Blog

Short blog posts, journal entries, and random thoughts. Topics include a mix of personal and the world at large.

Do your job

My Youtube rabbit-hole this past weekend was personal finance videos. In particular, this episode of Caleb Hammer’s Financial Audit struck emotional resonance with me. The person having her finances checked over by Caleb is child of Chinese immigrants. Her family migrated over to America when she was eight years old. So did I! But unlike her, I am not swimming in credit card debt.

But like her, I bore the burden of supporting Chinese parents who did not know the English language, and were wholly unfamiliar with American culture. Whatever childhood we had were arrested abruptly, and we had to become essentially adults soon as we learned English. Any interaction with the outside world was automatically thrusted upon me. Can you imagine needing to go to the hospital, and it's your kid that has to communicate with the staff and fill out forms? Actual adults were suppose to do that!

I couldn’t ask my parents about anything. They simply did not know.

Needless to say, a lot of my proclivities and neuroticism stem from that period. Because I had to shoulder so much more burden than any typical kid, I absolutely detest anyone who cannot put their own weight. Nothing annoys me more at work than people who cannot do the one job they’re suppose to do. Me having to pick up the slack takes me right back to my childhood of performing the adult duties that my parents could not.

Another thing stemming from that time is my inability to ask for help - even when I totally can and should. Because I never could ask anyone for help back then. There was nobody to share that burden. So the adult me ends up trying to do as much as possible, by myself. Not because it’s the best way, but because I simply have not developed any better.

Obviously, I don’t blame my parents. It is, indeed, what it is.

Chinatown futures

This past weekend there was a car show in San Francisco’s chinatown. Organizers closed down Grant Avenue, from California all the way to Broadway. A reputed 100 cars of varying price and exoticism showed up for the event. It was a amazing to see. One, because you generally don’t expect to see a car show in Chinatown. Two, it’s great that people are holding events in Chinatown to stimulate the local economy. We absolutely cannot let this historic enclave die.

It’s tough, though. The pandemic have knocked more than a few places out of business. The remaining restaurants and shops are mostly run by people of my parents’ generation. You really don’t see my generation accepting the baton and continuing on the legacy (so to speak). And it makes sense: Asian parents toil endlessly to give their children a better life. They aspire for us to be people of power and influence in corporate America (plus the usual doctor and lawyer). Running a gift shop in Chinatown is most certainly not that.

I have a friend whose parents recently retired from operating a restaurant out in the east bay. My friend and his siblings have no desire to takeover the family business. Because they’ve all got better jobs and a far easier life than sweating in a kitchen six days a week. The family ended up selling the restaurant.

So there is a some latent concern about what Chinatown will look like in a few years’ time. Who will take up the mantel once the current owners and operators retire - if it won’t be their offsprings? I think it will have to be the same type of people who my friend’s parents sold their restaurant to. Working-class Chinese immigrants who’ve been in this country for a bit - so they have some saved capital - and are looking for the next step up in investment.

It's not on me

There’s a huge burden that comes with being the son of immigrants. I was basically the conduit between my parents and the English-speaking world as soon as I had an elementary grasp of the language. That means I got thrust into interpreting the adult world well before I was supposed to; interactions that few other kids would experience. They get to go to McDonalds and wait for the food. I had to go to the counter to order.

With that kind of childhood comes a psychosomatic duty to help my parents that lasts to this day. Even when I am no longer needed or there’s really nothing for me to do. Since I’ve moved out, it is my younger brother who lives with my parents. It’s up to him now to assist them with any English-language needs. I’m supposed to be relieved of duty, living my own life. I’ve long already put in the work.

Yet these days when I see my parents having difficulties navigating American society, I still experience stress on their behalf. As if I must to be there to make things right for them, even when things are beyond my control. Because that was me - and only me - for the greater part of my childhood and early adult life. They work so hard to immigrate to this country and give me a different life. I just don’t want to see them suffer unnecessarily.

I think I have to learn to let that feeling go. My brother is a capable and can take care of anything that comes up. There are and will be problems that’s not up to me to solve. It’s not helpful to be stressed over them. Everything can and will be alright without me.

Go see your parents

As more and more people are vaccinated, it’s very heart-warming to see them visit their parents for the first time in over a year. The excitement, relief, and absolute joy is a lovely sight on my twitter feed.

Lucky for me, it’s a feeling I cannot relate to: I see my parents all the time. I was living with them when this pandemic began, and even after moving out of the house some six months ago, I still go home every weekend. I suppose the people who had to take an involuntary year off from seeing their loved ones will never take it for granted again.

I certainly don’t, which is why I still go see my parents every Sunday morning on a schedule. I’ve only moved to the other side of San Francisco, rather than somewhere far. No guarantees that won’t happen in the future, so I take the opportunity to visit my parents often while I still can. Though probably more than someone who have “moved out of the house” typical do.

Nevertheless, it’s already been half a year since I’ve moved out on my own. Routines and things have settled in quite nicely, and I often amazed at this little nest I’ve created. It’s truly wonderful to have absolute solitude whenever I want. In hindsight, I probably should have moved out a few years sooner, but then a Porsche 911 GT3 got in the way of my entire budget. Obviously, the pandemic created great impetus to make the move back in November, and I could not be happier having done so.

