what i want you to know about me

six things, non-comprehensive

1. When I was a kid, my mom sat me down in front of an episode of Tom and Jerry. Though I don’t remember it, I’m reminded every holiday dinner that this made me burst into tears. My mom says that I’m sensitive. My story is that I disliked the idea of a weaker party being hunted down by a bigger, evil-er opponent, even back then — and that feeling has stuck with me my whole life.

As a teenager, I was stereotypically, suburban-ly interested in social justice. I helped raise enough money to build a well in Swaziland. I visited hotel chains for free shampoos and soaps that I passed on to homeless shelters. I trick-or-treated for UNICEF, or for the Trevor Project, or for canned goods to donate to the food bank. I used words like “praxis” and “pedagogy.” I was righteous and annoying, and I cared a lot.

My freshman year of university, I was 30 minutes late to my first-ever lab meeting because I was too busy crying about ethnic studies being banned in Tucson, Arizona — a decision that had been made six years before I needed to weep about it. I worked at my school’s intercultural center, which gave my anguish credibility, and forced myself to watch awful things because I worried that looking away made me complicit. Many people around me were angry. I advocated for police abolition at a conference in 2018, two years before it was trendy. I was angry. I dismissed most solutions as “bandaids.” I prayed that everyone would try just a little bit harder, care just a little bit more.

One of my favorite YouTube channels is “Special Books by Special Kids.” I’ve been subscribed for at least a decade. It’s a channel that interviews people with rare conditions: siblings with fetal alcohol syndrome, burn victims, a mother with craniofacial differences. I cry every time I watch — sometimes because their lives are so hard, sometimes because they are so full despite, always because they are beautiful.

Today, most of my charitable endeavors fall under the umbrella of effective altruism. EA entered my life because it’s straightforward and appeals to my logical sensibilities, but it’s stayed in my life because it doesn’t hurt as much to look at every day. If my soft heart and American savior complex destine me to keep trying to help others forever, I need to believe that what I’m doing is working in some small way.

2. I lived in Kanoya City in Kagoshima, Japan for 1 year and 8 months, from September 2021 to April 2023. I love talking about it but don’t because 1) I don’t want to be the annoying girl who won’t shut up about her time abroad and 2) I am reluctant to admit I am just as Japan-pilled as the rest of you.

Japan was the first time in my adult life that my to-do list felt finite. Much of this was baked into the structure of my life. For starters, I was on the JET Program, which meant I had zero career mobility (goodbye, pressure to ladder climb). I didn’t get to choose where I lived, and I wasn’t allowed to move (goodbye, pressure to optimize). I was limited by my language ability (goodbye, pressure to take on high-coordination projects). Most importantly, I knew I was leaving within a year or two (goodbye, pressure to “build a life”).

The only things left to work on were myself and my close friendships, which blossomed during this era. It was kind of like being in school again, by way of having a predetermined routine and social group, but with adult privileges like more money and better taste.

Everything was a delight: Snoopy-branded toilet paper, free trips to promote local tourism just for being a foreigner, onsen and sushi for prices that can’t even buy a sandwich in SF, and the beautiful, spacious countryside sprawling before me every single day.

And when I got to do things I liked, which was often, I felt like I really deserved to — I really was allowed to have that much fun. I mean, I wasn’t going to get rich off a teacher’s salary (so why save?) and I wasn’t interested in taking on life-altering, location-specific commitments (so why entangle?). Enjoying myself, moment-to-moment, became my central purpose. And I was really good at it. I mean, what else could I do? What else did I have to do?

You know when you exercise in the morning — maybe something kinda epic like a 10-mile run that wraps before 9 AM — and when you finish you feel like you’ve already done the big thing of the day? And anything else you accomplish that day is just a bonus? Being in Japan felt like that. It was a big enough thing that I didn’t need to do anything else. The hard part was done; the rest I could just enjoy.

When I left Japan, I swore that I wouldn’t go back for another decade — been there, done that, and there are so many other things I want to see! But these days I find myself missing the elation of embodying the “Thing, Japan” meme. Let me know if you want to swap rooms or go halfsies on a few bucolic months in the inaka.

