Tag Archives: Writing

Art, Changing, Discovery, Loss, Poetry, Writing

No Longer

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You were once my hero
You were once a saint
Worshipped by the people
No harder worker than you
Revered and exalted
Lifted on high

You were once our hero
No better role model for the younger generation
Venerated and worshipped
Crème de la crème
But those days are gone
Those days are over

You are not my hero
You are not my saint
You were once my everything
Who I modeled myself after
Who I wanted to be
You are now my nothing
And I don’t know what they see
Not a shining example to follow
Not who I want to be

The fame went to your head
The success made you arrogant
The quality of work dropped
But you were too blind to see
Refusing to acquiesce to anything 
But your desired to pump content
Your desire to bloat your catalog

You were once my hero
You were once my saint
But you are nothing
No longer anything to me

You were once my hero
And that’s all you’ll ever be
Someone I looked up to once before
But never again
Someone I modeled my life after
But no longer
A has been, an also-ran, washed up

No longer a paragon, no longer the ideal
I’ve outgrown my need for you
You’ve outgrown your use
You may influence other youth
But for me, I will find a different truth

Art, Changing, Discovery, Dreaming, Growth, Healing, Mental Health, Mindfulness, Self-Care, Self-Love, Wellness, Writing

When the Day Comes

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“Amazing things are going to happen for you this year, 2023 is your year,” my therapist declared a few months ago. It didn’t really take much convincing on her part—I had already told myself that several times. But it was good to hear it from someone else. Everyone needs a little bit of affirmation. Even the most confident individual has moments of doubt.

As I start to wind down again with my therapy sessions it’s good to take a moment to reflect. This is my second real stint with therapy (there was also a stretch in college that I don’t count), and it was just as helpful and informative as the previous one. I was willing to go back because I know that it works, I’ve seen it in action. I’ve made meaningful changes to my thought process and life style. And I came out of it a changed man. 

However, my reasons for going were different this time. When I first went between 2018 and 2020 I was depressed, anxiety-ridden, and lacking confidence. I was melancholy and pessimistic. Putzing through life with no direction. Looking for meaning but lacking purpose. Not coping with stress and adversity in a healthy way. This time around, I wasn’t in a state of emotional distress. My mental illnesses hadn’t come back to haunt. But I was looking for answers, and it’s safe to say I found some. 

Many of you know by now that I’ve gone off the beaten path, but this might be new to some. In February of last year I stopped doing the 9-5 thing. I’ve come to realize that it’s not what God intended for me. There are much bigger things in store, and a standard workplace limits me from reaching my full potential. My time and focus were being spent on something that I wasn’t interested in and didn’t feel fulfilling. I wasn’t making the best use of my talents and abilities. My greatest strength—my command of the English language in written form—was something I wasn’t able to display properly. The seed of talent had always been there, but because I wasn’t watering it, it had no room to grow. In order to facilitate that, I needed to step out of my comfort zone (yet again) and try something different. Leaving the work force entirely wasn’t the first step, but it was the most meaningful one. But just because I’m not “working a real job” doesn’t mean that I’m not hard at work. You could even argue that I’m working harder than ever. 

Unfortunately, in my line of work, progress and improvement aren’t always the most tangible. Comes with the territory. In more obscure or subjective fields it’s easy to overlook the amount of talent and the effort it takes to excel. For some who are more academically inclined it’s hard to see the merit in artistry, but everyone listens to music right? Everyone appreciates visual art. Everyone loves a good story. It just may not necessarily be in written form. At the end of the day though, everything comes down to storytelling. A song tells a story. A movie tells a story. A painting tells a story. And with each written story (so to speak) comes an untold backstory. 

We don’t see the effort that’s put into perfecting one’s craft. We don’t see the fuckups and the failures. We don’t see the process and the progress, only the finished product. We’re more than capable of judging the finished product (everyone is entitled to their own opinions), but unless we’ve been in someone else’s shoes it’s hard for us to understand the process, let alone judge it. In creative fields such as these it’s hard to say what the process should even look like. It’s different for each individual. There’s no standard operating procedure, there’s not really a rulebook. Steps may overlap but they may also differ. That becomes more clear to me the farther along I get in my journey. 

And boy has it been a journey with several twists and turns. I wouldn’t want it any other way, however. If everything always turns out as expected then it gets easy to get complacent, and to stop challenging yourself to reach greater heights. I’ve said before that complacency is the enemy of growth. You seek comfort in life, but you don’t want to get too comfortable—you need to find a balance. You want to constantly be bettering yourself, to be learning more. After all, the latest version should always be the best version. That’s why the process is so important. I wouldn’t have found out certain things about my craft if I hadn’t tried them. When it comes down to it, life is just an unending series of trial & error. 

