Mission accomplished! Project complete.
Holy shit, guys.
I did it! Project Crappy First Drafts is complete!! Although to be honest with you, my excitement levels are slightly lower than they were five minutes ago because I realized that Day 1 was on the 11th of Feb and today is the 13th of March…so I completely missed my anniversary date. Wah 😭.
Regardless, I still did it — and I did an extra two days. Still fulfilling the classic stereotype of overachieving Asian.
What did I learn from this project?
I actually really enjoy writing, specifically writing down my reflections and thoughts. I love having a space to share my point of view — my voice — with the world.
The more I wrote the more I found my voice and unique style, and the more I leaned into being me rather than trying to be / write who I thought I should be.
Titling this project as Crappy First Drafts and having clear parameters (aka in scope and out of scope for some business lingo) took a lot of pressure off so the focus was on writing rather than perfecting.
I often left writing for the end of the day and therefore battled between wanting to sleep (very well) and getting excited about writing — it was a constant battle between staying up late to ride the excitement (and feeling tired and grumpy the next day) or getting something quick out to go to sleep sooner (but wishing I started writing earlier so I could continue a compelling train of thought).
What will I take away?
I want to continue this habit of writing every day, but this time, begin my day with writing to actually prioritize something that is important to me. It doesn’t have to be the first thing I do in the morning, but I would like for it to be one of the first things I do so that I can more thoughtfully dedicate my time and energy, rather than leaving it for the last task of my day.
So, let me introduce you to Round 2 of my writing project: I’ll still prioritize getting each post done over getting it perfect, but have an added focus on honing my craft by prioritizing writing during the day. Welcome to Crafting the Draft.
She’s a yoga teacher
I got an offer from a yoga studio here in Sydney.
EEEIYEEEEEEEE!!
Well, I got the offer yesterday, but the joy and glee continues, especially because the film of tiredness that clouds my mind dulls my perception of everything, including my emotions.
Still waiting on final details (the paperwork, logistics, etc.) but since this verbal offer was made with much sincerity, accompanied by a hug, and shared with students, I’m hopeful.
Which brings me back to my yoga journey.
I’ve been practicing yoga since 2014 and started my journey in Austin, Texas with Corepower Yoga. Despite having a background in competitive figure skating (I was very mediocre) and working at a gym that hosted free yoga classes (“free” as in I paid the university annual tuition), I was quite resistant to the idea of yoga. The resistance was either due to most teachers — and students — belonging to a very specific demographic (read: white and skinny); or because I wasn’t sure if I was participating in cultural appropriation by participating in a class led by, and surrounded by, white people; and finally (the silliest reason) because my dad had pushed me to do yoga for the longest time, buying me introductory books about yoga since I was a teen, and definitively did not want to do what my parent told me to do.
After my first Corepower class I was hooked — and frankly a bit mournful that it had taken me this long to push past the resistance of not doing something just because my dad told me I should do it (this is a common theme here). I’d have a somewhat steady, very much on-and-off-again, relationship with yoga that spanned New York, Nepal, and landed in Thailand.
The view from Sadhana Yoga in Pokhara, Nepal, where I did my work exchange.
I had wanted to get my yoga teacher certification for a while but had always put it off because I never had enough time. Most yoga teacher trainings are a month long, and it’s quite difficult (an understatement) to take that much time off from work in the US — I was actually denied a promotion because I “wasn’t considerate” about my time-off (three weeks) despite having had gotten that time-off approved six months in advance (but that’s a story for another time). With the career break, I finally had the freedom and flexibility of time to finally pursue my goal of getting certified as a yoga instructor.
Teaching is not new to me. I taught at my Chinese school for two years and have been a mentor or volunteer for students throughout my adult life. I obtained my Mat Pilates instructor certification back in 2018 and taught privately until COVID. I’ve been a “teacher” in unconventional ways as well, whether in the corporate world or in more personal, intimate spaces: I’ve facilitated and led discussions for C-suite executives and I’ve empowered women to feel more confident in their bodies. Yet despite all of this experience, I was surprised by how much I fell in love with teaching yoga.
I love creating a safe and welcoming place where people can feel at ease and where I can encourage people to feel comfortable and confident in their body. I love helping people recognize that yoga is available to everyone, no matter how bendy or athletic or spiritual one is. And most of all, I love empowering my students to take up space — by physically taking up space on the mat and transforming that into claiming space in the outside world.
Tales about the actual yoga teacher training is for another time (I originally was going to write about my teacher training, which is a much deeper reflection), but first, a big
YAY!!!!
for receiving (and creating — yes I am owning my hard work) this opportunity to share my love and joy with hundreds of people on this earth.
She’s a yoga teacher!
