What’s in a story?
I had a realization today during my run (which was also a motivating reminder of why I run - running is a moving meditation, a chance to clear my mind so that a-ha moments can finally make their way in).
I love stories that tell stories. Okay I know that sounds obvious, but hear me out.
I love stories used as a medium to explain or comment on something deeper, something that is less tangible than the story itself and requires narrative as a vehicle to examine that deeper concept, like identity. It’s why I’m drawn to memoirs, personal narratives, and fiction: they tell stories but it’s not really about the story — it’s about the bigger themes and ideas that are slowly drawn out over the course of the narrative, so expertly woven into the narrative that you are able to slowly come to the realizations that the writer wanted you to have, to more deeply examine whether the story is just a story or about something more.
This is why I love to travel and why I took an intentional break from my career: I use the world as a lens to more deeply examine who I am and to better understand the people who coexist with me in this world that has a beautiful diversity of cultures, backgrounds, and histories. After all, our entire lives are based on human connection, whether that’s building a local community or growing a global business. For me, connecting with people and understanding how their worlds drive and shape their beliefs, actions, and dreams is critical to satisfying my curiosity. I’m obsessed with understanding people and learning their stories - not just absorbing their story but also reflecting on how they tell it, understanding what experiences shape them to who they are today and what insights drive who they’ll be tomorrow, what core beliefs are woven throughout their story and maybe even reflecting that back to them.
For me, travel is a method to more deeply examine and understand people. I use the world as a lens to understand not just who I am and what I’m made up of, and my identity, but also what makes up others, using travel as a way to better understand myself, my story, my heritage, my future, and a way to observe, examine, and mull culture and humans.
Maybe this is why I love reading so much. Despite having already traveled extensively, I know I’ll never be able to explore all of the world in its entirety and understand its millions of individual people and stories, so I turn to stories. Books that will transport me to places and fill me with experiences I might not be able to create on my own, get to understand more people’s perspectives and ways of thinking, broaden my view of what is, what has been, and what is possible. I’ll dedicate hours of my day to reading, voraciously devouring books on the train, in my bed, and even while walking on the street. I’m constantly adding books to my TBR (“to be read”) shelf and it actually deeply pains me to know that I’ll never be able to read every book I want because more and more come out each year.
Recently I’ve been recommending a book called Counterfeit by Kirsten Chen. It’s a fictional novel that takes place in modern-day America and is about two Chinese friends, one ABC (American-born Chinese) and one fob (fresh off the boat), who build a counterfeit empire. They purchase designer handbags from brick-and-mortar stores and import realistic fakes from China at a fraction of the designer price, then return the fakes to the store (getting back the money, so they’re at net zero) and sell the legitimate handbags online at designer prices (pocketing the revenue). It’s entertaining and easy to read, and it could be easily be misconstrued as “just a beach read”, but it’s so much more. Counterfeit is also a commentary on what it means to be American and what it means to achieve the American Dream.
It’s not just about the story, it’s about the story underneath the story. Stories, whether written, spoken, or filmed, have the power to move us. They transform us, cause us to question and examine, by revealing themes we may have already been thinking about but don’t have the words to describe or surfacing unexpected viewpoints we’ve never thought of before. Stories offer insights and understanding of ourselves and the world around us, often in the hopes that we’ll see ourselves and the world a bit more clearly and therefore have the courage to show up a little bit more authentically in our lives.
Welcome to Australia
The siren’s blare startled me out of a fantasy world, one that had been quietly woven in my head while I was engrossed in my book.
“Attention, attention everyone. There has been a shark sighting".”
I had heard stories of course, of sharks making their way to Sydney’s famous beaches. The joke is that everything dangerous lives in Australia - box jellyfish, venomous snakes and spiders, crocodiles, and sharks - I just didn’t think I’d ever come across this because well, hello… I live in a city!
I wonder if this is why Australians are so chill and carefree: so present and alive, living to live rather than live to work. Maybe it’s because they’re aware of the constant danger that lurks around them, making them aware of their mortality and thus more willing to pursue a life well-lived. Maybe it’s because they lose any illusion of control, knowing that these dangerous creatures are precisely not in their control, allowing them to live in the here and now.
The lifeguard’s announcement continued over the loudspeaker, “We ask that all swimmers come ashore. The beach will be closed for the next hour as we monitor the situation.”