That’s just how it goes right? We’re just trying things out to see if they stick. Career-wise, parenting-wise, life style-wise. It’s not unique to writing specifically, or artistry in general. We’re all figuring things out as we go along. We spend hours practicing and tinkering. Nothing I write is perfect on the first try—not my blog posts, not my poems, not the chapters for the novel/series I’m working on. I’m always switching words around, deleting sentences, and changing scenes. I’m trying things until I find something that works. This is the same for painters, musicians, and sculptors. For researchers, businessmen, and athletes. We’re all trying to hone our technique, and perfect our craft. Trying to make the best product possible. 

That’s what brought me back to therapy. Some of the things I had tried were no longer working as effectively. Like I said, I was looking for answers. Not the answers to life’s questions, but I needed to know what was next. As you know, 2020 was the year that I started writing in earnest. I had just quit a job that had become far too taxing on my mental health. The plan was to take a few weeks off to detox and debrief. But I am not the type that is willing to sit still for extended periods of time. After one or two weeks of vacation I start to get antsy, feeling like I need to do something productive. For years, I had been making up excuses and reasons not to write. I no longer had that luxury—I had run out of reasons. The time had come for me to embark on my journey. And I’ve learned so much in the last three and a half years since.

Through that time, my confidence has not wavered that much. But for a while, that confidence was unwarranted. I wasn’t where I needed to be as a writer, and I didn’t even know it. Part of it was ignorance, and part of it was naivety, but an even greater part of it was the fact that the start of my journey coincided with the start of COVID. Unbeknownst to me I was writing in isolation. I didn’t have any outside input or feedback of any kind, and that held me back as a writer. I didn’t have an accurate gauge for my ability. And I didn’t have a realistic outlook for where I stood. I didn’t even talk about things in the right way. The way I was approaching my journey was all wrong, but you live and you learn. I think about things differently now and that’s what matters.

I know what steps I need to take to get to where I want to go. I know what aspects of my writing are my strengths, and where I need improvement. I didn’t necessarily need to see a therapist in order to find this out, but it certainly helped. What I needed was someone to bounce ideas off of. What I needed was a greater goal in mind that would keep me motivated. What I needed was to be willing to try new things. I needed to approach this with an open mind. I can say with confidence that doing that has allowed me to get the most out of therapy. Like many things in life, you get out of it what you put into it. Therapy works, but only if you do your part. You have to be open and honest with yourself and with your therapist. You have to be willing to uncover your past trauma in order to move on. You have to be able to embrace the pain in order to bring about healing. 

All this was stuff I had already worked on the first time around. My mental health didn’t need fixing, but that doesn’t mean that none of this was relevant. Going into this second stint with this new perspective was interesting to say the least. You don’t often see a healed individual back in therapy again, unless they’ve suffered a setback. That was the position I was at. I was able to sit across from my therapist, look her in the eye and tell her, in person, that therapy works and that it healed me. That was as much a blessing for me as it was for her. But there were reasons why I found myself back in that office. 

Similar to the circumstances surrounding my first stint, I had found myself in a bit of a rut, feeling stuck. For two years I had been writing in my free time while working a 9-5. My intention had been to finish my manuscript, get it sent out, then quit my job. I thought I had arrived, but turns out that I still had a long ways to go, and had a lot more that I needed to learn. I had spent the time thinking I knew how to write, when in fact I was only just learning how to. I had allowed hubris to get the better of me. For the past few years, I’ve tried to approach life acting like I know nothing and that there’s everything left to learn. Unfortunately, I had lost sight of that—thinking that I was better than I was. I naively thought that once I finished writing my manuscript that it would be ready for publication. I’ve since disavowed myself of that notion and I’m much better for it. 

As it happened, I ended up quitting my job before I finished my manuscript, although I had set an arbitrary deadline for when I expected it to be completed. I quit with the expectation that spending more time on my writing would help me to improve as a writer, and it did for a time. But the gains were limited and that took me by surprise. By the time the summer rolled around, I was feeling tired and burnt out. I had cranked out around thirty chapters (out of a planned forty-five), and there seemed to be no end in sight. There were serious issues with my story and I didn’t know how to fix them. I started regretting the decision I had made to quit my job, wondering if I was, in fact, built for this. It took some time for me to come to the conclusion, but eventually, I realized that I needed therapy once again.

Fast forward about a year, and my manuscript is still unfinished and therefore not yet available for public consumption. I have too much pride to show a work in progress to people I care about. But that doesn’t mean that no one has seen it. That’s the main difference between this year and last—I’m no longer writing alone on my creativity island. I have since found an online community of like-minded individuals who are looking to accomplish the same dream as me. Last year I was spending way too much energy worrying about “what comes after.” I didn’t have writer friends in real life, but I was wondering if I could use what friends I did have to help me with editing and revisions when the time came. I was putting the cart before the horse—this energy would’ve been better used focusing on becoming a better writer and on finding a writing group. That being said, I’m in a much better spot than I was a year ago. I stopped stagnating and I started improving again. I talk differently, and I think differently. Nine months of therapy will do that to you. I came out changed before, and I’ve come out changed again. I used to be just a man trying his hand at writing. Now I’m a writer trying to become an author. 

