Life of an Asian Kid: Stuck Between Rock (Ultra-Collectivist Culture) & Hard Place (Hyper-Individualistic Solutions)

The greatest challenge I am facing as a twenty-something Asian is being stuck between a rock and a hard place.

On one hand, you have been beaten into shape by this ultra-collectivist society that only values you when you are a part of the structure, an unquestioning member of the family, and a blind follower of the community. And, when you start going out into the world, you discover the concept of individuality and self-expression. You realise all the wrongdoings done to you in the name of "culture". And, when you seek a way out, a path of discovering yourself, you are bombarded with tone-deaf solutions like "Just move out", or "Cut them off". Yes, we know that. We know we need to move out. We need to cut them off. We need to get financially independent.

But, sometimes, the problem is not just moving out. Not earning your own money. It is about navigating your personhood. It is so, so lonely. No one tells you that. The transition is so lonely when you break yourself away from the "community" so you can grow your own full-fledged self. That detachment is so painful, even if you're losing an unwanted part of your body, it hurts. It is such a fragile state that we think we are not even allowed to make mistakes because God forbid if we fail, we get told how our individuality and freedom are worthless. And some of us, in our weak state, cleave back to our society, thinking failure is something we cannot afford as human beings. The journey when you realise a part of your personhood includes mistakes is normal is so difficult. The lingering guilt that stays rent-free in the back of our minds that discovering ourselves is somehow an act of betrayal. Our trained minds make us think like that because we quite literally abandon years of our manufactured lives to look for ourselves. To look for something that is inevitably ours. It is very difficult for us to leave because we feel as if we are leaving something behind, even though it was never ours but something is given to us by our parents, families, and society, from which we have to squeeze out returns and give back what we owe to them.

For years, I did not know who I was. What my likes were. What my dislikes were. What my personality is. What my opinions were. Heck, I could not even realise the reason I did not like milk: I was lactose intolerant. As I grew up and started feeling things, and my mind, my body, and my thoughts were also trying to get adjusted to those feelings, my mother would often complain that I had become disobedient, picky, or high-maintenance. She did not like the fact that she cannot "mother" me any more because I have come to know "too much". They delude you from yourself. And when you leave the culture, you are left alone with yourself. It feels like you are with a stranger. You don't know who that person is. It is scary. It is daunting. It feels as though you have to nurture yourself after being malnourished for so long. The cultural trauma inflicted upon our self-identity is so unjust and unfair to us as human beings. They never give recognition to our personal selves, and when we step out into the big world, we are overwhelmed with heavy emotions and blurred understandings. They emasculate us from surviving in any place as a separate individual other than just being an identical yet competitive "building block" in the collectivist society.

It is so much more than getting your own apartment or getting a job abroad. So many people who give such advice do not realise the amount of power such societies have on our personal lives—it is nigh infinite. To bolster in us a mindset that makes us believe we won't have any value or worth if we break away from the community. When you look into your parents' eyes, you see no respect for your education if you don't obey them. When you look into your grandparents' eyes and you see no acceptance of your love if it is not their choice. Your mental autonomy is perceived as a tool of deceit by your family. Your individuality is infantilized as an act of teeny-angst rebellion.

We seek help in that phase of transition, from chopping them off from our lives to soothing that wound. We seek help in protecting ourselves from our forefathers' haunting. We know we need to move out. We just want to take these negative emotions and intrusive thoughts out of our minds first. We seek help in unlearning all the indoctrination. We seek help in learning ourselves. And, sometimes, just sometimes, we seek a space to just vent and be understood for what we have been subjected to and not be met with blanket statements such as "Why are you still living with them if you are 18?"

- Oizys.

Graduating Into Unemployment

It is that time of the year. I am graduating and, at the same time, entering the unemployment pool. Like a false promise for a bright future. Like a dinghy in a treacherous ocean. At the mercy of lightnings and currents.

I feel as if I spent my years studying without preparing for what would come after the studies. I look back and I feel proud that I made it out alive, but then a huge block of guilt mounts over my pride. The guilt of not having a path paved to go after this. Every time someone comes up to congratulate me, I feel their questions of "what's next?" hit me like a meteor. So hollow yet so heavy.

For months, I protected myself with a sheath of lies. I did not care about the future. More like, I pretended to not care about the future, so I won't have to do anything about it. I submitted myself to delusion. I let delusion dominate me. It made me kneel and told me everything would be fine. Pieces will fall together and there will be a picture; do not worry. And I just... foolishly listened, whereas deep down my own conscience kept screaming, "Do not fall for it." I guess I was swooned by the idea of a picture forming itself without actually working for it.

I keep applying every day. I keep spreading your resumes. Like those people giving out flyers. I hawk my skills. I peddle my counterfeit experiences. I shamelessly hope someone will see some potential in me. Someone willing to dig through my lies and pretentiousness and recognize my need to work. Someone who will not just brush me off because of my tramp trail and put a name to my sincerity.

Yes, yes, we all get through it eventually. Some make it with flying colors and polished faces, some with scraped knees and gratitude for two meals a day. But we all make it eventually. I know. But...

As I continue on this journey of job searching, I can't help but feel like I'm wandering in the dark with no clear destination in sight. It's a daunting feeling, knowing that I have no idea where I'll end up or what I'll be doing. The uncertainty is suffocating, and sometimes it feels like I'm stuck in a never-ending cycle of rejection and disappointment. Rejection mail piles up. I print them all and bury myself beneath the disappointment. I take each of the "We regret to inform you" sentences and pin them on myself. And I wish someone would just come and see my pinboard of defeat and maybe, just pity me. Help me compensate for a lack in me. I scream into the void, "What do I do?" All I get is silence. Maybe a picture of a sea of graduates hurdling around towards the island of jobs. And someone nudges me to find my face in the picture. All I can answer is silence.

But, as far as I know, there is no one who will come and hold my hand, roll open my palm, and give me a job. Hence, I keep rolling. I let the cycle of sending out a resume and them reflexing with a rejection continue. In a hope that I will be successful in snapping up something, or at least trap someone into thinking I am worthy and suitable for some position. Talk about reverse imposter syndrome, eh?

- Oizys.

"Ye Olde Tactic" - Uncovering the Deception: The Ugliness of Pointing

The father points at the maid and tells his daughter, "At least you are educated," while forcing her to marry upon graduation. The maid goes home and complains to her mother about how her husband comes home drunk every night. The mother points at the neighbor woman and says, "At least your husband doesn't beat you like hers." When you point at the broken offices and dirty roads of your country, they shove the neighboring country's economic failure down your throat, forcing you to kneel in gratitude to your country, which cannot even let you marry your own sex.

You know, that tactic when they point at something a bit uglier than themselves to cover up their own hideousness? It is almost as if they met and sat down together to solve the problems of the world. And decided to choose this chain, this pattern, to control. To manipulate. To remain on the throne. To protect the system. This system caters to their waving hands. because acknowledging the truth will break the crux of the system. It is like dismantling a house of cards. We are all just cards for them, each delicate and seemingly insignificant for them. You can see the intricate pattern of pointing towards an unluckier card all over the house. They put you together for a carnival show like puppets.

But the truth is, this house is not that weak; it is a deeply rooted tree. The roots are shackling us from moving forward. Entrenched in expired understandings. Embedded in our minds. So much so that even if your logical parlance knows it is not wrong to enter the kitchen when you are menstruating, your foot becomes heavy when you try to step in. Guilt kidnaps you and takes you on a trip to the graveyard of traditions and ancestral souls. It wraps its chain around your wrists and drags you through the graveyards, past the headstones etched with the names of your forefathers and mothers. It plunges the ghosts of honor and the whispers of modesty, and then you start feeling disappointed eyes on your body that were only half draped.

If you are a card somewhere hearing about the example of another, here is a message from the other card. Do not listen to them. It is a tactic to trap you and show you off as a dolled-up house. Instead, unlayer their ploy of pointing. Peel back the layers of deception and uncover the truth. The truth is that we are not just showcards in their house of power but human beings. Individual human beings with feelings, emotions, thoughts, and struggles are chock-full of poetry. Uproot their lies about the ugliness of others and make them uncomfortable with your truth about humanness.

- Oizys.

The Prison of Identity Or The Land of Freedom

Today, I feel trapped in my own skin, like a bird in a cage or a fish in a bowl. I want to escape to a land where I can be not myself, where I can shed my old identity and start anew. I want to find a place where I can breathe freely, think clearly, and feel deeply. But such a place doesn't exist, at least not in this world.

I feel like I'm living in a dream, or a nightmare, where I can't control my own destiny. I feel like I'm suffocating, drowning, losing my grip on reality. I want to break free from the chains that bind me, to fly away on the wings of imagination.

But where would I go? What kind of land would welcome me with open arms, without judgement or prejudice? What kind of place would allow me to be not myself, to be whoever or whatever I want to be?

Maybe it's just a fantasy, a childish dream, a foolish wish. Maybe I need to accept who I am, embrace my flaws, and make peace with my past. Maybe I need to find a way to be happy in the here and now, without relying on a faraway land or a different persona.