Free in Tassie
When I first landed back in Sydney in December, I expected to be excited — thrilled to begin this next chapter of my life, especially when for a moment it looked like the move might not happen.
But I landed on a rainy day and took that as a bad omen. Within the first week I was a giant ball of anxiety. All of a sudden I had this endless amount of free time (no more endless doctor appointments and insurance phone calls; no more rushing from one event to another) and numerous decisions to make regarding what came next (job search, living situation, community). I felt myself creeping back to old ways of thinking — mainly of wanting to go pursue the most prestigious job and sexiest title to prove that this move was worth it. Yet that was so antithetical to why I quit my job in the first place and completely misaligned to the realizations I’d discovered over the past year and a half.
Here I was in Sydney, expecting that being physically here instead of New York would immediately relieve me of all the pressure and expectations I felt back in New York. But instead I felt overwhelmed by the weight my own expectations and disconnected to the person I’d become prior to my diagnosis. To be fair, December was the first time where I wasn’t distracted by something, whether that be good somethings like the New York City Marathon and Thanksgiving or bad somethings like navigating the health insurance system, and could finally start to process and come to terms with what had happened to me that summer.
Well if I learned anything over the past two years, it’s that I do my best thinking in the mountains. So on Christmas Eve I phoned up my friend Kazu, who had originally invited me over to Tasmania, and told him I was booking a flight for Boxing Day (Dec 26) to join him, his family, and his partner Satori.
Eating dinner with Kazu, Otosan, and Okasan in their hometown of Sendai, Japan back in November 2024.
I landed in Hobart and immediately reunited with Kazu and his parents, whom I affectionally call Otosan and Okasan, which are Japanese for Father and Mother.
We spent our first day in Tasmania watching planes take off and land at Hobart Airport (I’ve always said that this would be my perfect first date — there’s something incredibly powerful and wonderful about witnessing these giant pieces of steel take off into the sky), walking along incredible beaches (the water, like all water sin Australia, was stunning), and witnessing the most beautiful sunset at the aptly named Friendly Beach.
The rest of the trip was magical, restorative, and exhilarating. I saw amazing creatures of the earth I’d never seen before; I shrieked with joy while swimming in ice cold crystal blue waters; I was surrounded by boundless views with no buildings blocking the beauty of nature.
But most importantly, I reconnected with myself again. Spending time with Kazu, Satori, Otosan, and Okasan reminded me of why I took the risk of moving to Australia to start over despite having already established a pretty good life back in New York. Speaking with them about their dreams and ambitions reminded me that there’s no right way to have a career — in fact that only bad career is the one that you’re only doing to meet someone else’s expectations, ignoring your own. Being with them reminded me that pursuing your dreams and living life on your terms rather than those set by society (or your parents) is why we’re here and what makes it all worth it.
Alive, again
When I first received my undiagnosis, the two thoughts that immediately popped up were:
I can train for the marathon now (but it’s in six weeks)!!
and
I can move to Australia (oh shit I’ve gotta start planning)!!
Post undiagnosis, my primarily focus — at least on the exercise and movement front — was running again both to participate in upcoming races (the New York City marathon and the annual Changsgiving Trinity Turkey Trot) and to reacquaint myself with an activity I love dearly.
It wasn’t until I was halfway up Bishop and Clerk when I realized that this was my first time hiking — actually hiking — since being undiagnosed. I’d “hiked” while in Grenoble, but that was less of a hike and more of a frustrating walk of tears and fears as I was still moving under the (mis)guidance of keeping my heart rate at under 100bpm.
While in Tasmania with Satori, Kazu, and his parents, we took a ferry over to Maria Island. Bishop and Clerk is one of Maria Island’s most challenging hikes so of course I was going to do it because I can f-cking move my body however I want now!*
It was so freaking exhilarating to hike normally again — to hike at my regular speed and feel the breeze against my face, to feel my healthy heart pump oxygenated blood throughout my body, to feel the endorphins rush through me as I climbed onwards and upwards. I got a little teary as I continued the hike; I was filled with awe and gratitude and wonder to be experiencing all of this again after believing I would never move my body freely again.
The best part was the rush that came from climbing tricky bits that required grasping at thin crevasses to pull myself to the next ledge or taking a (literal) leap of faith to reach the ledge overlooking the sea. It was scary and thrilling, breath-taking and electrifying — it was being alive, again.
*Kind of. There’s some complexity and nuance to this, as with most genetic diseases.
Postcards from Chiang Mai
My yoga teacher training in January was set in Doi Saket, about an hour east of Chiang Mai, in the beautiful countryside. I had three days off in the four weeks that I was there, and two of those days were spent in Chiang Mai.