3. I rarely feel lonely, but I often feel disconnected. I’m jealous of people who have really excellent friend groups — groups that rise to the level of community and seem to provide a real and robust sense of meaning. I’m also skeptical that those people are truly experiencing the level of belonging they claim they are, maybe because such deep connection seems like a faraway reality to me.

I should be clear: I like my friends. I love my friends! They make life so much better! But loving them doesn’t feel like “the point.” Neither do most things other people seem to derive meaning from: family, pets, sports, the club, video games, reading, learning, art, technology, the quest for a life partner.

I’m not sure that I have any passions. Admitting this feels dangerous, like I’m revealing that I’m missing something fundamental that everyone else is either born with or adept enough to pick up along the way. I fear that I am either 1) illegible, even to myself, or 2) so simple that there’s actually nothing to know. This is probably autistic to ask, but I’d appreciate you contributing to my sense of self by leaving me anonymous feedback about how you perceive or experience me here.

4. I practice noticing beautiful things. It’s a habit I picked up from my first boyfriend, an exceedingly stylish person whom I was often mad at for spending too much money on pants. (Years after we split, I was startled [and proud] to see his face on a massive ad display in the windows of a Hayes Valley storefront.) I liked many things about him, but one I wish I expressed more was my admiration for his ability to make everyday life noteworthy.

Now that I’ve copped to being a Japan enjoyer, I can tell you about a Japanese word, zakka, which translates to ‘miscellaneous sundries.’ Zakka are things like staplers, paper towel holders, throw pillows — but elevated, cuter, or more aesthetic in some way. For example, pretend the stapler is lime green, the paper towel holder was designed by a famous architect, and the throw pillows are dyed with turmeric. Picture things you might find at the MOMA store. Evoke the essence of Marie Kondo asking you to consider whether your contact lens case sparks joy.

My time with this person was full of zakka — literal nice objects, and the philosophy that everyday things (and events) can be sources of pleasure. Think: We’re eating eggs, but we’re eating eggs with forks that are carbon-light and metallic pink. We’re watching TV, but we’re watching TV on Takeout Thursday™, a two-person event series designed to break up the monotony of COVID lockdown. We’re going to the grocery store, but we’re going to the grocery store wearing garments exclusively made from proprietary waterproof fabrics.

My ex-boyfriend wasn’t rich or supremely well-connected, so it’s not like he had access to things that you and I don’t. He was just good at curating the best of the regular things and loving them into treasures. He was well-liked because he was funny and light-hearted and effortlessly, gregariously cool, and also because he liked many things and thus had many entry points for relating to others. I was always impressed by how much fun he had living a life very similar to mine — how much fun he was able to make for himself.

Juliet (of Romeo and Juliet fame) says, “I’ll look to like if looking liking move.” This is my intended disposition toward all things: I look to like, I hope to like, I aim to like.

The funny thing is, when I look for good things, they often appear. Thank you, B, for being the first person to model this for me.

5. Many people know me as a writer. I like this because it’s so damn chic. I dislike this because I don’t feel deserving of the label, and I’m prone to forgetting that there’s no accomplishment bar I need to fill before I am.

This blog is kind of embarrassing, but I am also really proud of it. It’s the best thing I’ve ever made, and I’m grateful I feel that way whether that belief is respectable or sad. This blog is the most honest work I’ve ever done. It’s the most accurate “I was here” graffiti I could muster. I wrote it for you, but I really wrote it for me. I wrote it to remember that I exist. It worked.

6. In the spirit of being honest on the internet, the past few months have been up and down for me. A couple of my hobbies have fallen to the wayside (this blog included — this is the first time in three years that my self-mandated monthly post has come late). Delayed gratification is harder than usual. Someone I love finds it difficult to spend time with me. I finally understand that a bad day doesn’t necessarily comprise bad content; sometimes, I am capable of bringing the bad to otherwise perfectly fine happenings.

Amidst this, I’m starting to think about 2025: the person I’ll be at its start and the person I hope to be by its close. Of all the adjectives I have strived to be in the past — happy, smart, interesting — the only one I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend is “generous.”

I know I love someone when everything that’s mine is theirs — when the boundary between their happiness and mine dissolves completely. I want to love the whole world like this. I’ll know that I do when I’ve given it everything I have.

As always, please let me know how I can be of service to you.