I laughed. Wow, I really am in Australia.
This sign went up shortly after the shark sighting.
Blues and the zoo
I’m feeling a bit lonely and sad today. It’s likely rooted in hormones (hello, period!) but there are also real feelings there too: I have to remind myself that even though Australia is an English-speaking country with a similar culture to that of the US, moving is still hard - building a new community when you’ve already built an amazing one back in New York, figuring out your career and finding a full-time role that satisfies your career goals (if you’ve even determined them), and trying to stay centered and present and here without running away into the future. Today is just one of those days. But, maybe I can also remind myself that I’d also have sad days no matter where I was, whether that’s here in Sydney, on the mountains in Kyrgyzstan, or back in New York.
In unrelated news, but related in that it’s related to Sydney, here are some pretty crappy photos taken from my visit to the Taronga Zoo this past weekend.
This is why I hate Australia
For all I talk about loving Sydney and Australia, I very conveniently forgot about the thing I hate most about Australia.
The FREAKING SPIDERS. And dangerous animals / insects. And scary looking spiders. Have I mentioned the spiders??
I came back from a walk with Oti (I’m dogsitting for friends) when I turned around, closed the front door, and shrieked at the sight that was in front of me.
PANIC!
This is a Huntsman spider. They are very big. And very hairy. And very scary looking. Apparently they are not terribly dangerous (sure…) and would rather run away from a human than run towards one (are you sure…) and like to crawl up walls (clearly). According to Dr. Google (I know, I know, I shouldn’t be using Google whenever I’m in a state of panic) a Huntsman is a sign of a larger pest problem because insects are a food source for Huntsman spiders. There have been more fruit flies than usual in the kitchen, but I think that’s due to the summer and the garlic and avocados sitting under the net on the counter — I’m working on it!
The other annoying thing about living in Australia is that most of my friends are not awake during my night time, leaving me limited options to send panicked messages of me freaking out. Luckily I have a couple of great friends who responded immediately:
One friend left me a voice note that started with, “May - do not panic.” 😂
Another friend responded that she still panics at the sight of Huntsman spiders (it’s so nice to know that I’m not the only one!) but now she will kill them so that her daughter doesn’t wake up to the sight of the big scary spider — becoming a mum brings out your superpowers, for sure!
I’m not sure if writing this helped with the panic or calmed me down; I still need to shower and my bedroom door conveniently opens to the above view. Yay.
Wish me luck!
Dancing in the rain
The day started shit.
I had a restless night’s sleep. A mosquito had found its way into my bedroom sometime during the night: I woke up intermittently throughout the night, hearing its high-pitched grating whine as it buzzed by my ear, itching the bites on my arms while trying to protect my body underneath the covers.
I woke up in a panic and frantically checked my phone — last night my WhatsApp account was inadvertently banned from so I had to submit a request for reinstatement. There was a brief moment of fear “what if…” and I let out a huge sigh of relief when I saw that my account had been reinstated and then a wail of panic when I realized that none of my chat history had saved.
It was not a great start to the day, although a morning networking call turned out quite well, and I was frustrated and felt the restless urge to move. Historically this has resulted in moving my mouth and consuming food to self-soothe, but I’m mature (kinda) now! I’m learning to tune in and pay attention to my body to understand what care is needed. Today I chose to move my body in a healthier way and treated myself to a hike, an activity I know has a calming effect on my soul - there’s nothing better than angrily stomping on a path while having passing phases of wonder as I glimpse out into the beautiful ocean.
Of course it started to rain during my hike. And since I had my swimsuit on and I was already wet…then why not go for a dip in the ocean?
Stripping down to my swimsuit and running headlong into the ocean was so incredibly freeing. Joy surged through me and a wild laugh broke free from my body. There’s something exhilarating about plunging into the ocean, being in the water while it’s also raining outside - it doesn’t matter that you’re wet because you’ll be wet from the water anyways.
It was such a wonderful reminder of why I moved to Sydney. I never thought I was a beach babe, but there’s something about the beaches here that draws me every time - something about the sand and water here that captivates me and calls me to come back again. As a result I made a commitment of going into the ocean at least once a week (I live an hour’s ride away).
The exhilaration of dancing in the rain and that feeling of uninhibited, carefree joy that comes from letting go of control to revel in this present moment — that’s why we dance swim in the rain.
Settling into Sydney
The joy of coming back home to Sydney is that I finally get to start settling in: organizing my room so I’m not living out of a suitcase, buying groceries (we have an egg shortage here too!) to test out new recipes from abroad, building a community that will support my personal and professional lives. While there’s excitement to being my life here, there’s also a bit of fear: what if this all doesn’t work out? And hidden beneath that is the deeper concern: what if no one likes me?
Then there’s the parts of settling in that aren’t scary but just not fun - they’re doable but drudgery: organizing my Australian tax info, filing my US taxes…and getting my healthcare organized.
It’s been a bit of a process getting recommendations for Australian cardiologists, let alone ones based in Sydney, who are knowledgeable about ARVC since it’s such a rare disease, but after several months I was able to book any appointment with a sports cardiologist.
Today I followed up with her office to update my appointment details (I’m a true Aussie now with an Aussie phone number!). They asked me to send over my medical records which is typical for any new doctor’s appointment and a process I’m quite familiar with given the multiple rounds of doctors’ appointments last fall.
I logged onto my patient portal to download and send my medical records, the EKGs, genetic history, MRIs, and pages and pages of progress notes, and the moment I began to scroll through the doctors’ progress notes, I started to cry.
None of their notes were new - in fact I’d read them multiple times to reaffirm that I was healthy, that I am disease-free. But reading through their words again brought back all the emotions and feelings associated with that time period of my life. Sadness for the woman who had her life completely upended. Anger at the doctors who misdiagnosed me and made me distrust my body.
The thing is…I’m most angry about having to make decisions based on knowing that I am at-risk for the disease. I wish I could just make decisions about exercise and physical activity without worrying about how it may potentially harm my future health and quality of life. I wish I didn’t have to have these annual cardiology appointments to check to see if the genetic mutation has expressed into the disease, to see if running has damaged my heart. I want to throw a temper tantrum, pound my fists on the floor, and cry out “this is so unfair!”. Life is unfair - I know that. But that doesn’t make it any less unfair.
I realized I’m still grieving - grieving what happened and mourning what could’ve been. And unfortunately the only way through is to feel — to express and release all the emotions that have been suppressed deep down inside, no longer content to be hidden away and ignored. And now that I’ll finally be in one place, maybe now is the time to settle in and sit with all the messy, valid feelings.
I’m excited to go home
Before you New Yorkers get all excited and pull our your couch, let me add a small amendment:
I’m excited to go home — to Sydney.
I didn’t even realize I’d already started to think of Sydney as home; the past two months while I was in Tasmania visiting friends and Thailand for teacher training, I still thought of Sydney as well…Sydney.
But as my time in Vietnam has drawn to a close and I get ready to fly back to Sydney, the thought that comes to mind: I’m excited to go back home.
I’ve been traveling for almost two years, living a nomadic lifestyle. While I’ve stayed in some places for weeks on end, experiencing what it might be like to actually live there and be a local, I’ve always known that I’d be moving on to someplace else, try on a different city, country, culture for size. This is the first time, in a very long time, where I don’t have a “next”, where I don’t have anything planned after Sydney. It feel strange and yet right - this is what I want, right now. To try on Sydney, giving myself permission to follow my instinct and start something new. To test it out and try to build a life here, in this city that resonated with me so deeply when my foot first met the land.
A big part of the feeling of “home” isn’t just the magic and beauty of Sydney, but rather the people who’ve made it feel this way, specifically Zoe and Joe. We met while traveling together throughout southern Africa back in 2023 and built a strong friendship, continuing to invest in it over the months until I first arrived in Australia and and then throughout my travels and trials of this past year. They’ve invited me home literally and figuratively, and there are still some days where I wonder in disbelief at how I got so lucky to meet my friends.
I still find it quite incredible that I’ve met incredible humans while traveling and forged deep relationships in random parts of the world - I think it speaks to the beauty of human connection and the importance of getting curious about the world and the people who make it their home.
Enjoying a game drive in Ngorongoro Crater, Tanzania - one of our final experiences in Africa together.
My favorite thing in Vietnam
It’s not the food (though I love starting my day with a heartwarming bowl of pho with quay), the coffee (oh man could I go on about how much I love coffee here), nor the confident older ladies (I want to be like them when I grow up).
My favorite thing in Vietnam is…
Riding on the back of a Grab motorbike!
This is my absolute favorite thing to do in Vietnam. It’s so fun: here’s something exhilarating about riding on the back of a bike — I love the feeling of weaving in and out on the streets, rushing past the buildings stacked side-by-side on the road, feeling the wind surge on my face - it’s absolutely thrilling.
Grab is a ride-hailing app and transport service, similar to Uber in the US, common in Southeast Asia (I used in while in Thailand as well) but with the option to choose GrabBIke (motorbike, not bicycle bike!) or GrabCar (boooring!). They also offer food delivery services, so I’ll often see Grab drivers picking up a takeaway container from restaurants and food stalls.
I feel so present and alive when riding on the back of a bike. I get to be an observer of the streets whizzing by rather than be the driver focused on navigating Hanoi traffic; there are no rules, no lines, and barely any stop lights — it’s every driver for themself which is quite exciting when I’m just along for the ride, passing other cars and motorbikes, letting my body sway to the left or right as we take a sharp curve to the next street.
I wonder if part of this exhilaration and excitement I feel is due to the thrilling sense of freedom. Freedom to go wherever I want, whenever I want, especially because there are no paint or lanes to restrict movement. A sense of freedom that comes from traveling and moving in open space, getting to breathe fresh(?) air (probably not, especially given that most riders wear face masks to protect from pollution - oops), feel the wind against my face while moving, and witness a 360° view of my surroundings. I think a big part of it too is feeling like I get to break free of the constraints I’ve put on myself that hold me back, whether they are due to unconscious conditioning or subconscious societal messaging, for a brief moment when perched on the back of a motorbike, completely present, wild, and free.
Questions from the parents
哎呀! Do you wear a helmet?!
Yes, of course! I don’t fancy dying just because I was an idiot. In Hanoi each Grab driver has a second Grab-branded helmet for their passenger. However in Chiang Mai the second helmet seemed to be the driver’s own - each driver presented me with a different option and none were branded. I found the chin strap to be too long each time I put on the helmet; either everyone except me has a giant head or not everyone ensures the helmet fits snugly. Again, I fancy not being an idiot, so I will take my time adjusting the chin strap, even if the Grab driver sighs impatiently.
Where do you put your hands?!
Ah well when I was a wee newbie I would grab the back edge of the seat, clutching it tightly every time we made a sharp turn or went over a deep pothole. However that was a dead giveaway for “hi I’m a tourist!” so I began to observe how local riders were holding their seat, especially when I noticed all of them looked bored, calm, or chill, gazing out to the distance, scrolling through their phones with both(!) hands, or holding a carry-on suitcase fitted between them and their driver.
Most riders will put their hands on their thighs if not holding anything, so I began to copy them. I realized it’s all about engaging your core, leveraging your thighs, and letting go of fear. To that point, I would not be surprised if every Vietnamese rider has a strong awareness of each and every muscle that makes up the core. Think of it like riding a horse without gripping the reins. Soon I got confident enough to text while on the backseat!
Is it busy on the road?
Absolutely, and I love it! There are many motorcycles and cars on the streets, and every road is a high traffic area, even the Old Quarter, a popular tourist area. I love crossing the busy streets and dodging traffic — it feel like (New York) home, where it’s all about confidence and assertiveness. It’s like a live version of Frogger, except you only get one life.
My GrabBike driver (in green) needed to refuel mid-ride, so he told me to wait on the side while he filled up the tank. Haha!
Beauty is in the eyebrow of the beholder
Have you ever seen someone without their eyebrows?
It’s very strange. Of course eyebrows impact a person’s expression, but I used to take them for granted in terms of their quite powerful effect on shaping someone’s look and identity.
Did you hear of (or potentially participate in) the whole Anthony Davis eyebrow hullabaloo? He’s a professional US basketball player who previously played for Kentucky during his university days and who, for a while, was best known for his unibrow. His unibrow became so interconnected with his identity that he trademarked it! Good for you, Anthony.
I rarely apply makeup, especially since I’ve been traveling and living abroad for almost two years, but when I do drawing in my eyebrows is always the bare minimum.