Primarily, it’s the massive decrease in stress that makes it worth all the money in rent. Living within walking distance from work, removing myself from a somewhat messy situation back home, and the sense of accomplishment in taking care of myself completely, are contributing factors in lowering my stress and anxiety. Having less disposable income takes some adjusting, but as of right now, I’m at a fine place to live how I want.

The only emotion I want to express, is gratitude.

Mom's cooking

One of the things that comes with being Chinese is that even though you’ve moved out, your parents will still constantly give you food. Of course, that’s provided you didn’t move too far away from the house. The independent-minded you may think this goes against the meaning of truly being on your own, and on principle I’m inclined to agree. However, there are certain days that you are glad there’s food in the fridge ready to go.

I can see why take-out ordering is so popular with my generation. After a particular tough day at work, you really don’t want to spend the half hour or so cooking up dinner. It’s far easier to order something on DoorDash and have it deliveredr while you go on about something else. Or, you know, hang out on twitter until the food arrives. What I’m saying is, I get it: the will to actually cook dinner is inverse to how hard you’ve worked that day.

Which is why some days I am glad to have my mom’s cooking ready to go for the microwave. It’s certainly faster than ordering food, and I save a boatload of money not eating out. I definitely don’t make the level of income to sustain a take-out ordering habit, though I think I would totally do so if I earned more. Good thing there isn’t a Hong Kong style restaurant nearby, because I would totally patronize that for dinner every chance I get.

I don’t know how my friends with kids do it. Cooking for myself after a tiring day is difficult enough. To make enough food for more than one person? Kids that bitch about the variety of dinner deserves to get slapped. You have no idea how hard it is to cook dinner after work on a weekday until you move out on your own, and have to do it yourself.

Time to heat up the food my mom gave me this week.

My brother graduates from college

Yesterday my brother who is 10 years my junior graduated from university, so you can say I’m particularly feeling my age today. Despite my in-jest adverse feelings, I am supremely happy not only for my brother, but for my parents as well: both their sons are now fully adult, and their sacrifice in raising us is at a symbolic and tangible conclusion.

Next step for them is probably retirement soon, so they can do a bit of traveling. Us millennials aren’t the only ones affected by social media and its related ‘fear of missing out’ pangs: my parents get it as well. A lot of my uncles and aunts have retired already, and they spent their leisure time traveling within China and around world. The pictures from those trips gets uploaded to social media, and from viewing them my mom particularly gets low-key jealous of those opportunities.

Now that my brother is finally finished with school, likely forever, I think my parents have more freedom to retire early, should they choose. It’s definitely a decision to think over properly, because the “grass is greener” effect is strong; traveling is immensely rewarding and fun, yes, but what about the rest of the time when there’s nothing to do - no work to go to? I think that’s something to visualize and plan out before taking the step to retire, because being home all the time may not be as ideal as imagined.

But that’s for my parents to figure out. As for my brother, his unfortunate selection of sociology as a major means it’s going to be tough for him to find a solid-paying job. The real-world application for a sociology degree seems quite limited beyond working for non-profits or a teaching position, and we all know how meager those jobs pay. Not to say money is everything, but we do live in San Francisco, currently one of the most expensive cities in the United States, and the world.

Besides, if he’s to feed his car addiction as I have done, he’s going to need to make some money for sure. Congratulations and the very best of luck to my not-so-little-anymore brother.

UC Santa Cruz: a beautiful campus nestled within a redwood forest.

Imposter syndrome at work

Having grown up poor and seeing how both parents work low-wage, labor-heavy jobs just to provide, I’ve been imbued with a sense that you earn your money by working hard - physically hard, that is. If you’re not constantly doing something during work hours, then you are definitely not earning that paycheck. That mentality have served me well in my younger years as it’s all about the hustle and doing the most in order to standout amongst a crowd. Now that I’m decently established in my current job, the inherited thinking from my parents causes a bit of internal conflict.

My job is mainly to help people when they need technical assistance with technology in a classroom. If an instructor have trouble plugging a Macbook Pro into the ceiling projector, I am his Huckleberry. As is the tendency of this kind of work, some days we get an endless amount of phone calls, and others there’s nary a troubleshoot to be had. It’s on those less busy days where I am sat waiting for the next call that the feelings of an imposter and not fully-deserving of my salary, creeps in.

I can’t seem to reconcile my upbringing with the fact I mostly get paid for my knowledge and expertise, and only a small portion is for actual physical work. Indeed this is what a typical white-collar job looks like, and I guess my blue-collar childhood carries some residual effects on whether or not I think myself worthy of such a role. That’s my unique sort of imposter syndrome: am I doing enough to deserve this job? I constantly ask myself this.

Indeed I’ve achieved the hopes of my parents, to not have to trade physical labor for a meager salary, and I am profoundly grateful for it. However, sometimes that gratitude can corrupt itself into an adverse sense of fear that it can all be taken away in short order. So I work hard justify my position, and mentally stress about my competence level. I’m sure in a perverse way that thinking has helped me get to the place I am today, but looking forwards I really could do without with the unnecessary stress.

At some point I need to be confident in what I can do and not worry about the tangible amounts in I am doing. It’s simply the nature of the work.