Blog

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

Matthew Perry

I am remised in writing about the untimely passing of Matthew Perry. My friends and I grew up watching him on the show Friends. It’s tremendously sad: a person who gave so much laughter and joy to the world cannot keep any for himself. Perry’s addiction to alcohol and drugs is widely known, so when I saw the news of his death, my first inclination was: “He could never outrun his demons.”

(To be sure: as of this writing, the cause of death is still under investigation. Perry was found unconscious in a hot tub.)

I haven’t the slightest idea what it’s like to be in that deep a mental funk, be it substance addiction, or severe depression. I have friends who are on anti-depressive drugs, and it’s always been a challenge for me to empathize with their plight. It’s like a fully healthy person having to level with a terminally-ill patient. The wavelength of understanding is completely different. All I can offer to my friends are platitudes. Sometimes I would feel guilty to be “normal” and “happy”, when they are in such a rut.

Perry surely had close friends that know of his situation and want him to get well. But they couldn’t do anything for him, just as I cannot do anything for my friends facing mental challenges. The battle cannot only be fought by the person dealing with the issues. Those of us on the sidelines can only wish them the best, and be there when asked.

And if it comes to an end, it was beautiful while it happened. Matthew Perry leaves an enormous legacy of comedic and acting talent for generations to enjoy. Rest well.

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.

Back from the awakening

Well hello there. It’s been awhile, hasn’t it? At least for the usual cadence of this page.

The last time I wrote on here, it was a typical Monday back in mid September. An ordinary morning onwards to an ordinary day. But then during work I got a text from my brother saying our father’s new lease have arrived. In this crazy hot market where there’s a huge shortage of cars to sell, the dealership is only willing to hold the car for us for so long. We had to make the move quick.

So I spent that Monday evening at the local Toyota dealership finalizing the deal. This knocked my whole schedule off as I wasn’t able to do any of the things I typical do after work (the piano went unpracticed). No big deal, I thought: I’ll just make it up the next day.

Tuesday had different ideas, though. A new lease meant it was time to get rid of the old lease. What I had thought would be a quick transaction at the local CarMax have turned into a whole roundabout affair that’s still ongoing. I basically had to buy the Hyundai Tucson from Hyundai outright. Then I got to wait for the California DMV to send me the unencumbered title. Only after that can I sell the car to CarMax, or whoever is willing to give me a solid price that’s above my buyout.

I spent much of Tuesday evening sorting this out. The routine once again ruined.

Wednesday was not any better. I went to a Giants game for the first time this 2021 season. By the time I returned home it was nearly midnight. Forget reading for an hour; now my sleep schedule is off as well. No way I was going to wake up “on time” the next day and do my usual morning routine. Sleep is too precious to be usurped.

Doing nothing

Well, I did it. I managed to do absolutely nothing for about four hours yesterday afternoon, and I don’t feel one ounce of guilt about it. All I did was sat in the chair and listen to music, periodically glancing at the twitter feed, or chatting with my friends on text. Normally on a holiday like yesterday’s Labor Day, I would be taking advantage to do more. Even if it’s just watching the backlog of subscribed shows on Youtube, in my mind that’s way more productive than getting lost in music for a few hours.

Finally, some progress.

I’m the type of person who uses busyness as a gauze for any mental anxiety I’m dealing with. So long as I’m being productive, I won’t then have the time to face any internal demons. Obviously it works for awhile, but then I’d have to keep going always. If I ever stop, then I will have to think about those other unpleasant things. For better and for worse, the feeling of accomplishment salves the pain.

It works, until it doesn’t.

Of course then even when I’m otherwise mentally okay and feeling content, the urge to keep productive remains. This is why I generally cannot relax and do nothing; weekends are for more stuff, not less! This is the toxic side of “time is your most precious commodity” that people seldom talk about. We try to cram as much life in as possible, not allowing any moments of stoppage. As with anything in life, too much towards any extreme is bad for you.

What’s all the toil during the workweek for if I can’t lounge around in daydream for half the weekend day? Life is enough of a cyclical hamster wheel as is. No need to make it worse. Daze on, my friends.

A house is not a home

Hate crimes and attacks targeting the Asian American community are very much in the news lately. The worst of which occurred last week, when a lunatic shot up a few massage parlors in Atlanta, killing eight people. The entire community is on edge, lacking a sense of safety when we step outside of our homes. You always have to be on alert, a certain amount of underlying stress that shouldn’t be there in a civilized society.

