with that version of myself, and I don’t want to be. I spent so many years afraid of failure, afraid of success. I was, am, and will be risk averse. I accept that. I will never be closer to the “risk-taker” end of the spectrum. But that’s just it. It’s a spectrum, like most things in life. Nothing is ever black and white. Don’t forget that, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, cause it’s just simply not true. I’ll keep my sights focused on the present and the future. The past is the past. Sure, there has been plenty of lost time, but I’m not going to fixate on that; I’m not going to feel like I need to make up for it. I’ve learned from my mistakes, no sense in holding onto that. Looking backward doesn’t promote growth. You have to constantly look onwards and upwards.

One of the most important steps for me was to realize that I could no longer be content with where I was at. I know I mention this post after post, but it’s essential. For many people routine is good. Having a structure in place keeps your mind busy. After all, “an idle mind is the devil’s workshop,” as they say. But understand this. At some point you outgrow your system. At some point your habitual activity will no longer be beneficial to you. It will happen time and time again, time after time. It’s a part of life. It’ll happen 20, 30, 50, hundreds of times. You just need to know how to cope with it, and not be too upset when the inevitable happens. Don’t think, just act. Every so often you’ll need to step out of your comfort zone. Release the sentimentality you feel toward your daily cycle, and move on. There’s a time for sowing, a time for growing, a time for pruning, a time for harvest. Each season provides a greater and greater reward. And for us as humans, to be the best version of ourselves each and every day we must spend time in each. There are some things that will stick with you, there are some that will leave you, there are some you will have to leave. Each day we are getting older. Each day cells die and regrow. The person you are today, physically is not the person you were yesterday. So why should your mentality be any different? Each day is a new day, each day is a different day. If your mantra is, “same shit, different day,” it’s time for a change. Find a hobby that interests you. Find a job that challenges you. Find something that makes you feel productive. Find a pursuit that’s worth your while. Routine is good. But routine needs to be changed. It needs to be infused with a breath of life.

2020 is a breath of life. There’s a silver lining beneath every hardship. Nothing is as bad as it seems. There’s always a way out. The year 2020 started out strong. This was finally our year, our time. We were fully in control of our life trajectory for the first time ever. Things were on the up and up, we looked better than ever. But along came Covid-19, and it completely disrupted the flow of everything. Life was put on pause, the economy stagnated. But what can we do about it? Medical responders are fighting the battle for us on the frontline. But for the rest of us? We can do pretty much nothing. We just have to wait it out and be patient. Let the virus run its course. But when it’s run its course, we’ll be back stronger than ever. You may not have realized this, but this quarantine was absolutely necessary. Life in the US, especially in the Northeast, is fast-paced, achievement oriented. Making your way to the top is cutthroat and competitive. Sometimes the most efficient path is not the most ethical or legitimate. A lot of times finding new opportunities depends on who you know; it requires maintaining a wide net. This virus has given us a chance to take a step back from it all. Some people were laid off, some worked from home the whole time, others had regular work weeks; but no one had the same environment in March/April/May that they had in January and February. I can guarantee that. Changes were made, precautions taken. Normal everyday life ceased to exist. Some states have reopened, others like New York have a plan in place but remain closed. It will take some time for things to get back to “normal.” They may not ever get back to normal. But that’s okay. We have to accept that. It’s fates way of telling us that change was needed.

And sooner or later, the new normal will feel like the normal normal. And we’ll forget what normal was like before. We’re humans; we learn, grow, and adapt. We’re flexible. We roll with the punches, take what life gives us. But still, we want to feel a sense of normalcy. We want to be able to say that although things are different, we are still okay. The easiest way to do that is to find things that you know, things that you’re comfortable with, and cling to them. But be wary of the things you cling to. Some habits, hobbies, interests are no longer beneficial to you. You and it are no longer compatible. It’s tough learning to let go, but sometimes you have to. In my high school days, I played a lot of guitar. I wasn’t very good at it, but younger me would never have known that. It was one of the few things I was interested in, so I put in a lot of hours practicing. But at some point I outgrew it. I went to college, found new interests, and I no longer had time for it. I left it behind in my past life. I no longer needed it and we went our separate ways. There may be a time in the future when I pick it back up, but that hasn’t happened as of yet. I haven’t had the desire to do so, and it’s okay. Life moves on, I found other things to fill up my time. Things that are more important to me like reading, writing, doing crosswords and puzzles. I adapted, I changed, I found my new normal.

