postscript #1: soft inheritance
where carl jung fits into the legacy of immigrant parents, daily walks, joan didion, and wanting too much
Hello friends! After a bit of a hiatus (unsurprisingly, due to some medical hiccups), I’ve decided to try something new: introduce an actual rhythm of semi-regularity to my writing. With the few months I have left free of any deadlines or responsibilities — and only all the time in the world to write — I’ve developed an exercise for my crippling perfectionism/fear of creating anything imperfect.
Welcome to Postscripts (P.S.): a weekly gathering of thoughts, scraps, obsessions, and half-formed observations. Nothing definitive (or perfect), just the things that stuck to me like lint this week.
Ruminations
“The greatest burden a child must bear is the unlived life of its parents.” – Carl Jung
I came across this quote when I was reading a Substack essay (that unfortunately I cannot for the life of me find it anymore) and wanted to scream. Maybe this was some mind-bending revelation for the people of a hundred years ago, but the proliferation of social media and technology means that modern humans are both infinitely more educated and infinitely more stupid, and therapy-speak has made everyone familiar with the concept of generational trauma. Ask any child of immigrants — honestly, any child of anyone — and they will probably resonate in some way. And for those of us who grew up with stories of how our parents sacrificed parts of their lives in hopes of making ours a little bit easier, the sentiment only rings more heavy. It’s the profound taste of an unreachable kind of greatness we will forever chase after, knowing no material achievement will eclipse the kind of price paid by our parents. Our pride — for our parents and ourselves — is perpetually tainted with traces of bittersweet inferiority.
“But such progress he’s made in one generation that to progress beyond him, I feel as if I must leave America and colonize the moon.” – Weike Wang, Chemistry
What is an A in calculus in the face of crossing an ocean to start your life over? What does a research award matter against surviving and resisting political violence? Lingering whispers of Yes, I forgive you for your demons that render you stranger to ‘Sorry’ being precariously balanced with No, I will not forgive you for unknowingly condemning me to a life of greatness I did know I wanted. How can my existence ever pay for the ways you denigrated and decorated yours? Their voices whisper back: Break the cycle. Pay it forward, instead of back.
Mood
At the daunting prospect of moving across the country to start grad school in the fall, I’ve taken up trying to be consistent with daily walks or movement outside. As mundane as it sounds, being chronically ill means there are many days when I’m too exhausted to get out of bed, much less leave the house. But my twelve hours of seminars every week will not pause to wait for my fatigue, so I’m studiously preparing a walk regiment where I’ll up my minutes on my feet in increments (that’s the plan, at least. With the heat wave hitting SoCal this weekend, finger crossed I won’t be knocked on my ass again).
These walks have proven rewarding in more ways than one. The flowers my family and neighbors have planted are finally starting to come into bloom; so as I’m walking my dogs in the evening or taking a quick stretch and stroll in my backyard, I’m really appreciating the splashes of color that seem to grow even more alive under the glare of the sun right before golden hour. I’m wary of the bees, of course, but there is a fragile kind of beauty I’ve grown to admire — especially in the roses my mom has laboriously tended to in our backyard. They’re awash in every hue of maroon, baby pink, oxblood red, linen white, and even baby yellow. Some bushes seem to have cross pollinated, and have produced buds that open into gorgeous patterns of pink and white. Perhaps I’m growing to like flowers; perhaps it’s seeing the way these roses instill joy in my mom’s inner child, and wanting her to have that sliver of peace.
In Rotation
“Clothes Off,” aleksiah: Fun, flirty, like sunshine and flowers in technicolor, bright blue denim, stains of acrylic paint, with a touch of reluctant vulnerability you’re too stubborn to admit to until it’s too late. Sounds like headphones, head scarves, and clouds.
“Don’t look too closely, love” by Sherry Ning: A beautiful, vulnerable, humorous, yet sharp meditation on the pitfalls of modern love, dating apps, and the emotional landscapes we navigate in pursuit of connection
When Joan Didion wrote, “These papers ignore the conventional newspaper code, say what they mean. They are strident and brash, but they do not irritate; they have the faults of a friend, not of a monolith … Their point of view is clear to the densest reader” (“Alice and the Underground Press,” Let Me Tell You What I Think).
Tiny Joys
linen blend pants
accidentally finding the perfect matcha-milk ratio
waking up to your cat purring on your chest
a perfectly intact flower bud on the soil
flipping to the right page in a book without a bookmark
jensen mcrae songs
the sound of twelve string guitars
Loose Threads
On learning to want less: I used to want a lot. The highest grades, the most impressive CV, the highest praise, the most glowing feedback, the perfect outfit on a date, the perfect reaction or response from friends with whom I never shared my expectations. Now I want a chair by the window, a book I can disappear into, a warm cup of tea, and someone who knows not to speak during the last five minutes of a sunset. First it’s hard, but then not so much, to take up space and simply be. To check off one thing and call it a day. To save some spoons of energy for the next day. To hit publish on an imperfect draft. It’s ok to want less from yourself if you’ve been a little too greedy up until now.
see you next week,
cherie