Pursuing my dream wouldn’t have been possible without a reality check. It was inevitable, either I was going to be treated to one early, or I would be treated to one late. Luckily for me, it happened early, and I’m grateful for that. It happened to me before I really had a chance to get rolling, and that’s the best thing that could’ve happened to me. It is going to take hard work either way to get to where I want to go, but I needed to be put in my place. My excessive, unwarranted pride was going to be my undoing if I had allowed it to continue on unchecked. And it was certainly looking that way. The isolation in my personal life and in my writing was a bubble that was getting ready to pop. 

It shouldn’t really have come as a surprise to me even though it did. There is always a limit to how much you can improve on your own. It’s naive to believe otherwise. Oftentimes the best way to learn is through teamwork and collaboration. Why else do they force us into group projects in school? To teach us how to work with others, to show us how to delegate responsibilities, to highlight our strengths and weaknesses. This is a lesson that I needed to be reminded of. I can’t do this on my own—I know that now. My writing style isn’t just my own. It’s a culmination of my stylistic choices, what I’m good at, what/who inspires me, what I learn from people that have gone before me, but most importantly what I learn from my peers. I need to see other people’s writing and to critique it in order to see how I measure up. I need feedback and suggestions, positive and negative criticism. Just because I think that I’m a good writer doesn’t mean that I am one. 

For a while, my confidence outweighed my talent. The potential was there, but my technique needed to be honed and refined. Beneath the crap there was gold, but I needed to uncover it and chip away at the shell. My mistake was not realizing that there was a shell to begin with. For those two and a half years before I went back to therapy, I thought I was closer to the end than I was to the beginning. I had grown a lot as a writer in that time, but little did I know that the growth that came after would be much more meaningful. In the last nine months I’ve been steadily improving the quality of my writing. “New” chapters have been slow, but the rewrites of old ones have been fruitful. The old and new versions are night and day. I’ve started using a new five-color coding system that gives me an idea of what shape each chapter is in—spoiler alert: most of what I wrote wasn’t good enough. I have also developed a more objective sense for what “good writing” entails. I didn’t have that before. 

Oftentimes these days I find myself talking to other people about my writing. (I think) it comes about organically. “What do you do for work/fun,” feels like the right time to talk about it. Sometimes the conversation progresses as expected, but other times it doesn’t. Reactions tend to range from, “oh sweet. When’s it coming out?” to blank stares and apathy. The latter reaction used to really bother me, but it doesn’t so much anymore. I realize now that some people aren’t going to take me seriously until I have published works to show for my hours of toil. It’s hard for some people to see the hard work that goes into an endeavor until it pays off. It is what it is. I used to think I had a good sense for when it would pay off. 

But I’m willing to admit now that I don’t. The truth is, this isn’t entirely in my hands. The writing part is, but what comes after is not. A lot is put into publishing a novel. And a good portion of it is not writing. However, that’s something to worry about down the line. I’ve put the cart before the horse before, and I’m not going back down that road. I know better now. Good things have come in 2023, and they will continue to come if I stay focused. I’ve bettered my craft. I’ve discovered my voice. I’ve gotten into a groove where my level of talent nearly matches my confidence level. I’ve finally come to a place where my writing is good enough. I’ve discarded the shell, and I’m left with ore that needs to be refined. I’ve learned how to write, but it doesn’t mean that I’ve arrived. I still need to chip away and make it shine. Eventually a grand story will emerge, but I can’t rush the process. One day soon the time will come when I can reveal my baby to the world. I don’t know when that day will be, but I assure you it’ll be well worth the wait.

Art, Reflections, Writing

Unbound

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As promised, this is a continuation of my last post. I didn’t cover all the topics that I had meant to cover. To be honest, I didn’t even touch upon the original premise of my post. But that’s okay. Here are several thousand more words for you to consume! My gift to you, free of charge. With that aside, there was more to the conversation I had with my mom than what I was able to cover last time. We didn’t just talk about how I was going to break the news to my dad (that was really only the beginning of our thirty minute conversation). We had also discussed how I felt about my decision, if I was happy, and about my writing in general.

She had made it abundantly clear that she wants to support me in my dream of becoming an author. And I appreciate that, I really do. The thing you desire most from your parents (aside from their time & attention) when you’re growing up is their support and approval. That desire doesn’t really change over time. But the way that you expect it to be expressed does. They say, “you can’t teach an old dog new tricks,” but that statement isn’t really true. Your parents do change through the years. Their demeanor will likely either soften or harden over time. Maybe they stay the same, but your perception of them changes instead. Whatever the case may be, your parents are as capable of change as you are. Fortunately for me, my parents have both softened over time.

My dad has become less aloof, and has started talking more. He doesn’t seem to be in his own head as much. My mom has become less old-school and does not think as conservatively as she used to. Her personality has softened immensely over the years. In the past she used to be more controlling, more keen on getting her way. In recent years that has changed. I feel as though a large part of that is due to me and my struggles. Not to say that my sisters haven’t also gone through shit in their lives. I know they have. I may not know what they’ve gone through, but I know that they’ve gone through something. Everyone goes through things, that’s how life works. But I think the darkness in my life has given my mom a new perspective.

Her priorities have shifted. It seems to me that growing up she was always focused on seeing us succeed, nothing wrong with that. But there also seemed to be an excessive emphasis on maintaining a certain type of reputation. Parents love to brag about their kids, especially Asian parents. I don’t think that is breaking news here. I don’t really get it, and I won’t pretend to understand. But there comes a time when a line needs to be drawn between being proud of your spawn and trying to show off to your friends. I think my mom has begun to understand this. She always had a certain image in mind for each of us, and I know that she was not-so-secretly hoping that we would fit the mold that she envisioned for us. But seeing me grow and develop for thirty years, I think she’s finally come to terms with the fact that I won’t ever fit that mold. I’m too different. So she doesn’t try so hard to do it anymore. She no longer projects her aspirations onto me.

And I love that. I was never meant to fit in a cookie cutter, much less hers. I was meant for bigger and better things. I was never cut out for science, or math, or being a businessman. I was never an inside-the-box kind of guy. I’m me, and I’m proud of me. I appreciate who I am, I appreciate where I’ve come from, and I appreciate where I’m going. I think that after a long period of denial, my mom is finally appreciating and understanding who I really am. And that’s a hard thing to do. I’m a hard person to understand. Finding who I really am had eluded me for 20+ years after all. If I couldn’t understand Justin, then how could anybody else? But without my struggles, there would be no growth. There would be no change. I never would’ve developed. I never would’ve matured. Would it have stunted my mom’s growth as well? It’s hard to say. I can’t really speak to that, I can’t claim things in other people’s lives. But it bears thinking about.

What I do know, is that without the darkness, I never would’ve seen the light. Without knowing what it’s like to be at my lowest, I never would’ve seen how incredible life is. I wouldn’t have been able to appreciate life’s beauty or find the greatness that I’m destined for. In order to find hope in things, you need to know what it’s like to have no hope. When you know what it’s like to live with the absence of hope, you can better understand what hope can do for you. You better appreciate each day that you have, and you cherish each and every one. It may seem counterintuitive. When you’re at your darkest, how do you see the light? How do you find it?

It’s not as difficult to find as you might think. Everyone is stubborn in certain aspects, some more than others. Many of us lack self-awareness when we haven’t found our healing. But no matter how stubborn you are, there always comes a time when you’re at your darkest that you start to accept that things aren’t working. You start to realize that something needs to be done differently. You start to understand that what you know can’t be the only thing that guides you anymore; you start to understand that outside help/advice/knowledge is required. That is the first step on your long journey towards mental/emotional wealth. It may take you months, it may take you years when you’re at your darkest, but eventually you will understand. Eventually you will accept that you need help. Whether that comes through therapy or not is besides the point. As they say, “the first step to recovery is acceptance.” It’s admitting that you’re wrong, admitting that you’re broken. Admitting that the status quo is no longer tenable, and that things could be better. Without acceptance there is no healing. There’s no way around it. If you’re still living in denial, you haven’t yet embarked on your wonderful journey.

That is the truth. I won’t sugar coat it. In order to grow, to improve, to excel, you must find acceptance. And it starts with yourself. Self-acceptance is essential. As essential as self-worth, self-image, self-confidence. But we don’t really talk about it as much. In order to love yourself you need to accept who you are. You need to learn to be comfortable with your flaws and your shortcomings. That’s the only way you can truly work on improving those areas of your life—if you’re realistic with where you are. If you downplay or overstate your struggles, you’re just making it harder on yourself. If you downplay your weak areas then you won’t work as hard as you can to fix them because you don’t think they need fixing or improving. If you overstate your issues then you’re setting yourself up for failure, cause your tasks now seem insurmountable. Be realistic, in all things. There are things about yourself that will annoy you, like your bad habits or interests that you’re embarrassed about. But know that these are all a part of you. As much a part of you as your strengths, your skillsets, your passions. So embrace them for what they’re worth.

And they may not seem like they’re worth much to you. People don’t like to acknowledge their imperfections. But these areas of your life are worth more than you think. The negative helps you appreciate the positive more. Going through trauma, heartbreak, and adversity helps you to grow. Helps you to become a better person. Helps you to set proper goals and positions you well on your pursuit towards greatness. I say this all the time. The pain and the hardship in your life was meant to happen. I know it will hurt, but it changes you and it helps you. But only if you learn the right lessons from it. If you don’t learn from your negative experiences then what exactly did you go through them for? God wants us to learn. I believe that is one of His main priorities for our lives. For us to learn through the good and the bad. He does not cause our hardships, He is incapable of that. But I think sometimes He allows us to go through them because it’s beneficial to us. But remember that He will not allow us to be tempted more than we can bear. 