My eyebrow shape has changed over the years, both intentionally and unintentionally by not just the cultural trends but interestingly, and I guess not surprisingly, influenced by the content I consume. My eyebrow journey includes:
Half-missing (pre-teen): This was not a result of accidentally burning off my eyebrows but rather due to compulsively plucking away eyebrow hairs in response to stress and the only outlet I could conceive of was to pluck the hairs using my fingernails as tweezers. Pre-teen May did not have a mirror and did this in the back of a moving minivan, so when she sat across her mother at dinner several minutes later, her mother shouted out in horror. It wasn’t until many many years later when I found out that plucking out hair due to stress is a real thing; it’s a mental health condition known as trichotillomania that involves the compulsive urge to pull out hair. During those years I felt a lot of shame for these impulses and learning that I wasn’t alone in this compulsion was freeing.
Au natural (most of life): No pencil, marker, or powder. Just being their natural sparse selves, as many Asian eyebrows are.
Penciled-in, powdered-in, markered-in (post-university): I don’t think I actually used makeup products on my eyebrows until I graduated from university but I may be wrong here. If you recall differently and/or find photo proof, please share! I’ve played around with many products, much of which was based on a combination of the make-up trend of the time and my discretionary income. Maybelline’s felt multi-pronged pen (marker?) that creates a tattoo effect? Check. Covergirl’s eyeshadow tapped within my hairs? Check. Anastasia Beverly Hill’s much buzzed about eyebrow pencil? Check, but the e.l.f. eyebrow pencil with it’s appealing $2 price tag does about the same job.
But what’s been most interesting to observe is how my eyebrow shape has changed based on the content I’m consuming, whether that’s Netflix, magazines, or social media. The two main styles I’ve switched between are:
Arched: Ah yes the eyebrows I’ve seen for most of my life because the 90% of the people I saw on screen and in entertainment were white. Is it not surprising that I subconsciously styling my eyebrows in a way that is not natural to my Asian hairs?
Straight: This tends to be the natural shape for East Asian eyebrows. It was only after bingeing multiple K- and C-dramas (yes, all 57 episodes of each drama over a period of several months) that I realized I was drawing my eyebrows to be more straight and less dramatically arched. Huh.
I’ve gotten more comfortable with my eyebrows, and my physical looks, over the years and accepted them as they are. I’ve also started seeking out Asian eyebrow products, and Asian makeup products in general, especially mascara, because — surprise, surprise — it turns out Asian brands tend to have colors and products that work better for Asian people!
Which brings me to today. I got my eyebrows laminated and tinted, which lasts several weeks, as an experiment to see if this beauty service is one that is worth it as opposed to manually drawing in my eyebrows when I feel the need. It made sense to me to test out this service in an (East) Asian country with workers who were familiar with (East) Asian eyebrows.
I had first sought eyebrow tinting while in Chiang Mai, Thailand and went to a beauty spa that was recommended by someone from yoga teacher training (a white someone - you’ll see why this fact is important). As I walked in, I was greeted by the Asian receptionist who asked what service I wanted.
“I’d like to get my eyebrows tinted, please.”
She takes a look at my eyebrows.
“We don’t do your eyebrows.”
???
“What do you mean you don’t do my eyebrows? You don’t do Asian eyebrows?”
“Correct.”
Okay, I’m probably misunderstanding. Let me ask in a different way.
“So you only do white people’s eyebrows?”
“Yes.”
I was floored. I looked around at the other women in the spa with disbelief on my face - does anyone else think that this is absolutely absurd?! Looks of sympathy greeted me from both the customers and workers, but no one said anything.
Stunned, I walked out. I couldn’t believe that had just happened. What was the point of being Asian in an Asian country? How, why did this Asian-owned business only perform this beauty service for white people (or at least non-Asians)? I’d seen Asian women getting their nails done at this spa during my brief glance around the room, so it wasn’t complete discrimination against Asians…but what the fuck was going on?
I got my eyebrows done about an hour ago - in Hanoi, not Chiang Mai. Preliminary thinking is that while this was a good experiment and I don’t regret getting them, I think I’d prefer having the control to shape and design my eyebrows based on my mood and the look I want to achieve. However, I am glad that I tried this service in Vietnam and with someone who understands Asian eyebrows - beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