Where’d I learn this from? I dunno. Maybe society. Maybe from my dad. Probably from my dad. Most definitely from my dad. It’s only recently occurred to me that I’ve learned and inherited quite a lot from him. Wide shoulders, skinny calves, I have his exact body shape. His desire to learn, his constant seeking of knowledge, his ranting about his passions. His stubbornness, his shyness, his anti-social tendencies. Growing up I always wanted to be different from him. Even from the womb. My scheduled due date was August 21st, the same birthday as his, but by some twist of fate or incredible fetal desire I arrived two weeks early, on the 7th. And with that, destiny was changed. Or so I’d like to think. As a kid, I looked like my mom, as a momma’s boy I spent a lot of time around her. My dad was always quiet, reserved, and distant. I hated that. I was a bit of an attention seeker. It might’ve been middle child syndrome, or it may have been because I had an incomplete understanding of who I was and who I wanted to be. Either way, I was definitely a contrarian. I was different for the sake of being different. I guess I wanted to be special and unique in other people’s eyes. This is the cost of puberty. You don’t understand that you just need to find yourself and be yourself. You don’t need to try to be someone else or act like someone you’re not. But that’s life. You learn about your naivety and ignorance. You assimilate and you grow.

As I got older, not only did I start to look more like my dad, but I unwittingly started acting and thinking more like him too. As a college student, I became a knowledge seeker, an academic. I started to care about my grades, which may have been too little too late. Before college I never valued myself very highly. I didn’t think I was smart or have potential, so I didn’t push myself. It didn’t occur to me that I had spent a decade and a half coasting on my natural talent. My warped sense of self led to many years of pain and pent up emotion. I was clouded by my unresolved rage and aggression. And I was also blinded by my delusions. Delusions caused by lack of restful sleep, of adequate rest. I spent the majority of my formative years staying up late on Fridays and Saturdays, in the basement, on the computer, unbeknownst to my parents. I’ll leave that up to your imagination. As expected, this twisted and distorted the way I viewed women, and the way I viewed relationships. But it’s not always evident how important sleep is to a developing teen. Your parents constantly tell you how important it is, but the rebellious you doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t want to listen. But mother’s intuition is almost always right. At the time, not getting enough sleep also greatly affected the way my mind worked. I was convinced that the world was going to end soon, and I bought into other lies that I kept telling myself. I was in my own world, with a complete lack of self-awareness. But playing in the background, it also affected who I would become in later years, and further stunted my growth. I’ve said before that I didn’t know where the depression came from, but I think I can sense the true root of it now. It stemmed from the guilt of my sins, the strength of my delusions, and the false impressions I had of my own character. My mindset was upside down, and my coping mechanisms were faulty. I didn’t know any better, and I didn’t know anyone who could teach me differently. But that’s how it goes. You won’t always have a mentor or a peer to help you along the way. Sometimes you have to figure things out on your own.

This soon became evident as I actually became interested in my studies. When I was young my mom used to take us to the library on a regular basis. I spent a lot of time in my childhood playing with Legos and reading books. But as I got older, I gradually read less and less. When hi-speed internet and PS2 became a thing, you can just forget about it. As a pre-teen, reading was seen as uncool and nerdy (little did I know…). The only reading I did by the time I got to high school were the books that were assigned to us in class. Cause when push came to shove, I was still a good kid who followed the rules, who did the homework. In my senior year of high school, I was lucky to have an English teacher who was overly enthusiastic and excited about the material that he was teaching. He made reading fun, and it piqued my interest. In college after a bad first semester I quickly realized that I actually had to learn for real. There was no more coasting. As a business major I was required to also have a double major or a minor in a separate field. I had chosen sociology on a whim. I had taken a sociology class in high school, and I found it really interesting. Little did I know, but it would change my life. Taking sociology classes, especially women’s studies, flipped my world upside down; tore apart my world views; and broke my misconceptions. It stopped me from becoming the racist, homophobic, sexist bigot that I was well on the way to becoming. Once I started learning about myself and finding flaws that needed to be changed and/or fixed, I started to understand that knowledge is power. The more you know, the easier it is for you to adapt. The more you discover for yourself, the less susceptible you are to being blinded by absolute truth that hasn’t been questioned. The more you learn, the easier it is for you to discern what is right or wrong, what is true or false.