And that really is a bigger blessing than we could reasonably ask for. We go through struggles so that we can learn to do things differently, better, or more efficiently. But we will never be given more than we can handle. He knows us better than we know ourselves. There will be a way out, there always is. But it doesn’t mean that you’re off the hook. You still have to work through your issues, and you still have to try. So embrace the pain in your life, you might be able to learn something. I sure did. But it took a while. Change doesn’t happen overnight. It will take time. And you may not even learn the lesson(s) at the time when you’re going through the adversity, but you will know what it is afterwards. You can look back and say, “I went through this because _____”. There’s a reason for everything, embrace it. 

Good things can and do happen on their own, but isn’t it that much more gratifying seeing the dichotomy between the good and the bad? Things will happen to you that are beyond your control. It’s inevitable, those are the facts of life. There are parts of you that you may not like, but have a hard time changing. They may not be as much in your control as you believe. There are certain habits and behaviors that our parents teach us when we’re young. As much as we love to say that we’re not like our parents, in certain aspects we really are just like them. Some things are just so deeply ingrained within us, we couldn’t imagine being any different. But again, that’s okay. Embrace every part of you. Every little thing in your life adds up to create who you are as a whole. That’s what makes you unique, each set of circumstances is a specific conglomeration that creates you. No one else can claim that. No one else is you. Your weaknesses and your flaws are a part of you. They are what make you strong.

You went through some shit, and you survived! You came out better, you came out stronger, you came out refreshed & renewed. Isn’t that a good enough reason to embrace your hardships? It built character. You went from weak-minded to hardened and tough. You found a way to survive through the intricacies of life. You made your way out of the darkness. Be proud of who you are, be proud of where you came from, and be proud of what you’ve dealt with. You’ll be happier having done so. You faced your demons head on, and you came away with victory. You did not wither when the going got tough. Instead you endured and you came out stronger. That’s what adversity does for you. It made you stronger, it built character. You may have felt broken or weak when you were struggling through. But you made it out alive, and you’re now better equipped to take on life’s challenges. Be grateful for that. Challenges are blessings in disguise. Behind every storm cloud is a rainbow. Learn to count your blessings. Blessings don’t just appear in the good, but in the bad and the ugly as well. 

Life took a turn for the better after I started counting my blessings. I’ve become happier, more optimistic, more content. And life has also felt more fulfilling. That’s because I started dreaming and I started pursuing my dreams. I didn’t dream all that much growing up. At least not about anything realistic. There was no logical path towards what I did dream about. Because I didn’t know what I wanted to do, or where I wanted to go. The options were numerous and I had trouble deciding. I was easily swayed, and as such I lacked dedication. As I grew older, my focus was on the wrong things. I found things that interested me, but I didn’t find things that I loved or was passionate about or saw myself doing for the long-term. That was a big reason why I ended up in a rut for five years. I wasn’t looking out for myself. I didn’t think I was allowed to. I thought doing what’s best for me was synonymous with being selfish. But it’s not. It’s called taking care of yourself. That’s what I learned a few years ago in my therapy sessions. I was taught how to live with myself and how to provide for myself.

Providing for yourself doesn’t just mean financially. You need to provide for yourself mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and physically as well. It makes a difference. A difference that I think my mom sees in me. There’s a difference in how I behave, how I talk. I’m not the same person that I used to be. I worked on providing for myself in all aspects. I worked very hard to get to where I am now. People have told me recently that they envied my attitude. They questioned how I could remain so upbeat and carefree in the midst of tough work situations. I can tell you this: I didn’t start out that way. It took me years of therapy to train myself to have a healthy mind. It took tearing down and building up to get me to where I am today. I am a culmination of my past experiences. And I can say that although I was faking it before, I’m not faking it anymore. For the last three and a half years I’ve shown the genuine me. I stopped lying to myself and to others. I’m happy, I found joy, I found fulfillment. As a result, I feel like there’s less pressure on me now than there used to be. Part of that is because I sorted out my priorities and I stopped projecting onto other people. I stopped doing what I thought was expected of me. I stopped caring about how others perceived me. I think my mom has started to understand that as well; that’s the difference she sees in me. She doesn’t seem as laser-focused on seeing us succeed as she used to. But of course she still wants the best for us.

