Two years ago today, my younger cousin committed suicide after losing a long battle to mental health struggles. The weeks that followed were some of the hardest in my life. Between the tears, I remember dumping my late-night grief and raw emotion on this page in the form of half-baked paragraphs and haphazard thoughts.

When I found this in my drafts a few weeks ago, I realized this was something I wanted out in the world. I want these words to live on the way she lives on forever in my memory — not as the girl who committed suicide, but the girl whose life shone so bright.

So here is a canvas of my grief, my plea for others to view mental illness as a disease instead of a weakness, and above all else, my love letter to my cousin. I hope it resonates with someone out there.

July 2024: For the past few weeks, I’ve been filing a lot of my thoughts into this mental dossier that I labeled “thoughts about suicide.” Now that I’m penning my thoughts into words, I realize that while the title is appropriate in a literal sense, I should probably rework it so this is not misconstrued as a cry for help.

I am aware that those first two sentences no longer hold any purpose since I already changed the title to something with less ambiguity. I guess I just wanted to distract myself from how hard this is to write. The words that felt eloquent in my head are now starting to feel really unfinished when paired with a blank page instead of a heart full of memories.

In all honesty though, I really have been thinking about suicide recently. Not about committing the act myself, but more so just trying to make sense of this complicated illness and the path of destruction it leads behind.

Back in May, my younger cousin Jacquelyn committed suicide. It didn't feel real when my mom first called me. It didn't feel real when I called my sister to break the news, nor when I stepped on my 16-hour flight back home for the funeral. It still felt surreal when I was sleeping on the floor of her bedroom after writing her eulogy. And it barely felt real when I watched the car roll that casket away from us one last time.

This all feels like a big, cruel nightmare that I will eventually wake from. As if next Civic holiday weekend, as per usual, we will be driving to see Jacquelyn in Grosse Pointe. We will have a deep conversations, and this whole ordeal will just be a lesson on the rollercoaster that is life.

It’s been months now, and I think I’ve finally made peace with the fact that this is all very real. I don’t have to leave my work desk to go to the washroom to cry anymore. Tears don’t pool every time I try to sleep. Nevertheless, every couple of weekends, I’ll be on a bus listening to Taylor Swift music (she was a huge Swiftie), and all the emotion hits me like a wave. Or I’ll be at a temple during my travels (I’m not particularly religious, but it reminds me of our trip to a nunnery when she last came to visit me), and it’ll bring back memories that threaten to crush me.

Don’t you ever become a stranger whose laugh I would recognize anywhere
- Taylor Swift, New Year's Day

There is a long list of things I want to talk with Jacquelyn about. And once every few days, when I’m taking a shower or alone in my thoughts or listening to a Taylor Swift song, I’ll realize that I’m never ever going to be able to say anything to her again. And every time it hits me like a gut punch.

Her viewing will forever be seared into my memory as one of the most devastating things I’ve ever seen.

My siblings and I spent the first 90 minutes of the viewing trying to help out in any way we could — greeting the guests, setting up the reception room, speaking to the church event planners. We wanted to honor Jacquelyn’s memory; we wanted to help my aunt (her mom). But in all honesty, I think we were all just delaying walking into that room with the casket.

None of us wanted to see the lively, larger-than-life person we knew and loved, reduced to flowers, a photo frame, and a big wooden box.

When we finally made our way in as a family, my dad came over to hug my sister and I and said, “Think of all the amazing memories you had with Jacquelyn the past 15 years. Wasn’t it worth being this sad? We are so lucky we got to have her in our lives.” My dad isn’t wrong; I wouldn’t trade any of it even if I could. But grief isn’t logical. All I could really think of at that moment was that “we could’ve had so many more.”

You were bigger than the whole sky; you were more than just a short time. I’ve got a lot to pine about, I’ve got a lot to live without. I’m never gonna meet what could've been, would've been, what should have been you
— Taylor Swift, Bigger Than The Whole Sky

Processing my own grief was hard, but watching it wash over my family broke me. I remember hugging my sister in the church backroom, as we both held back the urge to puke from horror of preparing to give a eulogy for someone that we both imagined growing old with. My brother’s voice as he told my mom, “I’m 18 years old, and I’ve only been to two funerals, but I’ve been a pallbearer at both.” The image of my youngest brother, looking like a perfect juxtaposition of a young man and little boy in his pallbearer suit, his shoulders shaking with his sobs as he sat alone in a plastic chair staring straight ahead at the casket. My dad’s face when he took a moment alone by the casket to finally drop the brave act he was putting on for the rest of the family. My mom hugging everyone in sight, surrounded by the image of every mother’s greatest fear.

Even days, months, years later, these images are still deeply seared in my brain.

I remember the exact moment when I learned of Jacquelyn’s suicide. My mom called me and told me to sit down, but I was at a crosswalk on the way to my office, so I sat on a concrete pillar when she delivered the news. (To this day, I still get PTSD when my family messages me, “Are you busy right now? Can I call you?” or “Are you sitting down?” with no context.) I booked a ticket a day later to fly home for the funeral. My parents picked my sister and I up from the airport (I was living in Hong Kong and she was living in London at the time), and then we drove down to Detroit for the weekend.

The tears were flowing before I even walked into the front door of my aunt’s house and enveloped her in a huge hug. “She loved you so much. You were like her big sister; she always looked up to you,” she said, continuing this refrain all weekend long.

My thoughts will echo your name until I see you again. I’ll spend forever wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you
— Taylor Swift, Enchanted

I know it was meant to be comforting — a sign of my cousin’s love and how important we were to her. But the broken heart is not rational, and all I could think was “since I was someone she looked up to, maybe I could have been there for her in a way so that this wouldn’t have happened.”

Rationally, I know her suicide wasn’t my fault, just as I told my aunt and my sister that it wasn’t theirs whenever they expressed their grief

But the guilt eats away at me just the same.

A couple of months before her suicide, Jacquelyn came to visit me in Hong Kong. I will forever be grateful that she came to visit me, but I’m also haunted by the “what ifs” and “could I have done more”s.

“Come on, don’t leave me like this. I thought I had you figured out. Can’t breathe whenever you’re gone, can’t turn back now, I’m haunted ”
— Taylor Swift, Haunted

The last thing I ever did with Jacquelyn was hug her goodbye as I dropped her off on the bus back to the airport. The last evening I spent with her was a quick Cantonese roast duck dinner after work. I remember being sad that she was leaving, but also excited to have my bed to myself again. Today, I would give anything to have her back in my apartment again, to have her face wash accidentally bleaching my pillowcases and towels. Why didn’t I try harder to convince her to stay longer?

As she was leaving, she promised to come back soon. I promised to reach out to her regularly so she wouldn’t feel pressured to respond, as I knew she got anxious about messaging people. While I did follow through a few times, at the time she committed suicide, it had been over a month since I last reached out. What if I did? Would she have opened up?

During her two weeks in Hong Kong, we talked about Roth IRAs, about her planned spring semester in college. We talked about making new friends, about connecting with professors, about internships, about the careers she thought about pursuing, about the dream careers she wanted to have.