I’d been to Chiang Mai a decade earlier and done the tourist things then, so my days off in Chiang Mai (three in the month) were set on spending as much time as possible by myself. I primarily went into town to take advantage of all the variety of food there — Burmese tea leaf salad, bowls of khao soi, interesting vegan dishes, and plenty of mango sticky rice
There’s not much scenery depicted in these postcards, but there’s plenty of food!
Aunt May
Today’s my last day dog sitting.
I know, I know, you’re probably surprised since I’ve never expressed interest in being a dog owner – let alone any type of pet owner – and generally am not a pet person (okay don’t all go hate on me). I’m perfectly fine being a pet aunt.
However.
Tell me you can’t fall in love with this face!!
I’ve grown to love him even more whilst Mum and Dad (Zoe and Joe, who are generously letting me stay at their place) and, to be honest, am a little sad to not have him all to myself. There’s nothing better than watching his face light up when he sees me or giving him a massive full body cuddle.
But being able to fall asleep at night without wondering if someone is going to steal him and having the flexibility to do whatever I want whenever I want heavily tips the scale to staying a pet aunt - all the fun and zero responsibility.
Public transport showdown
Shit! I’ve got seven minutes until midnight to get my crappy first draft in for the day.
Today’s lightening quick post is about public transportation, specifically comparing the trains and subways of my two homes, Sydney and New York.
Sydney
Pros: I mean, do you see the above photo?! Clean! Spacious! Not crowded! Very well air-conditioned! Double-deckered! Reversible seats (most cars)!
Cons: Fare based on distance (boo). Tap on tap off, which sucks if you forget to tap on because then you pay the max fare ($18 AUD!). Not 24/7 (ugh). Infrequent (compared to New York). High probability of getting on the wrong train to the wrong direction because multiple lines share the same platform (easy way to lose time). Doesn’t really get you everywhere.
New York
Pros: 24/7 (huge!)! Only $2.90 USD for any distance. Massive network that is quite expansive across all five boroughs. Easier naming nomenclature to remember.
Cons: Sardine-level crowded. Not many seats. Hard seats. Rats and mice scrambling on the tracks and in the stations. Only occasionally air-conditioned (applies to both subways and stations).
Winner: New York, hands down — convenience is everything. The fact that you can get anywhere at anytime for only $2.90? Phenomenal. Plus you see the most interesting people and things, wild randomness that makes New York, New York.
Random guy on the subway holding raw ground meat wrapped in deli paper while casually scrolling through his phone. What is New York.
Rejection reflection
I recently read Jia Jiang’s memoir Rejection Proof, which is an inspiring reflection on his 100 Days of Rejection Therapy project. He intentionally sets out to get rejected for 100 days in order to build up his confidence and manage his fear around rejection.
Maybe you remember reading an article of him making a welcome announcement onboard a Southwest Airlines plane (this was my introduction to Jia) or watching a viral video of him asking a Krispy Kreme employee to make him a customized Olympic rings donut.
Jia’s book is entertaining (there are some wild requests!) and inspiring (wow look at his courage!) but most importantly, it is extremely relatable. How often have I let my fear of rejection hold me back for asking for what I want or pursuing my dreams? And sure, I manage this fear a lot better now as a woman in her early thirties, but I do look back on my twenties and wonder where might I be had I not been so afraid of what people might think of me.
The fear of rejection is one that is especially relevant, and becoming increasingly prevalent, as I begin my job search and build a new community in a country on the opposite side of the world. Being told no sucks and being not told anything, which is basically a no, sucks even more. It’s hard to remember that rejection isn’t personal — well, at least 99% of the time.
Jia’s Rejection #27 was soliciting money on the street, specifically standing at a busy Austin intersection as a panhandler, holding up a sign asking strangers for money to donate to a local food bank. This type of rejection attempts were the hardest because they were very public, where he opened himself to the possibility of being rejected by the masses rather than just one person. He shares:
“I saw the world the the way a panhandler would view it every day, with cars driving by and stopping at the red light, their drivers seeing me through their windshields, making quick judgments, and usually lowering their heads to avoid eye contact. It was silent rejection by the masses…
I felt trapped between wanting to draw people’s attention and hoping to avoid their judgment. It felt impossibly painful. I resorted to all types of coping techniques to get through it — talking to myself, trying to hold a big smile, and imagining what the donations I got could do for hungry people, who otherwise might have to do this themselves.”
Last summer while living in France I faced a dilemma trying to get home. The chateau I’d visited had limited public transport options. My options to return home were to A) wait an hour to take a train to the stop closest to home and then walk the remaining 1h 40 min or B) wait three hours to take the train that went directly home but be bored, tired, and hot while waiting for the train. Both options sounded like shit so I went for option C) hitchhike and see if some kind soul would take pity on me.
Despite having hitchhiked in the remoteness of Kyrgyzstan and in the mountains of New Zealand, I could feel myself feeling uncertain about my decision — what would people think of me?!