Every good parent wants that for their kids. She’s seen us grow and mature over the years. In some aspects we probably turned out exactly how she envisioned, in others we most definitely turned out differently. We’ve all grown up, and moved out. She’s done her job. But it doesn’t mean that she’s not going to worry anymore. She’s just going to worry differently. And I can see that change in her. As surely as I can see the change in myself. Her focus is no longer centered on what we do with our lives, but rather on whether or not we’re happy. The most telling example of the change in her mindset is something that she had told my cousin’s husband in 2020. He was looking for a new job, and was questioning whether he should switch careers and pursue something he’s passionate about, but is admittedly still learning about; or if he should take the job that paid well, where he knew what to do and was good at it, but was no longer super interested in. In short, uncharted territory versus the known world. My mom had told him to pursue the former, which is not something I would’ve expected her to say in the past.

So despite what people say about old dogs, an old dog did in fact change. She changed so much that what I expected her to say was in fact the opposite of what she did say. Her priorities and the desires she has for her kids have shifted. Her moral compass has altered slightly. Her personality is different. But that’s not to say that everything about her has changed. Some things have remained the same. Some things that are more prominent than others. One thing that has not changed much at all is something that has been a driving force for the majority of her life: fear for her loved ones. She’s always been afraid for us. She takes a cynical approach to life. More cynical than mine in certain ways if you would believe it. It shouldn’t come as a surprise to those who know her. Growing up in Cambodia, she spent most of her formative years running away from Communists, going from country to country. She’s seen what fear can do to people. She’s felt the pain of losing loved ones, she’s seen violence, she’s felt terror in her sleeping and in her waking. She is the culmination of her past experiences.

But as a result, we don’t quite see eye to eye in certain aspects. I didn’t face the same level of hardship that she faced. I grew up in a a middle/upper middle class family, went to a good high school, lived in a cushy house. I only lived in two different towns growing up, went to three elementary schools. My life was stable. But that doesn’t mean that my struggles weren’t any less important. They were just as important in my life as her struggles were in hers. Each person has a different path in life. No two people will face exactly the same challenges. How you deal with these challenges is usually more important than what challenges you face. Process over results. Certain things are out of your control. Life has a way of setting you up for things. Nature creates you a certain way, wiring you in a way that’s unique to you. Nurture molds you into who you become later. You have no rule over nature or nurture. You work with what you’re given.

Some people are given much, some people are given little. But everyone is capable of achieving greatness regardless. You just need to put your mind to it. Greatness is defined differently by different people. It’s not the same thing for everyone. Pursuing greatness for me is writing to the best of my ability. But that doesn’t mean that everyone should seek to become a great writer. You might not be built for that. Define greatness for yourself. It’s hidden there somewhere. You just need to dig deep and find it. But know that in your search for greatness, others may get in your way. They may tell you of other pursuits, unintentionally confusing you. They may tell you what they think they know about what it is that you’re seeking. Everybody claims to be an expert on things that they don’t know about. They may give you advice that isn’t reasonable for you to follow. Be wary. People you love and respect will oftentimes give you guidance and direction out of the kindness of their heart. Their support may be well-intentioned, but be mindful. Take EVERYTHING with a grain of salt. Just because they love you and vice versa does not mean that what they’re telling you is something that you need to hear.

Case in point: some things that my mom has told me recently. I love her, I respect her, I do cherish her dearly. But I will not and cannot believe everything she says. I will not and cannot take to heart every piece of advice she gives me. I’ve learned from the past. I’ve said before that I was a mama’s boy growing up, and I’ve said before that I wasn’t super close with my dad either. Well, this dynamic caused my therapist to suggest to me that I find a male role model, because the relationship I had with my mom wasn’t necessarily healthy. Of course I didn’t want to hear it at first. But when I started to really think about it, I realized that she was correct. My mom’s opinions, advice, and thought processes had too much sway on the shaping of my world view—a world view that wasn’t entirely my own. As I distanced myself from her a bit, I could see it more clearly.

That is why there are some things that I can’t talk to her about that we used to talk about. We do not and will not talk about politics anymore. We will never agree. I’m a full-blooded liberal, her views are still firmly rooted in the conservatism that is prevalent in the Chinese church community. It has lessened over the years, but it has not gone away. I used to think along the same lines as her, but the long and the short of it is that I changed. I’ll freely admit that I led a sheltered existence up til that point. I went to college full of naivety and ignorance. I had not been exposed much to differing and/or contrasting points of view. So to say the least, my eyes were truly opened after I adjusted to college life. As I took more sociology classes—especially women’s studies classes—I realized that the way I saw the world was closed-minded and intolerant. The way I saw the world was not how I wanted to see the world, but rather the way that the church had conditioned me to think. I still have many issues and concerns about the church that I attended growing up, but I won’t voice them here. We’ll see if I ever do voice them (I had started a post in 2020 but I’m not sure if I’ll ever finish it).