She told me she loved it in Hong Kong. She told me she was “actually serious” about coming back again to visit and had already set her flight alerts.

I’ve read enough books where protagonists are suicidal. I knew she was not in the best place mentally, but she was thinking about the future — so that has to be a green flag, right?

But the problem was that Jacquelyn had also read all these books. And this girl was so smart, so stubborn, so strong-willed. They were her greatest traits. And they were unfortunately also her undoing.

Now, all I’m left with is a bunch of questions. Why did you do this? Why were you so sad? Did you feel alone, and what role did I play in that? Could I have done something to help? How did I not catch the signs in front of me? How did I not know how bad things were?

In preparation for her funeral, we made a bunch of massive photo collages on poster boards. I remember we would look at pictures of when she was a little girl, and so so so happy. The pictures of when we were in our tweens and all looking very unphotogenic (my sister and I joked that we need to start posing better in the photos our parents take). Pictures of her graduation, of college, of her visits to Toronto in recent years.

I couldn’t help but think, Jacquelyn, when did you start getting so unhappy? When did being happy start being an act you put on? When did happiness become fleeting moments instead of a general state?

I guess you really did it this time. You left yourself in your warpath.
— Taylor Swift, Innocent

When did it become too late for us to help you? When did it get so bad that you just couldn’t take it anymore?

Sometimes we don't catch the cancer until it’s at Stage 4. Similarly, sometimes we don’t catch depression, or anxiety, or any other mental health disorder until it’s all-consuming.

You can fight and fight and fight all you want. But at some point, if you’re not getting better, the body just gets tired. You can’t fight anymore. It doesn’t mean you’re weak. It just means that the disease was too strong.

We always remember cancer victims as strong individuals who fought and fought and fought. Who held on to that hope that a cure would be found, that there would be a new breakthrough. And they fought until they just couldn’t anymore, until it was too tiring, the illness too strong. They are fighters.

I’m still a believer, but I don’t know why. I’ve never been a natural; all I do is try, try, try
— Taylor Swift, Mirrorball

I know with every bit of my heart that Jacqs was also a fighter. This girl was the most stubborn person ever — I’ve literally watched her sit outside an outdoor pool in her swimsuit in -10 degree weather trying to win a bet against me. I know she’s been fighting for years and years — praying and hoping and trying to make things better.

People always act like suicide is a choice. But is it really? Sure, you can be mentally stronger, but you can also be physically stronger. When folks get renal cancer, people don’t blame patients for having weak kidneys. The same should go for suicide. It’s just different organs, different cells, different bodily processes that failed to work correctly.

I remember that when my uncle passed away from cancer, the recurring words were, at least he’s not hurting anyone. At least he’s not in any more pain.

Everyone was comforting me. Everyone told me how he fought so hard. They didn’t blame him for a moment for passing away (Correctly so, it would be absurd to blame him.)

A person’s legacy is oftentimes centered around the life they lived rather than the illness that killed them. However, I think that society has a propensity to be less kind towards suicide victims. Their legacies tend to be more intertwined with the act of suicide in itself.

Society oftentimes taints memories of suicide victims with internal judgments and assumptions — as if who they were and the impact they imparted is lesser just because they killed themselves. Now I don’t think that we should hide when someone kills themselves, act like suicide is taboo, or sweep it under the rug. I actually think that being honest and candid is crucial for bringing more suicide awareness — and thus suicide prevention — into the world. I just wish everyone would stop reducing victims to martyrs or cautionary tales, instead of whole-ass living people.

My cousin wasn’t a weak person. She was a sad girl who committed suicide, but that act does not define her. It was something she did, not the person she was. There is so much more to her, her life, her legacy, and I don’t want her— or any other suicide victim — to ever be reduced to “just a suicide victim”.

I hated Jacquelyn’s funeral. I hated the fact that I had to sit at my little cousin’s funeral at such a young age. I hated the idea of my little cousin being dead, that she would never turn 21.

However, I loved how the ceremony didn’t shy away from sharing that she passed away from suicide. I loved how her mom, even in all her grief, didn’t want the suicide to be a source of shame. She wanted to send a clear message of mental health awareness. She wanted people to know that mental illness was something Jacquelyn had battled for a while. That while she might have lost, it wasn’t because she didn’t try to fight, it wasn’t because she wasn’t strong.

Do I wish she could have fought longer? Of course I do. But even the strongest soldier will get knocked down when the tsunami wave is big enough. Sometimes you can fight all you want, but it’s a losing battle. That holds true for all illnesses — both physical and mental.

One of the songs on our funeral slideshow playlist was Innocent by Taylor Swift. I liked the song before Jacqs passed away, but it has since taken on a whole other dimension of meaning. It hits me hard every time I hear the lyrics “Who you are is not what you did. You’re just an innocent.”

It’s alright, just wait and see, your string of lights is still bright to me. Who you are is not what you did. You’re still an innocent
— Taylor Swift, Innocent

It really frustrates me when people or religions claim that suicide is a sin, that it is an act of selfishness, that it is a choice.

Illness is illness. Sometimes it hits the kidneys and your blood cells. Sometimes it hits the brain and the neuroreceptors. Most people don’t wake up on a random Tuesday and choose to commit suicide. You commit suicide because you are in so much pain that there is no other choice. Sometimes you’re a cancer fighter in so much pain that you can’t fight the malignant cells anymore.

Sometimes you’re just an innocent 20-year-old girl who feels helpless.

I don’t know why this happened. I don’t know why mental illness took a stranglehold on her like that. Similarly, I don’t know why my uncle got cancer. I’m not spiritual enough to think that all things happen for a reason. Sometimes bad things happen to good people, I guess.

But I know she was a fighter. A warrior. A good person, friend, cousin, daughter. And I’m so glad that my aunt made sure that even at her funeral, she was remembered as such. Because I sure as hell will remember her that way.

When I said I wanted to title this “thoughts on suicide,” it was because I only had a smorgasbord of thoughts instead of a hamburger-paragraph styled essay.

I don’t really know what to say here, so I’m going to end with the same sentiment that people always say to their loved ones who pass away from cancer or other physical ailments. Because, at the end of the day, mental illness is just another illness. It’s your body saying, “I can’t handle the pain of the world anymore” — except this time it’s a mental burden.

So to Jacquelyn: You were strong and amazing. You might have lost the fight in the end, but we all do eventually. Who you are is not what you did. All good things come to an end. Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened. The brightest flame burns half as long.

Thank you for the memories; I wouldn't have traded them for the world. I hope you are happier now; I hope you are in less pain. I will love you for the rest of my life.