As someone who grew up in the south-eastern side of San Francisco, I am innately familiar with that specific kind of stress. It only takes a few muggings for the young me to realize I need street smarts to walk around my neighborhood. The five senses are always tuned in to the surroundings, always on alert for anything - or anyone - untoward. You relax for one moment, and the next thing you know, you’re getting robbed of your iPod (remember those?) violently. I still have the scar on my chin.

The subconscious trauma never leaves, so long as I never the left the neighborhood. Even as the crime rate fall as the years advanced, I could never relax in that corner of the city. Surely that’s the same feeling felt by Asian Americans presently, especially our elders. I can attest it’s the worst not being able to feel safe walking around your home neighborhood. Is there even an area of San Francisco where an Asian person can feel completely at ease? I am not so sure.

One of the reasons I love traveling to Asia is because the aforementioned type of stress simply does not exist. In major cities of Asia, I can walk anywhere, at anytime, and feel absolutely safe. The lack of stressor is so freeing, a sense of calm that I miss dearly every time I step off the plane back onto American soil. Safety - isn’t that what living in the first world is about?

Never mind the fact that gun violence and gun deaths are uniquely American. The problem is both structural and cultural.

I understand and empathize greatly with the trauma and anxiety that Asian Americans are feeling these days. I don’t have much of the answers, but one of them has to be that perpetrators of crime need to be persecuted to the fullest extent. There has to be stiff penalty for doing harm to others. Robbery may only be of material loss, but I speak from experience: the mental harm can last for a very long time.

Boring is good

What if boring is good? What if we are not meant to strive for greatness? Surely it’s perfectly fine to be comfortable, content, and be at leisure.

I had a mini existential crisis of sorts recently. It was the weekend, the time to do the stuff I want to do. To do things that improve and better myself. Like reading a book, or study some skill. Perhaps to go outside and explorer, grab that pricey Sony camera that’s been gathering dust since the pandemic started and do something with it. Why am I not being more productive? It’s the weekend! The time I pined ever so much to have during the busy work-week.

And yet, all I wanted to do was absolutely nothing. There’s errands to run, of course, but after that, lounging around seemed like the thing to do. But guilts of unproductiveness and stagnation quickly hit me, and I would then get stuck in rut, fighting between what the two sides want.

Why do we strive for more anyways? A lot of it is novelty. We can’t bear the pain and reality of doing the same things over and over. No matter how much the pandemic have made Groundhog Day a reality for us, the taste for something new and different is always the dangling carrot in front. This is why so many people are predicting a post-vaccine boom: we are all so ready to do something other than what we’ve been doing for the past year.

Why do I study things, read books, travel to places and do photography? For the chance that it may lead to something different, something new in the future. That’s the treadmill that I didn’t know I was on, but here it is on a quiet weekend, making me restless because I can’t force myself to actually rest. What if this monotony of life is all there is? Why can’t I be okay with doing the same thing day after day, week after week? I live a comfortable life: I should be satisfied with that if this is all that ever will be.

It’s okay if life is boring.

Four months since moving out

Hard to believe it’s been four months since I’ve moved out on my own. I think it’s finally sunken in that this new place is indeed my home now, and that my previous home is solidly my parents’. When I tell people I’m going home, this place I’ve been renting since November of last year is what I am referring to. It’s wonderful.

On certain days it still feels like I’m off somewhere on vacation, renting from an AirBnb. Exacerbating that feeling is the fact I’m renting from friends of the same age, so this whole thing feels like we’re traveling somewhere, away from our respective parents. How long does it take after moving out of your parents’ house for it to truly feel like you’re an adult? I don’t think I’ve reached that stage yet.

I have to say there’s great advantage to renting from a friend, though I guess you run the potential risk of a ruined friendship also displacing you from a place to sleep. That’s why I recommend renting from friends that you’ve known since high school, and which point the friendship should already be unconditionally lasting. The positive of renting from someone familiar is that the process is far smoother and less formal. The place is also friendlier.

Like I said, it’s like we’re all on vacation somewhere and renting a whole house.

The primarily reason for moving - other than finally striking it out on my own - is to be closer to work. The ability to walk to work within 10 minutes is an absolute game changer, a huge positive to my mental health. The feeling that at the end of a tiring day, I can be home in minutes rather than a slogging commute in a car is worth every penny of the rent I am paying. The difference will be even more stark once the world returns to normal, and I will have to go into the office the regular five days a week.

If I can help it, I am never going back to having a commute.