Needless to say, my mom’s point of view and my point of view will never align in certain regards. It will never happen. Never. That’s the honest truth. Just for example, our stances on homosexuality, abortion, and the police are directly in conflict with each other. We’re on the complete opposite ends of the spectrum. We may move closer together over the years (I highly doubt it), but we will never be as one. And that’s perfectly okay. I may have been birthed by my mother, but I am not her clone. I am not her, and she is not me. That’s just how life turned out. I will not say that I know better than her. I will not say that my perspective is better than hers. They are just simply different. Her opinion is right to her. My opinion is right to me. That’s it. Let’s move on.

One of my mantras has been and will forever be “worry about yourself.” If someone does something that doesn’t affect you, then why waste energy thinking about it? Just move on! That’s my mentality. If my neighbors are engaged in behavior that I disagree with it, I can disagree with it. That’s within my rights. But that doesn’t give me any reason to be an asshole or to treat them differently or to even get involved. That’s not my business. They’re living their lives. I’m living mine. Let’s move on. If their behavior doesn’t harm themselves or others, then I couldn’t care less. I’m moving on. Too often, people waste energy on things that don’t have anything to do with them. Focus on yourself. Focus on your dreams and your goals. Focus on where you’re headed in life. Everything else will play out on its own. You can only control what you can control.

But it seems as though parents find it extremely difficult to worry about only themselves. They can’t help but worry about their kids. It’s a part of nature. Sometimes it can’t be helped. Parents can’t help but think a certain way about their kids. We may be full-grown adults, but we are still their kids, and therefore they might still treat us as such. You can’t fault them. They were designed to worry about us. But you can disagree with them. My mom, for all her capability, still handles me with kid gloves sometimes. She tries to shelter me from things that I’ve already been exposed to. She tries to screen certain things from me, adding a parental tint to things that come my way.

It’s not working. It’s too late! Far too late. I know she’s trying her best. I know she cares. I know that she’s genuine in her desire to support my dreams. But some of the things she says to me cannot be considered reasonable advice for me to follow. Like I said, we’re two very different people operating on two very different wavelengths. How I see the world is not the same as how she sees the world. Her parental screening is no longer effective. You can’t shelter someone once they’ve seen how depraved the world is. You can’t screen information from someone once they’ve seen humanity’s true colors. But will I try to stop her? Probably not. It’s not worth hurting someone’s feelings when their main intention is to protect you. She can say what she wants to say, that’s her right. But determining whether I want to follow it or even should follow it is mine. I will say this though: I have not been entirely honest with her about my pursuits.

I told her once in passing that I’m working on a fantasy series. But since then, I have not used that word. I have left it intentionally vague and have instead told her that I’m writing fiction. It’s not a lie… But the word fiction really doesn’t mean anything. There’s two types of writing: fiction and non-fiction. That’s as basic as it gets. Breaking fiction down further there’s speculative fiction, historical fiction, crime/mystery, romance to name a few. Speculative fiction can be further categorized into fantasy, sci-fi, horror. So for me to say that I’m writing fiction, is keeping it as broad as broad gets. But the thing is, I know how she is. Now, she’s been better about it lately. But she still manages to insert her opinion into things that I tell her that don’t require her input. She’s always been like that, there’s no changing that. But I used to listen to it. I used to take all things into consideration. But not anymore.

That’s where I differ nowadays. I know this sounds rude. I know it sounds arrogant. But there are some instances when I pay no heed at all to what my mom says. When I tell someone something in my life that excites me, I want the same level of excitement reflected back to me. Nothing more, nothing less. I think that’s a reasonable expectation. There’s three types of people in this world: those who reflect back excitement in support; those who become bitter at other’s success; and those who feel the need to give their input even if it’s irrelevant or unsolicited. The first type of person is who you seek to find. The second type of person is someone that you don’t need. The third type of person you may not be able to do a thing about.

They will say what they want to say. You can’t stop that, and there’s nothing you can do to change that. I’ve been saying this for months: you can’t change other people. But you can change yourself. And you can learn to tune certain things out. That’s really the only way you can progress without confrontation and without causing unintentional hurt. But don’t get it twisted. I’m not telling you to completely ignore your parents or anything like that. I’m also not saying to stop listening to things you don’t want to hear. Listen to everyone and everything. That’s important. But learn to filter through the garbage. Learn to decipher whether bits of advice are worth applying to your life. 

Unfortunately, everything my mom has told me about writing so far has not been worthy of application. I don’t fault her intentions, and I do appreciate the support. I know I keep saying that, but I want to make this point very clear: I am not trying to sound ungrateful. Her verbal support is the only thing that I’m looking for, anything more is misleading. Her advice on this subject is not pertinent to my life. Sorry mom, I hear what you’re saying, but I will write the way that I know how. Applying what she says to my work will do nothing but put a handicap on its potential. They sometimes say that stories come to life. They morph in a way that’s unexpected to the writer. That concept seemed kinda crazy to me before I started writing, but I can see how it happens now. It doesn’t seem possible to the layman for the creator of a work to lose control of something that they are creating, but an artist knows that sometimes things turn out differently than expected. Imagination comes alive, and I am merely a humble storyteller. Who am I to limit the story based on arbitrary boundaries that I put on it? The story is for the people, and I am just its medium. I am simply pulling the ingredients from the ether and channeling my creativity and imagination. In order to do that, I must incorporate real elements with fantasy. Both are important, but realness is more so. Realness brings about relatability.