At first I was very nervous: Can I even hitchhike? (Well duh you can - all you do is hold out your thumb and anyone can do that!)
My first attempt was timid: I barely extended my arm out and flattened my thumb in an attempt to make my hitchhiking attempt less subtle, then realized that this was in exact opposite of my goal to get home, so my arm straightened and my thumb emerged from its cave.
Several cars drove by. Some drivers pretended they couldn’t see me. Other drivers saw me and then quickly looked away, trying to avoid eye contact. One English-speaking couple stopped and offer to help out but when it turned out we were headed in opposite directions, they continued on - I was grateful that they stopped regardless.
After several minutes I moved farther down the road to get a more optimal spot (location, location, location!). More cars whizzed by. Ten minutes passed. Some bikers across the road saw my attempts and wished me bon chance! (good luck) which bolstered my confidence to keep on trying (See? They didn’t think I was weird!). In that moment I realized what was holding me back was fear of how others might perceive me, so I knew I had to persist with my hitchhiking attempts — even if I didn’t catch a ride I needed to see this through, sit in the discomfort, in order to address and confront this fear.
A half hour passed. I walked into the local visitor’s center to see if they could get me a taxi, but none were available for the next forty minutes. The receptionist gave me a smile and encouraged me to keep on trying so I went back outside. As cars drove by I’d smile and wave. I’d make up funny scripts in my head of what the drivers were saying. I’d imagine what I’d have for dinner later that day.
And then they began to come: A man stopped to see if we were headed in the same way (no), a woman with two kids inquired where I was going (different directions), and then finally - hallelujah! - a French family rolled down their window and asked if they could help. A train station close to home was along the way for them, so they told me to hop in!
We chatted in broken French (me) and broken English (them) about our respective trips (them on a short family holiday; me on a working holiday) and briefly brushed politics (the dad laughed in relief when I said I was from New York: “good, that means you’re a Democrat!). Once we arrived to the train station, they were kind enough to walk me to the tracks to ensure the train would actually stop there since the station itself wasn’t open. They refused my offer of cash and said it wasn’t necessary, then left with kind smiles and waves.
As I sat in the train, I thought back to my successful hitchhiking attempt. I did something that required me to advocate and stick up for myself, to push beyond my comfort zone and reclaim my confidence - hell yes I was proud of myself!
In this hitchhiking attempt I’d experienced firsthand what Jia shares in his book as the most important lessons he learned about rejection:
Rejection is human. Neither rejection nor acceptance is the objective truth about the merit of an idea. Just because the first several drivers didn’t stop didn’t mean that hitchhiking was a bad idea. In fact I had people encouraging me to continue to stick my thumb out!
Rejection is an opinion. It reflects the rejector more than the rejectee. Some drivers couldn’t meet my eyes. Some drivers gave a sheepish shrug before driving away. Some drivers mouthed “sorry” as they passed by.
Rejection has a number. The more drivers who saw me with my thumb out, the higher odds that someone would stop by and ask where I was going, and the higher odds someone would be going in the same direction.
In my job search, I’ve forgotten about these lessons and fallen back into several bad habits. When I was rejected or ghosted, I thought it was a reflection of me and my worth (false). Procrastinating at reaching out to potential contacts and applying for jobs was really just fear of being rejected (see above). But really, as Jia muses at the end of his book, what I need isn’t acceptance of others but acceptance from myself. Rejection isn’t something to be afraid of because how can you be rejected if you already accept yourself?
Wise words that have yet to penetrate through the invisible blanket of fear that’s still wrapped around me, though after finishing Rejection Proof the fear is a singular layer rather than a massive cocoon. If I can go get rejected hitchhiking, then I sure as hell can go get rejected job searching.
Visiting Chenonceaux before attempting to hitchhike back home.
Bump bump bump
There’s a sense of aloneness that comes about when you continue to hit roadblocks when pursuing your dreams, whether that’s being ghosted by companies (despite making it through several rounds of interviews), feeling disconnected from your core community (that’s 10,000 miles away) or just having a frustrating walk with your dog (not mine, merely dog sitting).
Sometimes it’s hard to not sink into that feeling, and yet I’m trying to honor it and give it space before picking myself up and moving along. And I’m being honest in sharing because I find it quite frustrating when reading stories of people’s successes that gloss over the tough moments of despair: it’s not all pooping out rainbows and sunshine - sometimes shit comes out too. Yes, in saying this I’m hoping that I too will be a story of “success” (whatever that means) but while also admitting that the road gets quite bumpy along the way.
So here’s a tribute to the moments of (in-person) connection since moving to Sydney - a reminder that I can and will be able to start anew in this new country that’s an ocean away from everything I once knew.