And thus, I decided I wasn’t going to take any easy A classes, not if I could help it. University education requires you to take gen-ed classes for a reason, so I was going to make the most of it. I took the classes that seemed the most interesting, and that fit into my schedule. It didn’t always work out, some of these classes turned out to be snoozefests, but at least I tried them out. Which in a way is how my dad has always approached life. As I grow older, I start to understand him and respect him more and more. I don’t know if I’ll ever truly feel close to him, especially in conversation, but at least we’re trying now. We are too similar in certain ways for either one of us to push the envelope of our relationship. My dad communicates to me in his own way — via email. Which is perfectly okay. We’re both better able to express ourselves via text than we are verbally anyway. Early on in the process, my therapist had met with my parents to get a better understanding of my upbringing and background. One thing that she had told my dad was that he needed to talk to me more. He admitted that he didn’t know how or what to say, but he understood that in order for me to get better, more effort was needed from all parties. She suggested that he try emailing me. That way he could speak to me at his own pace and also give him time to think. He took that to heart, and that’s been our primary form of communication the last year and a half. I feel like I’ve learned so much more about him from our email correspondence than I have from actually talking to him. The trouble is, when I’m with him I just can’t think of the right things to say. We’re both just so deeply lost in thought. But that’s exactly where I get it from, the spaciness and aloofness, the methodical and thorough thinking. But most importantly the desire to learn.

My dad has always found new hobbies. Always. Every couple of months he’s doing something different. That’s what makes him so interesting. For as long as I remember, he’s always had a niche project to whittle away his time. It comes with the nature of being a biochemist I assume. The introvert tinkerer, always wanting to find how things work, and to figure things out for himself. He’s always been pretty handy, so his hobby-seeking has usually revolved around making practical things. There are some hobbies that came and went, such as making our back deck/patio, making Adirondack chairs, and reupholstering furniture. Or my personal favorite:  recording TV movies on VHS and cataloging them. There are some that he has stuck with like gardening, cooking, photography. And there is at least one that he had let go of and is now returning to – painting. I’d like to think that he’s been inspired by his niece who has been painting a lot in these dark times, but I don’t know for sure. All I know is that he rediscovered a passion of his and he’s pursuing it, similar to how I rediscovered my love of writing. Even as a septuagenarian he is following and realizing his dreams, still grinding, still working on new skills, still learning new things. He doesn’t talk much, but I won’t hesitate to call my dad the most interesting person in the world, and who’s to stop me?

And so as our quarantine slowly peters out, I can confidently say that things won’t be the same, but I’m better for it. It’s been tough. At first I thought it would be easy peasy, no problem. It’s not like I go out much anyway, it was an introvert’s dream. But as March turned into April, and as April turned into May, I started thinking enough of this already. The lack of sports hurt. The unexpected extension of the Stay-at-Home mandate in May hurt. I was so ready for it to be over. But just because we’re at the tail-end doesn’t mean you should let up your guard. The virus is still out there, it’s still contagious. Stay wary. We were living too carefree, too oblivious to the hidden dangers of the world. The same can be said of our current administration. We were too ignorant, too in the dark. If anything has come of this miserable four years, we now know where everyone stands. You’re either with us or against us. You’re for the oppressed, or you’re for the oppressor. Life as we know it will never be the same. But we’re better for it. If we’re united, we can fight. #BLACKLIVESMATTER Change is coming. In what form, we know not. And this will be an ongoing struggle, it has been an ongoing struggle. But it will not stop until change arrives. We are not post-racial. Wake up. We talk of the Civil Rights Movement as a bygone era. Been there, done that. But it’s not. We’re living it. We’re gonna be living it until we have equal rights, equal treatment, equal pay for all. Until there is no longer an Other. Until there is no longer an Us and Them.

I cannot speak about the struggles endured by other ethnic groups. As an Asian-American I’ve had it pretty good. Nothing I say or do can make up for the pain, and the hardship that our Black, Middle-Eastern, and Native American brothers and sisters (amongst others) have had to withstand. But the least I can do is try to empathize and understand and support. Yellow Peril Supports Black Power. It’s time for us to stop being comfortable with being the model minority, and take a stand. This is our fight too. If we stay silent, we have taken a stand with the opposition. Being silent is being complicit. We have to question everything. Question the institution. Question the system. Question ourselves. Are we doing enough? Are we using our platform to promote love and equality? Are we speaking up for those who can’t speak for themselves? We were put in this position for a reason. Each group has its own unique struggles, and thus each group has its own voice. But each voice has not been loud enough, each voice has not been heard. The voice has been silenced by the oppressor. But we are POC. We are resilient, we are strong, we are united. We raise our collective voice to the heavens and shout for justice. We just want to be heard. We just want to be treated as equals. We want change. Nothing more, nothing less. In this pandemic and quarantine we yearn for a sense of normalcy, while we experience a sense of loss. But know, that there are things much bigger than this. It’s okay, we’ll make it through. But change is needed, change is wanted. We won’t settle until we get what’s ours.