In order for readers to relate to your work, there must be some semblance of realness to it. Certain concepts must make sense when seen through our worldview. I know you’ve all been waiting for this. You’ve all been reading along wondering what the all-important takeaway from my conversation was. The thing that I wasn’t able to say last time. So I won’t keep you in suspense any longer. The biggest takeaway, but also the craziest thing that my mom told me in that conversation was to “make sure you write a good story. Don’t put violence or evil into it.” Now, this isn’t the first time that she’s said that to me. It’s actually the second. But the second time was just as crazy as the first. I don’t know what type of story she thinks I’m writing. But every fantasy story has evil in it. The contrast between good and evil is ever-present. It’s one of the main fantasy tropes. There’s always an us versus them. If there is no evil in the story, at the very least there is an antagonist, there is a villain. A story without a villain, a story without an antagonist, is not a story at all. A story without an antagonist is merely a long-winded diary entry. I’m sorry mom, but there will be evil in it. There will be violence in it. It comes with the territory.

I am writing a fantasy series. And it will be the best fantasy story that could’ve originated from my brain. I will not hold back, and I will not omit elements just to keep the story clean. A good story has no boundaries. I will not limit my writing. I will not put a cap on its potential. Evil exists in our world, and it will exist in mine. Omitting the wicked from your writing is just as detrimental as ignoring the adversity in your everyday life. Choosing to omit the vile and immoral is akin to writing half a story. Good versus evil is one of the most interesting dichotomies in life as a whole. The duality of human nature is intriguing in and of itself. If you think you can write a story without an us versus them, without an antagonist, please show me how it’s possible. I’m waiting patiently.

Every story has an opposition. An us versus them. A protagonist and an antagonist. The antagonist may not be in the form of something tangible, but it is present regardless. In romance novels, the lovers don’t just meet and get married. That’s boring. Not a story worth writing. There’s substance in between. There are a number of circumstances that prevent the lovers from being able to get together. That is your antagonist. Whether it’s an ex, fear of becoming vulnerable, keeping high expectations, or what have you. There is something or someone keeping the lovers apart. Romance isn’t about the end result. We already know how that type of story will end. So we care more about how we get to the ending. That is a story. 

That is what we’re working towards. Creating an incredible story. Detailing the winds and turns. Showcasing the good, the bad, and the ugly. When I started writing, I did so with the following intentions in mind: first & foremost I wanted to help people; second I wanted to help myself (writing is an outlet for me to keep my mind healthy); lastly I wanted to create something that I’m proud of. I wanted to write things that were relatable. Things that people could learn lessons from, not just things that people could enjoy. Cutting out the evil, the violence, the malevolent, the vile from my stories will not help me achieve any of these goals. I know that, and I won’t let anything get in the way of that. I can’t limit my writing to just flowers, rainbows, and unicorns. That’s not real life. 

Real life has the immoral, the sinful, the wicked. It has pain, hurt, and guilt. Imagine my writing without any adversity. I would have no basis for any of my posts. This blog would not exist. Cutting out anything negative is limiting the scope of my work. So let me ask you? Would you rather me write to the best of my ability? Or would you rather me skirt around everything painful just so everything you saw was pleasing to the eye? The Bible has violence. The Bible has evil. Without it, that book does not exist either. Life isn’t just about the beautiful & the serene, it is also about the nasty & the chaotic.

Now, I understand where my mom is coming from. She does not want me to allow evil into my heart. But that’s not how it works either. Life isn’t that simple. You don’t become demon-possessed just because you think dark thoughts. You don’t become unholy just because you stole something. It takes a long cycle of wrongdoing to become depraved. In order to become truly wicked you must lack morals, you must lack guilt, you must lack all accountability. That’s not me. That will never be me. My moral compass may have changed politically, but that has not stopped me from being a good person. I still know right from wrong. I still know what people should and shouldn’t do. That’s not going to change simply because I’m writing a story. That’s a naive way of thinking. Writing a story will not make me evil. But omitting all evil from my stories will not allow me to write to the best of my ability. I am a writer, but I’m looking to become an author. In order to do that my writing must be left unbound. I must allow it to flow as it wills. The story is a building, and I am its architect. The bad is just as important a cornerstone as the good. I can’t leave anything out. Otherwise I’m doing it a disservice. It’s a disservice to the story. It’s a disservice to the storyteller. And it’s a disservice to my readers. Sorry mom, but this tale will have everything you told me not to include. What can I say? I can’t help it. The story has a mind of its own.