I will end this the same way that Jo and I ended your eulogy:

“Long live all the mountains we moved; I had the time of my life fighting dragons with you. You will be remembered.”
— Taylor Swift, Long Live

I have spent the past two weeks watching the Winter Olympic Games. In other words, it’s been fourteen days straight of me cheering on athletes as they do inconceivable things that I could only imagine ending in death for mortal human beings. (Please introduce me to the psychopath who thought of going down a steep snowy hill and launching themselves in flying-squirrel position as far as possible. Or the mad genius who first tried diving headfirst down a long, icy slide on nothing but a sledge. I would like to shake their hand… and then suggest that they get checked out at a psychiatric ward.)

As usual, I was incredibly impressed by every single competitor. Even a last-place Olympian will comically kick the ass of your average community-league star. They are all absolutely insane.

I watched the games via the Canadian broadcast streams, where they would highlight the Canadian athletes competing in various events. Sometimes these athletes were household names in popular sports, like hockey players or perennial medal winners. Most of the time, they were non-podium contenders in lesser-watched sports.

For many Olympians, the goal isn’t to medal. The goal is just being there. The accomplishment is competing in your first Olympics. Improving your personal best in your fourth Olympics. Beating the Canadian record with a top-15 finish. Spending two minutes in the lead seat before the stronger half of the field does their runs.

They might not be the superstars, but those are the athletes who impress me, who inspire me the most.

Being an Olympian is, quite frankly, incredibly impractical. Even if you ignore the fact that you need to be a freak-of-nature-incredibly-talented athlete to even have a shot, it’s such an expensive dream from an extrinsic cost-benefit perspective. Almost all the rewards are intrinsic. You truly have to love what you’re doing.

The Olympics started as a contest of amateur athletics, and that spirit still holds true in many of the competitions today. While some Olympians are big-name athletes who make millions of dollars playing in professional leagues, this is the minority. Most are virtual unknowns who depend on government grants and part-time jobs to support their training.

Don’t get me wrong, the Olympics are a glamorous event. However, if you think about it, outside those two weeks, most athletes are not living a life of glitz and glamour. While the event is a huge fanfare where athletes get to represent their countries and have hordes of fans scream their names and hold them up as a beacon of national pride, they only happen once every four years. For many (most) sports, this means that the average sports fan only cares about your success once every four years. Even then, casual viewers typically only tune in for those competing for a podium.

It is really hard for these athletes to have a tangible lasting legacy if they don’t medal. Yet events typically have maybe a handful of podium favourites or medal contenders. Most Olympians walk into the games knowing that they won’t podium. They are just competing for their flag, and most of all, they are just competing for themselves, for the love of their sport.

Many big dreams require sacrifices — see struggling artists, broke start-up founders, or overworked-overtired assoiciates. However, for most of the time, the end goal that people are striving towards includes both intrinsic and extrinsic rewards.

These individuals are likely passionate about what they are doing — why else would they sacrifice so much for their craft? But the light at the end of the tunnel is frequently a dream full of riches. An A-list acting career with fame and blockbuster movies. A company that goes public and makes you millions. A name partner role at your fancy law firm. If they succeed, they are set for life.

It doesn’t work like that for Olympians. The top of the mountain is amazing from a personal fulfilment perspective, but not in any sort of practical sense. The Canadian government pays athletes $37,500 for gold, $22,500 for silver, and $15,000 for bronze medals. In other words, a podium won’t even pay you enough to constitute a yearly salary, let alone set you up for life. And keep in mind that only the top three contestants of each event will medal… and that is out of a field of people who are already the cream of the crop, the top 1% of their sport.

Maybe a handful of the most famous Olympians will sign sponsorship deals, but for the rest, even the top step of the podium has very few extrinsic benefits. The rest typically take on normal desk jobs after retirement, because even a fruitful Olympic career isn’t enough to sustainably feed a family.

Imagine if only the CEOs of the top 5 companies in a sector were billionaires, and the rest had nothing. Could you imagine if you told tech founders that they would only become rich if they could usurp one of the biggest companies in the world? How many do you think would keep grinding away? I would be willing to bet very few.

This hypothetical is the reality of the Olympics. Eileen Gu makes millions in endorsements, but the 10th-best Chinese freestyle skier is likely living entirely off government grants. Imagine if the CEO of the 10th-largest (or even 100th-largest) telecommunications company in the world was making a less-than-working-class wage. No one would ever go into entrepreneurship. Once they realise they couldn’t take down the giants at the top of the chain, they would quit, since there is no extrinsic (monetary, title, status, etc.) reason to continue.

Yet Olympians do this all the time. They happily spend their entire lives training rigorously for the games. They sacrifice their time, energy and money to try to compete for their national team. They know that no one will really care about their result except their friends and family, yet they love the game so much that they do it anyway.

In a world where so many people have ulterior motives behind their goals and desires, Olympians show us authentic passion. If they wanted money or fame, there are many easier routes.

But instead, they dedicate their entire lives to chasing an Olympic dream.

I don’t care if you are a sports fan or not. You have to admit it’s so pure and beautiful.

This got me thinking about the last time I did something just for the love of the game. Sure, I have hobbies, but I think many of the things I put substantial amounts of energy into have extrinsic value — my job, or improving a skill that I think might help me in the future.

I think the closest thing I’ve had to this was when I played Varsity field hockey in university (college for you Americans). We would train 10–15 hours a week, and I probably spent a good ten more hours of mental energy on that sport. I knew it would bring no concrete value to my future career prospects — I was not good enough to ever go professional, and my likely field of employment was very unrelated — but I was happy to commit that kind of time and energy because I loved it. It made me happy.

I want that feeling again.

There is something beautiful about fully dedicating yourself to something for no reason other than to make yourself happy. You don’t have to think about anyone else. You’re just trying to prove to yourself what you are capable of.

Most of us won’t ever be Olympians. We aren’t athletic, strong, or fast enough. More than that, we don’t have the mental fortitude or drive. We aren’t willing to sacrifice all our time and energy — essentially our entire lives — into something just because you love it.

Olympians are just freaks of nature — both physically and mentally. I say that in the most complimentary way possible. And I think that we mere mortals could take inspiration, learn lessons, from that.

This doesn’t mean you have to pick up a sport and train it competitively... in fact, this has nothing to do with sports or athletics at all. It just has to do with the love of the game — where “game” here can represent anything.

This is about putting time and effort into something you love. It’s about ignoring the urge to only do things that have extrinsic or practical value, and instead being willing to do something just because you enjoy it.

Sometimes, at the other end of the tunnel of blood-sweat-and-tears is not a shiny medal, or a fancy new title, or a raise. Instead, the reward is knowing that you finally put your precious time and energy into something you actually care about.

So take a deep look at yourself in the mirror and ask yourself, if no one else’s opinion mattered, what would you do?

As an Asian-canadian who grew up in a hockey-obsessed household, I grew up on western media — mostly American TV shows and movies, to be specific. That meant that the actors I watched and the celebrities I followed were mostly white. I didn’t think much of it; it was just the reality.

Since this was the late 2000s, there were some token asians in most shows, but they were never the main character or love interest. They were the nerdy best friend, or the comedic sidekick, or badass martial arts master, or two-only-asian-people-in-this-movie-so-thus-they-must-be-a-couple. In other words, they were never the person you were supposed to swoon for.

