have i done enough?

the much-needed un-romanticization of life

End of the year musings are cliche, but I find myself doing it anyway. Like everyone who refuses to submit to trends, I’m inadvertently drawn to the idea of reflection, change, goals, and personal development. Dec 31st simply gives me a consistent date to do so --a deadline, one could say. But as with any other submission deadline, Dec 31 invokes the same sense of dread in me: am I ready to submit this? Have I done enough? And knowing that a year from now, I will judge the past 364 days with as much, if not more wisdom than I have now --it must be better. the year must be better. My life must be better. At 23, it is universally known that this is the most beautiful, most fit, most capable, most daring I will ever be. "This is your prime, live it to the fullest." I know there's some truth to this. But a part of me wants to believe that youthfulness is a marketing scam created by the weight loss/anti-aging/ tourism/ fitness/food/cosmetic industries --advertising agencies are simply so good at understanding our psychology, and social media is simply too good at exploiting it.

I don’t necessarily condemn such romanticism. I deplore its implication that living fully means devouring up every single experience the world has to offer: travel, concerts, raves, parties, restaurants, flying, sky diving, hiking, museums, that each day I am not doing, striving, or pursuing any one of those things is another day wasted. That relaxation and taking a break is only worthy from a resort in Hawaii. That being poor, and simply not wanting to do so automatically disqualifies you from living fully. That for some arbitrary reason, the significance of doing all this decreases with age. And that living fully means living without struggle. So, each Dec 31st, not only must I ensure that I’ve lived up to my ever-growing standards (which is almost entirely shaped by society), I must also live with the possibly imagined fear that this will all be taken away from me in 10 short years.

In 2022, I moved to a new city, I had my own apartment, I worked my dream job. I partied, I got drunk, I threw up. I traveled to Singapore, Philippines, UK, Amsterdam, France. I was engaged in art, theater, and music. I dedicated an exorbitant amount of my budget to over-priced food. I lived last year to the fullest by every social standard possible. And I remember, the amount of dread I had knowing I’d have to beat all of that this year. Life must always go up.

Ironically, I can confidently say that this has been the hardest year of my entire life. I’ve never felt so stupid, so evil, so angry, so selfish, so egotistical, so jealous, so ignorant, so hurtful. There were so many times where I thoroughly believed I was objectively bad. Objectively so much worse than I was last year. I felt like I was struggling so much, there must be something wrong with me. No way other people lived like this because if they did, I would know about it. Everyone’s life is practically online, there must be some indication of some struggle. I don’t think I was naive; I didn't expect to see struggle to the same extent of romanticism. I just didn't expect I’d have to do extensive research or for it to be nonexistent in the mainstream. And I’m not talking about indications of past struggle that people only so willingly share after they've defeated it. It’s different talking about the struggle of the ascent once you’re at the top, or to even imply a plateau in the first place. It’s as relatable as a parent trying to relate to their pubescent, naturally-defiant teenager who feels as if adulthood is so out of reach, with no basis other than "trust me, I’ve been there before."

Where are the people who are actively struggling? is no one unhappy anymore? In a world of 8 billion people I can't be the only one who doesn’t think EDM is just a bunch of noise? That I no matter how much I love food my heart can’t bear to spend anything more than $40 on a fucking meal? That I truly don’t understand how a canvas of blue is considered art, that parties are fucking boring when everyone just small talks. I’m not looking for answers. I’m not looking for help. I simply wanted to know I wasn’t alone in my thoughts. That I wasn't some prodigious outlier out of a billion data points that are shoved in my face any time I turn on my phone. That I wasn’t alone in utterly "wasting my 20s."

I find that so much of my struggle is rooted in the belief that I am alone in this feeling and that these feelings can be controlled with sheer will. I’m still trying to internalize that there is no rationalizing your way out of this, no amount of psychology books will teach me to be better, and that I am no less subject to the whims of my brain's biochemistry than a squirrel.

So, to embrace the annual spirit of change, and to liberate myself from this exhausting facade. Behold, my honest (and possibly TMI) recap of 2023:

• I despised myself for half the year because I broke up with someone after 4 years over a 20-minute vid call because I felt we were no longer compatible.

• I finally moved to NYC to fill my hyperactive brain, yet ironically find myself drawn to the rural quiet of Pennsylvania’s Appalachia every break I get. It’s incredibly relaxing and I love it.

• I spend every. waking. second studying for school. I’d make a thousand flashcards. read the textbook on the bus. take practice tests, LITERALLY SPEND EVERY WAKING SECOND studying. And I got straight B-s this semester. A C+ is considered a failure in my program. So yea. I barely fucking passed. And you best know that this fucking kicked my gifted-and-talented-Asian ego very hard in the nuts. And no, the excuse of "graduate school is hard, don’t beat yourself up for it," does not work, for I will respond, “Well explain how half of the class is doing very well. Isn’t it utterly pathetic that I literally cannot try any harder to get there?”

• Although I did not fulfill my Goodreads quota of 24 books, I discovered 3 of my favorite books of all time this year (one if which I quote below). I also believe I’m reading more for pleasure now and not just to acquire a socially respectable pastime (although I’d be lying if I said that isn’t a solid plus)

• I surprised myself with the amount of capacity I have for attention and patience. Never in my entire life did I think I could spend an entire day sitting in a single chair studying. And I’m proud of myself for that.

• I admittedly had to watch multiple documentaries on Israel/Palestine because no one just MAGICALLY knows these things despite it coming off that way (and I still barely know anything).

• I believe I’ve expanded my world view, developed a deeper understanding about myself and the world in general, probably have become way more pretentious so I got to work on that. I also still got to work on everything I’ve rambled about for I don’t believe that ever gets done.

I know that whatever happens next year, I’ll grow. Because I live to see another day, I grow. Whether good or bad...it’s another a point in my data set, a chapter in my book. It’s another day in the life of Michelle and I will cherish it all.

"Dear God," she prayed, "let me be something every minute of every hour of my life. Let me be gay; let me be sad. Let me be cold; let me be warm. Let me be hungry ... have too much to eat. Let me be ragged or well dressed. Let me be sincere-be deceitful. Let me be truthful; let me be a liar. Let me be honorable and let me sin. Only let me be something every blessed minute. And when I sleep, let me dream all the time so that not one little piece of living is ever lost."
Betty Smith, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn