Can you be surrounded by people,
and still be alone?

Can you have friends without the burden of their problems?

Can you have love without being desired?

Can you carry the weight of the lights, with the vast emptiness of the shadow?

I asked myself
in the shadow.

“What is wrong, love?” – they ask
and they walk away before the answer
before the shadow reaches them
before the sun arrives and the shadow becomes too looming large

“What is to blame, love?” – they ask
and they walk away because the answer wasn’t simple
and the answer requires them to work

You see, it’s not an exorcism
without the work
It’s not help, if it’s all rainbow and positive vibe only 
and “Can we talk about me now?”

In the shadow 
of the vast blue sky
and the breathtaking prairie sunset,
there’s this loneliness
looming
larger than than you, and me, and us
but only I do see it

I sit in the shadow
with my breath
quietly resigning

“Who is there, love?” – I ask

No one answered.

I think I might have figured out the source of my troubles – depression lately. And in the most Buddhist sense of why I have been depressed my whole life, it’s with the sense of self. This time, it manifested with Rejection.

I was catching up with a friend that I have not seen in a while. We actually knew each other in university. Well, knew of. I was sort of dating his friend when he was just kind of hovering. And so it is kinda funny when I said I was kinda alone and rejected by my community when I was doing my masters, he said “What do you think a chubby gay man feel, just hovering in the background?”. The world is not kind to gay men who look like us. 

A lot of my life was with rejection. Rejection for being a geek. Rejection because others are not ready. Rejection – repeatedly – from someone who said they loved me but he didn’t think I was attractive or desirable. There was once in my life that I was desperate, and pathetic, so much so that I resonated with Grey’s Anatomy. Yes, that. “Okay, here it is. Your choice. It’s simple. She or me. And I’m sure she’s really great. But Derek, I love you, in a really, really big – pretend to like your taste in music, let you eat the last piece of cheesecake, hold a radio over my head outside your window – unfortunate way that makes me hate you, love you. So pick me. Choose me. Love me.” 

I could be really lazy and said it was all deep-rooted in the way I was brought up. My mom doesn’t tolerate failures in the house. Second place in school? Not the best at the city level? Failed an Olympiad? I faced disappointment and the silent treatment for those, and hence this deep-rooted fear of failures because it’s just rejection. People who don’t succeed get rejected. 

I could be a bit less lazy and said it was because I was in the closet for a long time. And being a geeky Asian without access to good hair products, high school wasn’t kind, the undergraduate school wasn’t kind, California was exceptionally wasn’t kind. Internalized racism mixed with internalized homophobia creates this intoxicating mix of self-deprecation and overdrive to perform to not be rejected. 

And maybe the reason why staying back in Calgary has stressed me so much in the past months. It’s the rejection. I was rejected, repeatedly, for 6 months when I was trying to look for work here. So any early signs of my work that I’m not getting up to speed fast enough, or that I’m not performing at my self-imposed optimal result, I get really really stressed out about it.

It’s our life here. Let’s watch a movie? No. Let’s go out? No. Let’s spend some time together? No. I drove myself into spiral insanity when my partner would say yes to someone else for the same thing he had said no to me. Insecure. Unreasonable. Needy. All that. And I know it. And rationally I know it’s not fair or healthy or productive, but here it is. And the fact is that (maybe valid) fear and feeling are so often dismissed, it manifests itself as a form of rejection. I was truly hoping a new city, a different place, a more open community will give us a chance to reconnect and do the things we used to love doing together.

Yes, my sense of self-worth and well-being should not be based on the validation of others. And I know this, rationally. Yet, when something so minute and seemingly so irrelevant come up, I could feel a pang in my chest and internally desperately grasp for air. 

I wondered to myself what would have happened if I have noticed Zac in the background and if I have tried to be his friend back then. A lot of the best friends I had in life are my rag-tag crew of rejects. Black queer women. Nerdy Asians that failed their parents. Chubby queer men under-represented in the community. Older people make an impact in the increasingly ageist world. 

I wondered what would have happened to me if someone had noticed me, picked me, chose me.

I was in a one-on-one with a team member and his wife walks in to deliver his lunch, so I told him Dan usually doesn’t cook. “Who’s Dan? Your roommate?” “My husband.” I met up with an old friend – colleague for dinner. The last time we met was pre-pandemic/pre-wedding. And we talked about married life. He’s a straight man and an immigrant from Mexico. 

The thing about coming out is you do it over and over and over again. And if you are lucky, like me, you don’t think much about it every time you have to do it. 

I can’t believe it’s been 10 years since I left Singapore. It was a big chapter in my life, not only because it was a large part of my early adulthood, but it also marks the first, and darkest part, of my mental health, my identity, and my work. I can almost remember vividly the stress, the shame, and the fear that one has to live in a country when a normal act of being with another human being is both socially and criminally judged. I can remember the feeling that people like me are told we are good contributing members of society, as long as you keep working hard, keeping your head low, and don’t discuss who you are if you are not part of the norm. It opens up the people for a lot of abuse, internalized homophobia, and even open the community up to scammers and abuse. 

I’m sure things have gotten better since. I have gotten a lot older, a little bit wiser, and more confident, since. I wonder how much of it is because I didn’t have to hide anymore. I wonder how much of my life growth and career growth is because I am free, a bit from the judgement of others, but mostly from the judgement of myself. 

People do 10-year-challenge on social media as a form of showing off how well they’ve aged. To be honest, at 37, my joy looks very different now. My stress and anxiety look very different too (and I would argue I’m a bit better equipped at dealing with them). 

People know me in my 20s would probably remember me as a loud, joyful person. And I was. People who know me now would probably think of me as a loud, joyful person. And I am. So it’s incredibly poignant to me that someone that many people know as joyful can have so much fear, anxiety, depression, just simply because of who they are. 

For that I am forever grateful. I am one of those lucky very few people who have the opportunity and the privilege to be authentic in a world that so often rejects us. I know calling it “lucky” diminishes the resiliency, the energy, and the injustice that have been brought upon to people like me. But I didn’t want to not acknowledge that it wasn’t just strength alone that got me here. I am forever grateful to my friends, my mentors, my co workers, and the kindness of strangers and pioneers in this space that have fought for us to be here. 

I am just grateful to be here. Yet, I am grateful for Singapore, forever ago, no matter how tough that was, for equipping me with what was needed to be here today. 

” It’s always darkest before the dawn”

Everyone on social media and at work is encouraging each other to “Reflect on 2021”. I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet. I don’t know if I processed 2021 (or even 2020) enough to reflect on it without breaking down and panic cry over a tub of ice cream quite yet.

In 2021 we thought the pandemic was over. And the vaccine did help. For a while. We gleefully declared we’re “Open for summer”, and then “Open for good” and snarkily making fun of people “needing to get over it” on Twitter. Turned out the real pandemic is the ones with humanity no longer trusting each other, no longer believing in the greater good, and no longer trusting evidence or science.

In 2021 we faced “Stop Asian Hate” straight on. And while Canadians and my friends gleefully declare racism is not here, I wish I could have an honest, open conversation about the microaggression, the subtle discrimination I still feel at the grocery store, at work, or even within different Asian communities and queer communities. You see, when you are a successful director of a tech company, people often think you should shut up and not bite the hands that feed you, or your friends will tell you “Can’t change the fact that I’m white and privileged”. 

In 2021, I faced the loss of “what could have been”. We decided not to adopt because “Jason, you want to move to Ontario. We can’t adopt in Alberta”, so I felt like it was my fault we had to make that change. And of course, now I am not moving anymore, so I’ve lost that too. As I continue to chat with my new boss (and his firm belief the future is remote/hybrid 100%), I couldn’t help but feel like there are these hundreds of doors that are open before us, and my feet are grounded solidly in a house, a mortgage, and three feet of the Calgary snow (and subtle microaggressions – refer to point 2).

In 2021, I had 2 job changes. While I am incredibly grateful for the opportunities and the success they bring, learning new things and going through 2 probations in a year is incredibly taxing (on an already anxious mind), on the backdrop of a pandemic. Companies that turned me down this time last year are reaching out again, trying to recruit me (because the Great Resignation happens, and because I now have the title that matches their AI searches). It’s cynical, I know. But I do think I have a lot to offer in my professional life and to the people that I work with, and the 2021 workplace is just a strange landscape to be in.

In 2021, most importantly, in my comfy “work from home” desk, I feel isolated. I feel pretty much alone and taken for granted in my little happy corner of the world. I feel the burden of the world, at times as ridiculously light as air, at times as ridiculously heavy as a chest pain, and most of the time just this unexplainable anxiety about things starting to crumble and my perfect little suburban life is corroding who I am as a person. 

So yeah, I am not sure I am ready to reflect on 2021 quite yet. I am not sure I’m in the place where I can even sit and reflect on things. Maybe the dawn will come. Maybe after the Winter Soltice, as the days get longer and the Chinook bring some warmth and I can be outside in the sun, all these darkness will slowly fade into my breath of the winter air during meditation.

Meanwhile, I’ll just sit and breathe.

(I didn’t want this to be all gloom and doom so I put it as Part 1 – to offer some hope. Let’s see if there is part 2. Maybe in the next 2 weeks)

(I wrote this note in 2017. It’s still relevant, and still as loving, today.) 

“I am not as my father”

 was the first thing I thought,

 when I drove down the icy roads,

 in Grande Prairie, a city so foreign. 

 I was lost.

 I felt alone.

 I am not as my father,

 for I know he was never lost.

 Not figuratively, at least; because, he was strong.

He was stoic. Quiet. Mundane. As a child, I have thought.

 He moved through the post-war shadows, and the days of loss;

 living each day with the trauma in my mother’s hope.

 He moved quietly North and South, in a cross country train where things are divided

 I wonder if he ever felt lost.

“I am not as my father”, I have thought

 When I hold the child of a friend, and he gave me a hug.

 I was tender. I was soft.

 I allowed myself vulnerability. I allowed myself love.

 I allowed myself the vocabulary my father had never had.

 Love. Joy. Sadness. 

 Authenticity. Equality. Freedom of love.

 I allowed myself a sense of normalcy, a ray of hope

 that one day I could be a father

 that my son would be proud to say

 “I am as my father”

I am not as my father,

 and I felt ashamed with that.

 I didn’t have the grit, the strength, the audacity,

 and even his sense of directions.

 I didn’t have the strength to put everyone first, and then myself last.

 I couldn’t live with life, quietly in the shadows, following everyone’s step,

 because I want what’s best

 not for me, but for my family, and the people I love.

But I know I am as my father,

 in the way he loves.

 He wouldn’t call it that.

 But I know he does love. 

 Love so fiercely that he doesn’t give up hope. 

 Love so fiercely that he took of a second job, 

 to send two young ambitious sons to foreign lands, 

 so that they know love, joy and sadness.

 Love so fiercely that even when he never knew of, read, or felt this note

 He would have been proud of me,

 for writing it.

I am not as my father,

 but I’m okay with that.

 For I know, in my heart,

 He will be proud of me,

 for not being as he is,

 but for having his bravery,

 to be

As I am.

This is probably the first time in the past 18 months that I felt things are (almost) back to “normal”. 

I traveled again, even just for a short amount of time, to see dear friends and friends I have not seen in a long time. I created arts again, photography, painting, and some random writings. I meditated again, went to the gym regularly. I read regularly again. I learned new things again, both technology and not.

I never realized the toll the pandemic and working throughout the pandemic has taken on my health and my mental health up until the point I had this week off. I thrive under pressure and in challenges, for sure. But when the pressure remained constant for 18 months, it weighs on you. I have been very fortunate to work for great companies and work with great co-workers who have not impose additional stress onto the already “fragile” state. Nevertheless, the pressure to “not complain because you are so lucky” is in itself a challenge of the pandemic.

I’m starting a new job this week. It’s a type of Innovative Lab (So, a well funded, well structured, with vision, and with devs “Basement Lab”) right here in Alberta. So far things have been pretty organized and the people I’ve met have been awesome. Obviously, with any new beginning, there is a level of anxierty built in. Uncertainty and challenges fuel growth, and I’m excited to see what this will bring.

So, life goes on. Life is not normal, yet, normal has never been a constant. I’m just trying to sit again with all this discomfort, and continue to grow.

The universe wants me to know I made the right choices. 

As I touched down at Vancouver airport, the first notification on my phone showed a heavy rainfall warning. It’s called “The Pineapple Express”, said the locals, but generally, November is the rainiest month of the year. My friend said, gleefully, “You put on a raincoat and rainboot and umbrella and you get over it”. “Sometimes, the rain can be calming and comforting”. And I said “Congratulations on finding your place. I’d rather take the snow”. 

It is important for one to find a place that suits them. To each their own. Otto Fong (a Singapore LGBTQ teacher who was fired for being gay), wrote: “I don’t want to be a bonsai tree… Do you know what a bonsai tree is? A bonsai tree is an imitation of a real tree. It is kept in a small pot with limited nutrients, trimmed constantly to fit someone else’s whim. It looks like a real tree, except it can’t do many things a real tree can…. [It’s] useless and painful.” I have moved to many places in my lifetime. And I have moved to Canada with the hope for an authentic reality and a life of extraordinary. I found it in Canada. I didn’t feel like that anymore in Calgary. I do love Calgary. I do deeply love the mountains and the rivers, and even the snowfall. I do love the big open sky and the big open spaces and the big open parks with trees and birds and deers. It’s the people living in it that keep making me feel like I didn’t belong.  

Not that I’ve ever contemplated living in Vancouver. 2021 was a landmark year as I struggled to find a role that suited me and my experience in Calgary. And I contemplated moving to GTA for an opportunity that was much better for me. As I lie on the IKEA couch of my friend, my back aching and my neck asking “What the actual f is going on?”, I know that I have gotten older. I am proud to have moved from Vietnam to Singapore on a one-way ticket and 2 suitcases. I have arrived in Philadelphia in January with 2 suitcases and a box from my uncle. I arrived in snowy Canada with 2 suitcases and some help from my uncle and my ex. I did it, and I can do it again. I don’t know if I can do it alone anymore.

Loneliness is a persistent pandemic. In a big city like this, there are many many more people in diverse communities. There are many more people in the LGBTQ community. Yet, as the number of people that are so beautiful on the outside, that has six-pack abs and dance routines on their Instagram, that has followers virtually, there is this deep-rooted isolation and sadness. I caught up with a friend after 6 years and I sensed that in him. He was looking for friends and connections in a city that is about working your life off (to afford the rent) and the rain and the beautiful exteriors keeping people away from each other. People constantly cancel appointments because they know more exciting and better things might come along, and they ended up alone on their couches at night scrolling through Instagram. I couldn’t help but wonder, when the Covid pandemic is over, and then the North America society arrives at distributed workforce and fully virtual “Metaverses”, what is there for our lives in terms of connection? Do we trade off our humanity for mobility? 

I thought about it a lot in my last 4 weeks. As I resign from the company that embraced me through the pandemic, that embraced me through change and that saw my experience and potential beyond a job title or the Oil and Gas industry that I used to work in, leaving all the people I worked with and even hired behind, I couldn’t help but wonder, is this the right move? I know it is. Growth and comfort do not co-exist. And I know myself. This type of anxiety and fear is what drives me forward. 

Yet, as I spent my time in Ottawa, and as I contemplated the thought of living there and working remotely for my next job, I could see myself there. I could see myself being challenged and growing for a few years before moving back. I could see myself adopting and loving a new place with new people and new culture and new hiking trails. But I can’t see myself in a minimalistic apartment with IKEA furniture anymore. I see my life with somebody. I want to always spend my life with that somebody. And I somehow begin to question if he ever wants to give up his comfort for growth, or even more unfairly, if he ever will give up his comfort for my growth.

“Marriage is work,” my friend said “and it seems [his partner] is not willing to put in the work anymore”

It can be comforting to be around old friends who agree with you politically, philosophically, and even just the random ridiculousness of life. It made me realize how incredibly lonely I was (and they were) during the pandemic. It made me realize how much I needed someone who listens and who feels the same way. But it also made me realize how incredibly lonely it must be for him when I keep moving forward in the pandemic, exploring places and foreign worlds, while he wants to be comforted, to stay put, and to be agreed with that the people he works with are good people. 

I hate the rain. It makes me moody. It reminds me of the childhood I had in Vietnam, of the closeted years I endured in Singapore. Most of all, I guess, the rain forced me to sit with myself and reflect and write all these deep thoughts about my life, and about my personal struggle. I am relentless and uncompromising on what I want out of my life. I am relentless and uncompromising in my authenticity and my growth.

But what if my deep desire for growth and change is now conflicting with my unrelenting love for the person who prefers deep roots and the familiar Calgarian conservative mindset?

Life is like rain. It is unpredictable. It comes at you unannounced and you can’t change it. You just put on the raincoat and an umbrella and you walk out in the rain. 

Maybe my next growth is not with moving to a place, but with the discomfort that you sometimes give up personal ridiculous moving-across-the-country #pureadventures for others whom you love who might want a different vision. 

“Oh, the stupid things people do for love” – a co-worker