Over the past five years, this has evolved a little bit. K-dramas have increased in popularity, and hordes of people — including westerners — are head-over-heels in love with the stars. However, I still think this is less of a consequence of western media romanticizing Asian more, and more a product of an increase in Asian-dominated casts, where the only option is thus a Asia romantic lead. In a multi-cultural cast where there is any other ethnic option, the heartthrob is seldom Asian.

That was, until Heated Rivalry came along.

For those of you who live under a rock (or who live on a different side of the internet from me), Heated Rivalry is the current big TV-show phenomenon. The internet cannot get enough of it; everyone and their mom is watching it (not even an expression, my mom has literally watched it). For lack of a better description, it is essentially a soft-core gay hockey romance between Russian Ilya Roznov and Half-Asian-canadian Shane Hollander.

For many people, this show represents steps forward for the LGBTQ community in professional sport settings.

For me, this show is showing me what life would look like if Hollywood actually portrayed Asian men as sexy.

Hudson Williams, the half-Korean Canadian actor playing one of the male leads, and costar Connor Storrie have been all over the western media in the past month — talk shows, Golden Globes, Milan Fashion Week, they’ve been doing it all. The interviews are catered to be unapologetically sexy, racy, and very heartthrob-y. Obviously, there will be some sort of recency bias here (and a content-presence bias, given that I am a hockey girl), but I can’t recall ever seeing an Asian actor even come CLOSE to being portrayed in such a sexual and romantic light before (maybe Henry Golding after Crazy Rich Asians, but even that didn’t have quite the same hype).

Williams is ethnically half-Korean and half-British/Dutch (we shall punt the discussion on waisians representing asians for another post… I have many thoughts here don’t worry), playing the half-japanese book character. He doesn’t look like a white boy with dark features though; his does actually look quite asian. It is almost shocking to see thirst-trap edits of him, which are usually reserved for white actors (maybe I am exposing my social media algorithms here too much). I hadn’t even started watching the show before his interviews started taking over my Instagram Reels algorithm. Heated Rivalry — and its costars — has the world has caught in this obsessive chokehold. I don’t think mainstream Western media has given half this kind of attention to someone of Asian descent before — at least not that I can remember.

I feel like I’m watching east-asians being represented as “conventionally hot” for the first time in my life. And it’s making me realize how much this lack thereof shaped my ideology of conventional beauty standards so far in my life.

Attractiveness is a strange concept. In contrast to attraction, which I think has a lot more nuance in terms of personal preferences, conventional attractiveness has a lot to do with… convention. If you are universally praised as attractive, it’s probably because you align with what Hollywood portrays in an attractive light.

That light has historically shone almost exclusively on Caucasians; if you ask people to name their celebrity crush, the answer will almost always be a white man. Since 2000, Times Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive has been 21 white men and 4 black men (I guarantee that the racial diversity was not better in the 1900s). In fact, an Asian has never won that accolade, or even placed in the top 3.

If this is what Hollywood convention tells us is attractive, it’s no wonder that this trickles into normal life as well. It’s hard to expect someone’s subconscious to label someone as “conventionally attractive” when popular media has never highlighted those features as desirable. Afterall, we Asians don’t have blue eyes and curly blonde hair. The Justin Bieber haircut looks much different when black versus blonde.

It’s not that Asian men aren’t attractive. They can be, and they are. It’s just that Hollywood never casts Asian men as the “love interests”.

Since movies/TV shows have a limited run-time, Hollywood is full of tropes with clear personality arcs to push the story along. The class clown adds comedic relief, the nerdy best friend will ground the lead, and the mage will mentor. They don’t have time to build anything else. The romantic love interest might not be the most attractive person in the cast(both physically and personality-wise). However, if we continue to highlight their strengths, flaws, and get emotionally attached, the human psyche dictates that people will eventually fall in lust. (If you don’t believe me, ask yourself how many times you’ve found yourself attracted to the murderous villain… cause my answer is way too many times to count.)

A good movie director can make you fall in love with the romantic lead, flaws and all. However, since Asian actors are always the sidepiece, they are rarely painted in that attractive light. They never make it into the collective Western ideology of “attractive”.

Last year, I watched a couple TV shows where the cast — and thus romantic leads — were all Asian. I think that was when I first realized how powerful that is in making the brain realize someone is attractive.

I watched “The Brothers Sun” with my family last year, a Netflix series starring Michelle Yeo about a Taiwanese-crime-empire family living in America. Justin Chien stars as Charles Sun, a martial-arts-mafia-like protagonist. I won’t lie, at first glance, I didn’t think the cast was particularly attractive (not unattractive, just nothing special). But in the show, his character was a badass and a womanizer. Within a few episodes, I a new celebrity crush was developed.

Similarly, I watched XO Kitty, a teen-romcom about an American girl on exchange at a Korean boarding school. It was a western TV series (that was definitely playing into the increase of Kpop popularity in western media), but almost all the characters — and all the love interests — were Korean. As someone who has not watched any K-dramas yet, it was new to me to see this type of focus. Sang Heon Lee, a Korean actor playing one of the main love interests, is undoubtedly attractive by Korean standards. However (maybe this internalized racism from Western media), I don’t know if I would have given a second look if I saw him at the bar. Once I watched that show, though, and I was hooked. Maybe it was the personality, maybe it was the charm, or maybe it was the fact that they highlighted and romanticized all of his attractive features in a way that I couldn’t ignore how incredibly hot he was.

Fast forward to now, where my Instagram feed is (shamefully) entirely Heated Rivalry videos. Now I’m not saying that everyone will be attracted to the same people — just because someone is conventionally attractive doesn’t mean that you find them attractive. Not everyone is attracted to Chris Hemsworth, but no one is arguing that he isn’t objectively very easy on the eyes.

You can say the same thing about Hudson Williams and Connor Storrie right now. A low-budget canadian-hockey soft-core-gay-smut series doesn’t reach international phenomenon status unless the sexy scenes are actually sexy.

In an interview, Williams said, “I hope that little Asian kids are like, ‘Ooh, I want to become an actor’” (He then followed that up with “A role model for the next Asian kid that wants to get railed”… but we digress).

In all seriousness, though, isn’t that the goal? To live in a world where little Asian kids think that they can be actors in roles where they are not sidekicks but actual attractive romantic leads?

I joked with a friend that I need to watch more K-dramas so that I can continue being exposed to hot asian men. Although I was mostly kidding, there was some truth in that statement. I am not used to mainstream media painting asian men as attractive. However, once I saw it happen, I fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

It also seeped into my real life. Watching Hollywood highlight features that are attractive in Asian men has meant that I subconsciously also start associating those features as attractive in everyday life as well.

Maybe this is an indication of how easily influenced I am by the media’s perception of attractiveness. But there is no way I am the only person who has subconsciously internalized some idea of caucasian-centered conventional attractiveness standards after growing up with Western media.