But for now, all I can do is yearn, crave, and dream. I want to escape to a land where I can be not myself, where I can explore new horizons, meet new people, and experience new things. I want to break free from the monotony of everyday life, from the expectations of society, and from the limitations of my own mind.

I don't know if such a land exists, or if I'll ever find it. But I do know that the longing within me is real, deep, and persistent. I can't ignore it, suppress it, or deny it. I need to listen to it, honour it, and find a way to channel it into something positive.

- Oizys.

Random Diary Entry - 28 February 2023

Gave my interview yesterday...

I had my master's interview yesterday. And I keep replaying my interview in my head and feel mortified.

I joined early, waited nervously in the waiting room, and tried to calm my nerves by taking deep breaths. When I was allowed into the meeting, I put on my best smile and tried to appear confident. But, inside, I was a bundle of nerves. The interview went by in a blur. I only remember stumbling over my words, losing my train of thought, and feeling like I wasn't making a good impression. As the interview ended, I couldn't help but feel like I had blown it.

Now, I'm constantly thinking about the interview and the fact that the results will be declared at the end of March. The waiting is driving me crazy, and I can't stop thinking about what I could have done differently.

I know that I need to try and forget about it and move on, but I can't help but feel like this interview was my one shot. I can only hope that my nerves didn't get the best of me and that I made a good impression on the interviewer, who happens to be the chair of the program. It is the only programme I have applied for, partly because it specifically fits my interests with its generous funding. I came across another programme to apply for, but my LOR writers have not responded to me yet.

I will have to wait for the results and see what the future holds for me.

- Oizys.

Random Diary Entry - 21st February 2023

Got an Interview Invitation -- Too Scared -- Intrusive Thoughts to Withdraw

So, I had posted here a few days ago about being overly obsessed with my top-choice university. I just received an email a while ago for an interview. It's a Master's program. I was really excited about the university. Now that I have been selected for the interview, I am so anxious.

I feel like I am mediocre, and I'm just obsessed with the university, but I never really prepared myself. I am really freaking out. I always dreamed of going to this university. Now that I am one step closer, knowing that the next step will determine whether I am able to join the programme or not, I am really freaking out. It's not just normal nervousness. I am really chickening out. I am having intrusive thoughts about withdrawing my application. I constantly feel like I am not prepared. that I am not eligible for this.

Nobody else knows I applied for this because my parents won't allow me to study at a foreign university. That's why I was applying to a foreign university in order to get out of here. But, at the same time, I didn't want to just go away and do something I hated. So, when I found this university, I got excited and very interested.

Now, I am freaking out. I also feel like I have impersonated someone on my CV. I am unable to focus on the academic essay that I wrote for this application. I love the subject I am applying for. It is my major, and I am at the top of my class, not only in marks but also because my current professors have encouraged me to take up academia and research in this subject. But I don't feel like I deserve this. I feel lowly. Measly.

I need to give them a reply to confirm the time slot for the interview. But I am unable to. I am unable to even write a response. Maybe I should step back? I feel like I don't deserve to sit for this interview. I know I will botch this interview up. Plus, I have never given an official, proper, serious interview before. I have given telephonic interviews but not video ones like this, with a senior professor asking questions and all.

I wish I had someone to talk to about this in person. My friends are not exactly interested in this. My parents—well, as I mentioned before, they can't know. I am just so, so scared that I feel worthless. There is a very vague, dreadful feeling in my stomach. But the feeling of being doomed in my mind is vivid. I am unable to eat.

- Oizys.

The Hunger Within: A Journey Through Depression and Loss of Appetite

Today, I realised that I'm not hungry anymore. But it's not because I've lost my appetite, it's because I've lost my zest for life. Food used to be my solace, my comfort, my friend. But now, even my favourite dishes taste like ashes in my mouth.

I feel like I've lost my way, like I'm drifting in a sea of uncertainty. I used to have a clear sense of purpose, a set of goals, and a vision for my future. But now, everything feels muddled, confusing, and bleak. I can't seem to find the light at the end of the tunnel, or the silver lining in the clouds.

I used to love to cook, to experiment with new recipes, and to share my creations with my loved ones. But now, I can barely bring myself to open the fridge, let alone whip up a gourmet meal. Cooking feels like a chore, a burden, a waste of time.

I don't know where to turn, who to talk to, or how to get out of this rut. I feel like I'm stuck in a bad dream, or a black hole. I keep trying to claw my way out, but the harder I try, the deeper I sink.

Maybe it's just a phase, a passing mood, a temporary setback. Or maybe it's something deeper, more profound, and more elusive. Maybe I need to face my fears, confront my doubts, and embrace my true self. Maybe I need to find a new passion, a new purpose, a new reason to live.

But for now, all I can say is that "I'm not hungry anymore". Not for food, not for life, not for anything. I just feel empty, numb, and lost.

I don't know what the future holds, or what the next chapter of my life will bring. But I do know that I need to keep moving forward, one step at a time. I need to keep searching for answers, for meaning, for hope.

So, I'll end this entry with a quote from a wise woman I once knew: "Hunger is the language of the soul. When we stop being hungry, we stop being alive." I may not be hungry right now, but I know deep down that my soul is still hungry for something. And I won't stop searching until I find it.

- Oizys.

Random Diary Entry - 19th February 2023

Forming an unhealthy obsession with my top-choice university

This might be a very embarrassing, but I just need to let it out (and, maybe, seek a bit of validation as to whether it's normal and whether other people do it or not).

 

I applied to one university for a very specific Master's program, and I am becoming obsessed with it. There is no such thing as a day or a minute when I don't stop searching for it and thinking about getting in. I know "the perfect university" might sound banal to some people. But I can't stop thinking about how perfectly it fits me. I am getting so lost underneath the heavy blanket of fantasies that I keep forgetting that my application is not outstanding. My grades, publications, and activities are not "striking." Heck, even my academic essay, on which I spent months and months researching and editing, is not that remarkable. I am still awaiting an interview letter. There is a good chance I may not get selected for an interview, let alone getting accepted. But all I've done and continue to do is religiously "stalk" my university, watch their YouTube videos, follow their every post and account, attend their model classes, attend their webinars, apply for their summer programs, connect with previous and current university students on LinkedIn, check their profiles, and occasionally compare if I have a chance (which always ends in disappointment).

 

But, at the same time, there is a part of me that knows I may not get accepted and all this obsession might come crashing down around my ears. That part of me wants to stop, but at this point I am too scared to face reality because I have invested too much, and I just want to hide behind "fantasies" while I wait for a rejection letter.

 

- Oizys. 

She Kissed My Hand and I Want To Die

I am stifling. This is becoming too much. I am physically nauseated. I don't know why this is happening to me. Every minute passes by, and I just wish I never existed. This horrible existence Every night, I cover myself with a heavy blanket of lies and wet my hair and pillow with tears, hoping the night will engulf my existence and churn it into nothingness.

Nowadays, I just wish nonsensical, desperate things like, "Why was I not asked where I wanted to be born or not?" It's stupid, isn't it? Even with all the science and technology, we can never ask a human, while it is inside another human, whether they truly want to live through humanity. Because, after we are born, it is the humans who make the baby regret its own existence; its very sentience.

Humans are so territorial about their children, they forget children are human too. When they grow up, they will feel the need to use their autonomy. Why do some parents think they can dictate their child's life to every extent possible just because of procreation?

Each day, I wish there were some way I could have conveyed to the person who gave birth not to do so. Only if I knew, she would birth me and micromanage my entire life like my existence isn't mine, like my breathing isn't mine, like this world isn't mine. We, as children, learn to grow up and lead a human life, but our parents never learn to detach themselves from us. 

I wish I could shed all of this and run away. I wish there was a way to run away from everything I have now. Get lost in oblivion. not even a single memory of anything that is around me right now. The very longing to put an end to all of this. Because, even if you move far, far away, the happenings of past will be deeply etched in your mind forever like their blood in your viens.

When you know how your mother births you, you are amazed and you say, "Oh my God." And then, when she proceeds to mould you, break you, rearrange you, and beat you like you are some hobbling boot, you realise there is no God. There is only evil in humans and misery in humanity.

- Oizys.

Oizys In Lesboland

Whilst wandering in the trenchy threads of Reddit, I discovered some best phases of lesbian blogoshperes. All those good-intentioned hoaxs, talented sockpuppets from early 2000s and some even date back to 90s. People tracing those lies while communicating with each other on discussion boards and forums. For the past few days, I went down the rabbit hole of old school blogs of lesbians and came across so many unimaginable (retrospectively speaking) things. Starting from the Acanit which was followed by a great literary experiment of Plain Layne to the most famous one that catfished the entire internet, Gay Girl in Damascus, the old internet is nothing but a big, beautiful museum of hoaxs (which is, by the way, a legitimate website called "Museum of Hoaxes"). Oh, dear screen, the opaque yet magic mirror, I can sit infront of you and scribe my own image for others' eyes. Fleshing out a cyber human with intricate lies, labyrinthine personas, web of communities around it trapping all kinds of bugs.

When I was on a reading spree of these webbed diaries and blogs, there was a tinge of nostalgia. Now, it has become crowdy. It has become easy to track down people and even, easier to create an entire clan just to hide behind a screen. We are all reflections of our own lies (or, fantasies...?)

- Oizys.