I hope this is the beginning of a new era. I hope that Hudson Williams is just the beginning of Asian men being painted as attractive by Western media. And next time, I hope that instead of just having half-Asian men on the biggest stage, Asian men will be under the brightest lights.

Maybe we will move towards a world where I don’t have to watch Asian/International movies/shows just to see asian men being cast as heartthrobs and romantic interests.

Instead of making Asian men (and women) diversity castings, give them a chance to be the centerpiece. Give them the chance to be the Sexiest Man of the Year.

Because it’s not that Asian men can’t be romantic or sexual interests. It is just that Hollywood refuses to paint them that way.

I finished 2025 feeling like I accomplished nothing. I couldn’t understand why, given that I did a lot that year — I lived halfway across the world, travelled plenty, played Field Hockey against international teams, and many more fun activities.

Yet, whenever someone asked me what I did, or what I was proud of accomplishing in 2025, my mind drew a blank.

I feel as if I have been operating on cruise control since starting a full-time job. I have always had concrete goals and next steps, and for the first time in my life, I don’t have a clear path I am working towards. I have been travelling, working, and playing sports. etc., but all of it has been on my whim, based on what I thought would be fun at the time.

Now, I don’t think we always need to have a goal or direction in mind when doing something, but I think I find it hard to find “accomplishments” fulfilling if I don’t feel like I explicitly worked towards these accomplishments.

I wanted to fix that this year. I believe the best way to explicitly work towards your goals, is to have explicit goals to work towards.

And the most fun way to accomplish that, is to turn it all into a fun Bingo Card filled with the goals you hope to achieve

On New Year’s day, I sat down with my family, and we all made bingo cards for things we wanted to accomplish in 2026. It was very cute as we all acted as random number generators for one another as we wrote down goals varying from “Make the school tennis team” to “Cook the perfect omurice”.

Since then, I have been telling everyone and their mom (I literally have told multiple moms) about my Bingo card.

Two great things have come from this. Firstly, I feel that telling people makes it more real. It adds some extra pressure, some extra incentive to succeed. I can’t fail now, especially now that I’ve told others that this is important to me.

Secondly, it has also inspired others to make bingo cards. I genuinely get so excited when others agree to do a bingo card, even more so when they show me their goals. Some of my friends have come up with incredibly inspiring goals, and I feel like learning about their goals — more the serious and unserious ones — have taught me even more about their values and current life priorities, making me feel even closer to them. I roped a few coworkers into making one as well — there is now social #2026-bingo Slack channel coined by yours truly (description: You don’t have to post your bingo card, but you must post when you get Bingo).

I feel like I’ve created a cult at this point, which honestly, is very rewarding in itself. One of my friends even has the card in his wallet, and it makes me so very happy whenever he pulls it out. Maybe it is self-obsessed of me to say, but it feels nice to know you can be a part of helping someone achieve their goals for the year.

I cannot wait to see how this year turns out.

My goals for 2026 vary. Some of them are concrete goals — Financial goals, language proficiency goals, and activities I want to complete. Others, though, I added simply because I hope that their presence acts as a guide towards the decisions and priorities I have this year — i.e., if my goal is to run 5k in 22:30, then I surely need to start running more. And some were to force myself to do the things I have been telling myself to do — I bought flour to make sourdough starter months ago bu,t haven’t opened a single bag.

I haven't checked off a square yet, but it’s so much fun. The dopamine hit I’ve gotten from its pure existence, from telling others about it, is well worth it.

In case you haven’t gotten the hint, grab a piece of paper and get bingo card writing! For those with writer's block, I’ll add some tips of how I designed my own goals.

Tip 1: Start with your concrete goals

You probably have one or two things you want to accomplish this year. Maybe your big goal is to run a marathon, find a job, or graduate from university. Maybe you have a big project, promotion or skill you wanted to learn.

“Learn 1000 mandarin words” “Publish a book” “Win a tennis tournament”

Spread those out across your card, and get going!

Tip 2: Add fun goals/plans that excite you

Don’t make all your goals hard or challenging. Many of your goals will take time and effort to achieve — which is good. But sometimes you just need a quick win. You can also use your goals as a mechanism to carve out time to do things you’re excited about, but haven’t gotten around to yet.

Find some things you’ve been meaning to do, but haven't been able to put aside the time for.

“Join a book club“ “Host a dinner party” “Go on a road trip to a National park”

This is the opportunity to give yourself that extra push, that extra dopamine hit, that extra sense of accomplishment, when doing something that you know you’ll enjoy, but haven't been able to take time out of your busy life to do.

Tip 3: Come up with goals that represent lifestyle changes you want to make

Sometimes, our goals are less tangible, but rather represent the path we want our life to take. For example, it’s tough to put “be more active” on your bingo card. However, you can achieve this sentiment multiple ways.

Method one: Reward yourself for showing up

“Go to the gym 150 times this year” “Follow piano outine for a month”

Alternatively, make your goals outcome specific

“Do 100 pushups in 10 minutes” or “Learn to play Piano Man”

You aren’t going to be able to reach those outcome goals without putting time in at the gym, so those goals will, by nature, encourage you to make the lifestyle changes required to hit those goals.

Which method is better, though? I think this depends on how dedicated you already are to this habit. If you are trying to build up a habit you didn’t previously have, you should start by rewarding yourself for showing up, so you get into a routine of caring for it. However, if you already partake in this activity, and you just want to be more intentional with this habit, having an outcome goal might be more exciting, as then you can see the results of your hard work.

Tip 4: Don’t stress about completing all the goals on yourcard

The goal is to get Bingo, not to fill the whole card. In fact, I claim that if you can successfully finish your entire card by mid-year, you weren’t ambitious enough. Don’t be scared to put some farther fetches on your card. You’ll feel great if you achieve it, but if you don’t, there are other ways to get bingo.

Tip 5: If you run out of ideas, just add fun, silly things

There is no shame in adding fun, easy things to your card. Not all goals have to be hefty. You can add things that only take a minute to accomplish and can be done on a regular day.

“Bake fresh bread” “Try pickleball” “Say hi to your doorman”

If you only have 16 goals, then just roll with 16 goals and fill the rest with fast and easy things (or make your card smaller). Don’t let this 25-number get in your way

Let us all make 2026 our year! If you are willing to share your bingo card or any of your goals with me, I would love to hear them! Please email me, send me a message or even comment, whatever you’d prefer :)

My 2026 Bingo Card was originally published in The Startup on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

It’s been 48 hours since Game 7 of the World Series ended, and I’m trying to put on a page all the emotions I’ve felt in the past hours, days, months.

My parents raised me as a Toronto sports fan, so I’ve been through every gauntlet of pain that sports have to offer. I’ve seen basement-dwelling teams, numerous choke jobs, blown leads, and too-many-to-count Game 7 losses. Even so, I don’t think there has been a loss more heartbreaking than this one.

However, I can say from the bottom of my heart, that this is the most fun I’ve had watching sports. This season reminded Toronto fans what it is like to love a team, to band together and cheer for them, and to watch sports as it’s meant to be consumed — with anxious fun excitement rather than trepidious dread.

Normally after a playoff loss, I’m mad. I’m frustrated, angry, depressed, and question why I even follow this team. (This is what decades of failure does to the human psyche. My mother says they should study the brains of lifetime Leafs fans to observe the potential cerebral damage caused by never-rewarded hope.)

However, after the World Series, my overwhelming emotion was mostly just sadness that the run was over. That the fun would not continue. I was standing in the elevator with a bunch of others from the watch party — little kids were crying, and we all felt a bit heartbroken. But despite not having the high of a World Series win, I remember thinking to myself: “Wow, what an unbelievable experience.”

“Sometimes it’s just not your day”: I think every losing sports team says some media-clip-equivalent of that. Most times, it sounds like copium or absolute BS. This time, it felt about right.

Sports are full of the highest highs and the lowest of lows. That’s why we watch them. I think as a Toronto fan, it’s easy to forget that. To forget what it’s like for a loss to just be a loss.

There are 30 teams in a league. Only one will ever go home victorious. But that doesn’t mean that the other 29 teams didn’t have a successful season.

And if this season wasn’t a rousing Blue Jays success, then I don’t know what is.

If you told any Jays fan at the beginning of this year that they would make it to the World Series against the LA Dodgers, they would probably sell their house for it to be true. Hell, if you told most Jays fans they’d make it to Game 7 when the “David vs Goliath” series even started, most would probably be ecstatic.

Don’t get me wrong. I hate losing. I hate when people say that sports are “just a game.” My mental health is unhealthily correlated to how my sports teams are doing — both the ones I play on and the professional ones I follow.

It hurts that the Jays were so close. That, on multiple occasions, we were merely inches from winning it all, from having no “ifs onlys and buts” in the closing chapters to end this beautiful saga.

But as sad as the ending was, I think that when the sting of this loss finally wears off, we will all be able to look at this run as something truly magical.

I hated losing. But I loved every minute of this postseason.

I don’t know how many hours of my life I’ve spent watching Jays games, listening to podcasts, and watching replays on YouTube in the past few weeks.

I watched Jays’ games with Canadians in a London sports bar at 4am during the World Series. I hugged and high-fived strangers halfway across the world at a Blue Jays watch party in Hong Kong. I moved a flight to make sure I wouldn’t be stuck on a plane when the Jays could clinch the World Series, because it felt like one of those rare moments in life that you just wanted to be a part of. The energy was so electric that even the non-sport-watchers couldn’t resist, so it was like crack for the diehard fans out there.

The Jays truly pulled the country together in a way that I honestly can’t remember happening in my lifetime.

I couldn’t bring myself to go on social media after the game. After spending the past two months following every part of the team, watching every Trey Yesavage strikeout, my For You page algorithm had shifted to exclusively Blue Jays content, and I knew I couldn’t cope with the “what if” reels.

However, when I finally made my way back on the internet, what I saw instead wasan outpouring of love and support. (Who knew the internet was capable of that.)

I watched clips of the Blue Jays' post-game interviews — Jeff Hoffman blaming the loss on himself, Ernie Clement saying he cried for an hour over how much he will miss the team, Vladdy alone in the dugout — and my heart just broke for every playing. Surprisingly, most of the comments were also sending love. (Before you tell me it’s all in the algorithm, I guarantee you that when I watch Leafs post-game conferences, the comments hold a much *angrier* tone.)

Toronto is a fan base starved for a win. A fan base that only knows the heartbreak of game 7s, of teams who overpromise and underdeliver when it matters most.

And despite not winning the World Series, the Blue Jays truly delivered.

You gave us a team we were proud of. A group of guys that we wanted to root for, who created core memories that cannot be wiped away just because the final banner didn’t get raised.

Win or no win, this team was what Toronto needed, what Canada needed.

Sure, you guys were representing my city, my country, my home. We Canadians would’ve rallied behind the Blue Jays anyway, as an act of patriotism. We are used to blindly supporting a team just because of unbreakable loyalty to a sweater — Toronto Maple Leafs fans do it every year.

This was different. This was a team of people that fans genuinely wanted to root for.

The underdog stories. The superstars who want to be here, who openly care. The comeback victories. The career minor-leaguers who finally ended up on the big stage. The rookies who went through journeys Hollywood couldn’t write up.

This is what Canada has been waiting for — A team with players we could love, who created legendary sports moments that we would cherish forever.

And boy, did the 2025 Blue Jays ever deliver.

So, Dear Toronto Blue Jays, I know this season ended in the most heartbreaking way possible.

But I hope you know that you did an entire country so proud. I hope you realize how special this season was. You’ve made memories that millions of sports fans will never forget.

I can say from the bottom of my heart that this is the most fun I’ve ever had watching sports.

And I think most of Canada feels the same way.

Welcome to my Medium — except this time organized into categories.

I have always used Medium as a medium (haha) for my smorgasbords of random thoughts. I hope this makes it easier for you to find what interests you. (If you don’t know where to start, the first article in each section is one is my personal favorites.)

Thank you for taking the time to read my writing. I hope you enjoy and I would love for you to follow or subscribe if you want to read more!

Bonus: All of these links are NOT behind Medium Paywall, so you can read them even if you do not have an account or a membership.

Me, as a Canadian-Chinese

This is a part of me that I like to be vulnerable about sometimes

• Being the Damsel in Distress to a White Man in Hong Kong
• Unpacking why I’m Ashamed of my Asian Culture
• The Value of Hollywood Portraying Asian Men as Attractive
• I Just Want Asian Grandmas to Like Me
• So We Are Finally Talking about Anti-Asian Racism?
• Dear Police Departments: Stop Making Excuses for Anti-Asian Hate Crimes & Misogynistic Fetishism

The Way Gender Roles

As a woman, this is also important to me

• Let’s Talk About Enthusiastic Consent
• I Have More Rights as a Corpse than as a Pregnant Woman
• Titles Not To Use When Marketing Women in Leadership
• Dear Burger King, You Really Messed Up
• The way gender rolls in a “man’s world”

The World of Tech

I studied engineering. Can you blame me for having a plethora of these articles?

• Teaching Binary Search to Someone who has No Technical Knowledge
• How the Founder of Slack & Flickr Turned Failures into Billion-dollar Companies
• Why I Declined an Offer To Work at a Big Tech Company
• How to Stand Out on GitHub With Profile READMEs
• Which Apps bypass Apple Tax?
• An Economic Snapshot of the 11 minutes Jeff Bezos was in space
• How Big Tech is taking a stand against Trump
• I Got Caught in the Sinkhole of Writing Tech Articles
• Fun Facts that Prove Elon Musk is the Biggest Enigma of the 21st Century
• Why Mark Zuckerberg’s Personal Security Costs Eclipse the Rest of Silicon Valley

Philoso-food for thought

The world isn’t black and white, so here are some of the philosophical and moral dilemmas that occupy my mind

• Do Diversity Hires Really Make Us More Diverse?
• Is one human life worth more than another?
• Does true Altruism matter?

Fun Lists & Advice

Because knowledge (no matter how small) is meant to be shared

• 7 Tips to Travel Without Needing a Vacation from Your Vacation
• 3 Inspiring Books for When You Have Given Up on the World
• How to Complete a 100km Ride Even if You’re Not an Elite Cyclist
• Eight Essential Podcast Episodes for Any Budding Entrepreneur
• 8 Things I wish I understood when applying to University

Culture Commentary

If you haven’t noticed already, I have many opinions

• Let’s not forget about Human Interaction
• Don’t Let Toxic Hustle Culture Define Your New Year
• We Can Disagree About Politics but Not Human Decency
• LinkedIn Influencers: Please, Stop.
• This Pandemic Has Pushed Us 10 Years in the Future
• Stop saying “Sorry”
• 2020 Is Not Canceled
• “Your call is important to us”
• Stop disrespecting Healthcare workers
• We DON’T always have to be productive

Media & Entertainment

Just because it is entertainment doesn’t mean it is one-dimensional

• A Love Letter to the Toronto Blue Jays
• How Pixar made us forget our biases
• What Taylor Swift’s New Album Can Teach Us About the Music Industry
• The Hate on Simone Biles is Everything that is Wrong with Society
• Moments Where Tokyo 2020 Olympic Medalists Were Shockingly Relatable
• Hamilton — The musical that turned white supremacy into diversity
• What NBA Players can do to support BLM instead of boycotting the playoffs

Personal Stories

Think of it as my public diary

• My 2026 Bingo Card
• Can we talk about therapy?
• The Fear of my Words Being Used Against Me
• It’s about the life you lived

Thank you again for being here! If you enjoyed reading, I would love for you to follow or subscribe. You can also support my writing by buying me a coffee ☕️!

It is official: Asian grandmas hate me.

Actually, my grandma thankfully loves me. Have you heard of the common stereotype that Asian families are exceptionally hard on their children? I’m lucky enough to say that my parents and my grandma were always very accepting of my decisions, and very supportive of my successes and failures.

But I moved from Canada to Hong Kong a week ago. Now I finally know what everyone is talking about.

I am ethnically Chinese, so at first glance, I look like I belong here. However, the minute I open my mouth, it becomes very clear that I don’t. My Mandarin is barely passable. I can stumble through ordering food, asking for directions, and basic conversations, but that is about it. I spoke English (or French) throughout my entire life, so this is all brand new to me.

I am ethnically Chinese, so at first glance, I look like I belong here. However, the minute I open my mouth, it becomes very clear that I don’t.

To the outside world, though, those pesky details do not matter. Since I cannot speak Mandarin or Cantonese, and I don’t know much about my heritage, to every Asian grandma, I am a disgrace to the Chinese community.

Does it not matter that I was born in Canada?

I have a white male friend, who also grew up in Canada. Throughout his life, he’s learned some Mandarin and can now speak decently well.

Don’t get me wrong, I am very impressed. It is very humbling. But that’s beside the point.

Let me tell you something: All the Chinese grandmas LOVE him. They think he’s the sweetest thing ever. I know that all the grandmas selling buns at the morning markets in Taiwan think every butchered Chinese word out of his mouth is adorable. And I know all the grandpas are telling their grandkids about the basketball game they played with this precious white boy who spoke some Mandarin.

Meanwhile, they only ever look at me with unmistakable disappointment. I get the stink eye whenever I open my mouth. Every time I butcher a pronunciation, don’t know a word for some menu item, or ask whether a bun is vegetarian in my broken Mandarin, I see them looking at me in shame. The disapproval dripping off their voices is palpable.

They only ever look at me with unmistakable disappointment. I get the stink eye whenever I open my mouth.

My friend and I may have had similar upbringings, but that doesn’t matter. The way we are treated is vastly different just because I look ethnically Asian and he doesn’t. He is “making attempts to better understand the culture.” I am a “disappointment for not knowing my culture in the first place.”

Does anyone care that looks might be deceiving?

I went on a date a few weeks ago with a British ex-pat living in Hong Kong.

I have to say, there have been few times in my life where I felt more humbled than when this British man kicked my ass in Mandarin.

We were ordering at this restaurant and he asked me if I could read Chinese characters. He proceeded to give me an English menu while keeping his own Chinese version. I stumbled my way through ordering a watermelon smoothie. He ordered dinner for both of us.

The lady working at the store was legitimately swooning. We overheard her make a joke to her coworker about how the “white boy’s Mandarin was better than mine.” She laughed when she realized we both overheard the comment and then doubled down on the praise.

I’m glad that someone’s ego got pumped on that date, cause mine sure as hell did not.

Objectively, his Mandarin should have been better than mine. He has lived in Hong Kong since he was 10. He worked in Taiwan for two years. Asia has been his home practically his entire life. Meanwhile. I got here all of two weeks ago.

But looks can be deceiving. And many times, looks are all that matters. After all, even I was embarrassed that his Mandarin was better than mine, and I knew both our upbringings.

But looks can be deceiving. And many times, looks are all that matters.

I guess it’s hard to blame anyone else for thinking that I should know something just because of my ethnic appearance. But that doesn’t mean it sucks any less.

Dear Western World, Asia has more than one culture

A couple of my other Caucasian friends were recently traveling around Japan together. They were stopped on multiple occasions by vloggers who wanted to feature them in a series of “foreigners try cheap and expensive sushi.”

I was in Japan two weeks earlier. No one stopped me. Everyone spoke to me in Japanese and seemed confused when I didn’t know how to do something or had never eaten something before.

On a surface level, it makes sense. If the goal is to find tourists, Caucasians are a safer bet than Asians — even if Asia is a massive continent with multiple different countries. The content will sell better — especially if you’re selling to an audience that groups the entire continent of Asia as one big ethnic group.

Despite the fact that I’m only ethnically Chinese, I am a disappointment everywhere in Asia.

Kinda ridiculous don’t you think?

First of all, I’m from Canada. But even if I were from China, do you not realize how absurd it is to assume I would be an expert — or even well acquainted — with Japanese culture? You wouldn’t go to Norway and ask a Norwegian for lasagna recommendations, then give them the stink eye when they don’t have a recipe. You wouldn’t be confused if the Greek folk did not know how to make bratwurst.

Let me tell you something: Greece and Germany are closer than China and Japan — although no one seems to realize it.

I guess that’s what happens when most of the Western world sees Asia as “China with an island called Japan and a small area where they make K-pop.”

It’s a pretty fitting statement when you consider that despite the fact that I’m only ethnically Chinese, I am a disappointment everywhere in Asia.

Why don’t I get the benefit-of-the-doubt Caucasians get?

A few years ago, I was in Bali on a family vacation. Indonesia has a large Muslim population, so long loose conservative clothing is the norm.

I try to be respectful of local culture when I travel, but that particular day, we were heading to the beach. I was therefore wearing a spaghetti strap dress with a cutout when we stopped by a local market to get food.

A few minutes in, an older lady grabbed me by the shoulders and started screaming at me in Indonesian. Immediately, a girl around my age came by and then began to rapidly speak to her grandma in Indonesian. Moments later, the girl apologized to me, explaining that her grandma just thought I was very pretty and had a swimmer’s body.

Later on, a family friend of mine translated what transpired that day. The grandma thought I was a local, and thus was initially scolding me for showing my shoulders. He also told me that as we walked down the street, a few street vendors started laughing among one another because my dress had a midriff showing.

I guess I was inadvertently the market sideshow.

I guess Caucasians get the tourist pass privilege among the local grandmas that I just don’t get.

Now, I know I was wrong. I should not have worn beachwear to a local market. However, every Australian and every tourist that I saw walking down the streets in Bali was wearing beachwear even more revealing than I was, and I guarantee it was not Mulsim-culture friendly.

I deserved to be scolded, but it didn’t escape my notice that I was the only one who got yelled at. I guess Caucasians get the tourist pass privilege among the local grandmas that I just don’t get.

So how do I make Asian grandmas like me more?

I guess the simple answer is to get better at Mandarin and learn more about my heritage.

After all, I am self-aware enough to know that a lot of my anger regarding this disparity is probably driven by my own shame. I find it very embarrassing when Caucasians can speak better Mandarin or Cantonese than me. So maybe, that’s the solution: Work hard and one day, these Asian grandmas will be proud of me.

But here is the thing: I can work harder, and I will. But I don’t think I am actually the problem.

Maybe the issue is that everyone has this predisposed idea that all one billion asians have the same cultural upbringing.

I’ve worked hard already to know as much Mandarin as I do. It’s not like everyone around me spoke Chinese dialects and my ignorance was due to my laziness or inattentiveness. The language skills I’ve learned are a product of my environment, and the reality is that my environment was North America, not Asia.

Perhaps the core of the issue is that people assume how I was raised, what I should know, and how I should act, just because I look a certain way. Maybe the issue is that everyone — both Asians and non-Asians — has this predisposed idea that all one billion of us have the same cultural upbringing.

You don’t expect my Canadian friend to speak like a native, so why should you expect me to? My upbringing was much closer to that of my white Canadian friend than it would be to a Chinese girl born in Hong Kong. So maybe you should be basing your judgments on that instead.

Maybe these Asian grandmas shouldn’t be disappointed in me. Maybe they should be impressed.

They always say that the world would be a bit better if people just liked each other a bit more. Well, I agree. I think the world would be better if Asian Grandmas would start liking me. Because that means we are finally in a world where I am not just viewed as a carbon copy of the one billion other Asian girls in the world.

Instead, a girl who grew up in Canada, that Asian grandmas love.

If you’d like to follow along with the perspectives I gain on this journey, please subscribe or become a Medium member. You can also support my writing by buying me a coffee.

Unpacking why I’m Ashamed of my Asian Culture

I Just Want Asian Grandmas to Like Me was originally published in Human Parts on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

We live in a world where judgments happen in a split second. People watch me — a twenty-something Chinese female — walk down the street, and they’ll immediately make assumptions about what I like, how I speak, my upbringing, and why I’ve made my decisions in life.

Everyone seems to have an idea of who I’m going to be before I even open my mouth to say a single word.

Before I begin, I just want to make something very clear — to myself, to my family, and to anyone who ever reads this. I am proud to be Chinese-Canadian. I am not ashamed of who I am. I don’t wish I looked different or that my parents raised me differently. I just don’t like when people assume who I am and what I like. And I hate it even more when people are right.

I feel like that headstrong, stubborn, devil’s advocate part of me has driven many of the decisions of my life. After all, the last thing I’ve ever wanted in life is to be a walking-talking stereotype.

Let’s dive into this a little.

I’m the girl who refuses to go into the women’s only section of the gym. The varsity athlete in me didn’t ever want anyone to think I was intimidated by the men who thought they were hot shit for lifting heavy plates. I am pretty sure that part of the reason I studied engineering — specifically software — was because I wanted to be the girl who could dominate in a man’s world.

So does it surprise anyone that I hate Chinese food? And that I cannot name a single anime character? Or that the very idea of K-pop music makes me internally cringe?

Old habits die hard, especially when they’re subconscious. And the oldest habit I have is trying to prove to racist strangers that not all 700 million Chinese girls are the same — and that even if they were, I’d be different than the rest of them.

I am a third-generation Chinese-Canadian, but I didn’t grow up in a completely whitewashed bubble. My parents tried to speak to me in (albeit quite broken) Mandarin for as long as their vocabulary could hold. I went to my grandma’s to celebrate every major Chinese holiday. I grew up in a predominantly Asian area, so I have been to more than my fair share of authentic Asian restaurants, and my childhood friends were ethnically diverse.

Even so, if the TV was on in the house, Hockey Night in Canada was probably playing. Dora the Explorer and the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse were my childhood icons. A fajita was more likely to find itself on my plate during family dinner than fried rice ever would.

The hardest part to admit is that there is a subconscious part of myself that takes some pride in that. I’m someone who loves learning and experiencing new cultures. But for some reason, I’ve never been in love with my own.

Every single thought I have regarding my heritage is a juxtaposition. I wish so badly I could speak Chinese. But god forbid anyone thinks I am actually Mainland Chinese instead of Canadian. When I hear people boast about the merits of their cultural cuisine, I wish I felt the same love for Chinese food. But I also enjoy admitting that rice, soy sauce, and oyster sauce are among my least favorite foods.

As much as I want to be more in touch and more appreciative of my roots, I think the unfortunate reality is that my lifelong attempts to be different have caused me to be subconsciously ashamed of my culture.

I think that living in North America has given me an innate idea of Western superiority. Even worse, perhaps even a subconscious superiority complex because I’m whitewashed.

I know I cannot be the only person having such trepidious and shameful thoughts. But none of us want to admit it. After all, it’s hard to be a champion for stopping anti-Asian hate when you have some pretty heavy internalized racism yourself. How am I going to convince the world that I should be respected when I barely can hold myself to a high level?

So I guess we’ve unpacked it. But now what?

I don’t want to live my entire life out of touch with my heritage. Because of this, I’ve had “living in Asia” penciled into my life plans since I started unpacking my entire relationship with my background. It is by far the best way to immerse myself in my culture and language. But more than that, it gives me a chance to look at life through a perspective where my culture is not ostracized but instead normalized.

Fast forward to the present day: from unpacking to packing.

Instead of taking a cushy software job in Silicon Valley, I decided to search for opportunities in Asia instead. After all, some things are worth more than money in the bank. And if a better sense of identity isn’t on that list, I don’t know what is.

And so the journey begins. Next Stop: Jessica in Asia

I’m never going to be a poster girl for Chinese culture. I don’t think that’s a problem, given the environment I grew up in. But I’m hoping that next time I see one, I’ll see a bit of myself in there. And be proud of it.

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Unpacking why I’m Ashamed of my Asian Culture was originally published in Human Parts on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.