Dear Readers,

If I’m going to be honest — writing a book wasn't at the top of my bucket list.

There was a higher chance that I would go skydiving than convince myself to write a book. Instead of jumping off a plane with a 170 lbs man-backpack strapped to me, I chose to dive into the void of an empty page — both in which are fear-inducing and diaper-wetting in their respective ways.

But since you are most likely leaning against the bookstore table of the memoir or Asian-American authors section, then you know that one of those two things has been checked off the list.

As the old adage goes, life will always find a way to throw you a couple of curveballs — even if you spent your entire life being that one kid in the corner of the gym dodging them.

There are three main reasons that made me take on this book journey rather than chase that adrenaline rush at 14,000 feet.

1. I am uncomfortable comfortable sharing information about my experiences.

2. The Covid-19 pandemic

3. Memoir writing = legacy writing

Comfortable with Being Uncomfortable

My friends always tell me that I keep too many secrets — that I don’t “tell them anything” or I don’t “talk about myself much.”

In response, I would say “Ask me anything, I’m an open book.”

But that’s a fat lie and I know that my friends know it too.

In reality, secrets and privacy are things that I hold very close to me. I’ve grown up in a traditional Chinese immigrant household so early on, I’ve learned how to hide report cards — or what the prep school calls “progress reports” — even before I knew that there was a designated word for my actions. The only progress I was willing to share was a grade of anything above 100.

But even outside of the instances where I “lost” my exam paper by turkey-stuffing it into the abyss of my backpack, secrets and privacies were second nature to me. It always felt unnatural and even unsettling for me to “release” information about myself in conversations. Over-sharing information about myself to others made me feel uncomfortable even if it wasn’t brag-worthy information.

This is why one of my goals for writing this book is to combat this insecurity — to willingly air out my dirty laundry and put myself in uncomfortable situations. Because it is only when I get comfortable with being in uncomfortable situations where I can experience the most growth. Or in the words of a higher being, Brené Brown, this book is my attempt of “Rumbling with vulnerability.”

Hence, at its core, this book is some of my secrets and memories stored in separate time capsules. Each time capsule contains a collection of letters and essays, dedicated to my family, and now, to you. These letters and essays detail my upbringing in NYC as an American-Born Chinese (ABC) diving into the intersections between Chinese-American culture, heritage, identity, and all the feelings that are suppressed and shoved underneath the rug in a traditional Chinese household.

The Covid-19 Pandemic

When shit hit the fan in March 2020, these were the same feelings that I was forced to be roommates with while quarantining in my childhood home.

Throughout the height of this outbreak, death was (and still is) unforgiving and all around us—creeping around every corner and hiding behind every shadow. After my capstone year in China was abruptly cut short in February 2020, I sat myself down and read When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi.

The memoir is about a neurosurgeon who, when faced with a cancer diagnosis, attempts to grapple with the meaning of life and death—a question that he spent his entire life trying to answer. Frankly, this book took my breath away (no pun intended.) It redefined my perception of this simple yet convoluted concept: Death.

Since finishing Kalanithi’s book, this taboo topic of death keeps resurfacing and making its unwanted appearance—forcing itself in the forms of two main questions:

1. Do we only seem to notice things (like death) when and only when we are constantly reminded of its existence?

2. If yes, why should we have to wait until death is knocking on the front doors to finally knock down the bastion of our hearts to be open and express how we really feel to our loved ones?

When Breath Becomes Air remains one of my main sources of inspiration behind the book that you have in your hands right now. Out of the many things that Kalanithi’s book, my past experiences, and the 2020 pandemic have taught me is that everything traces back to two things: Life is fragile and tomorrow is never guaranteed.

I recognize that even at 22 years old, I am living on borrowed time. I am too young to think that I am running out of time but also too old to believe that I am invincible to the many inevitable realities that come with the journey of life. I am also too optimistic to assume that I will always have "tomorrow" to express my love and appreciation to those around me.

After reading this, it’s rightful of you to assume that the topic of death is the recurring theme in the upcoming pages of this book. But I am here to debunk that myth. As much as I would love to channel my inner 6th grade-emo-girl, this book takes a (mostly) light-hearted and humorous stance on otherwise heavier topics.

All this depressing shit about life and death was merely a driving force for me to write this book. The thought of an invisible timer ticking in the background was enough for me to conquer the negative thoughts and questions about whether or not I am qualified enough, old enough, or mentally strong enough.

This was a heavy reminder that if I don’t tell my story now, then when will I? And more importantly, who is able to tell my story better than I can? This uninviting overbearing grey cloud of death hovered over me for most of this pandemic. Yet this cloud also acted as a source of motivation that pushed me forward to tell another chapter.

Legacy Writing

At the beginning of this book journey, I came across the phrase 'legacy writing,' a term used to describe the memoir genre. On the surface, this book is a mere collection of letters and stories about a 22-year-old ABC and her upbringing in New York City. But I realized that below the tip of the iceberg, this memoir has the potential to be an artifact providing evidence of family lineage stories for my future descendants. As a result, this book is also my attempt of building a bridge between my past ancestors and my future descendants while simultaneously breaking down cultural and language barriers.

As a first-generation child of a Chinese immigrant family, I was forced to learn how to navigate international waters while in my own country of origin. While growing up under the influence and privilege in New York City, everything became about the survival of the fittest. I felt that if I wasn’t constantly proving to others that I can be the smartest, fastest, strongest, and brightest crayon in the box, I was at risk of being exiled for not being “American enough.” From the conflicting Chinese versus American values to trans-generational cultural and language barriers, I've curated a repertoire of some of these thoughts and experiences here in this book.

In addition, this book is a constant self-reminder to be fearless in the pursuit of my truth. By diving deeper and exploring the topics and experiences written in between the lines of Asian-American culture and heritage, I hope to begin normalizing the conversation around traditionally taboo topics. By having these conversations, we can make more guided decisions in our lives; confronting and reevaluating our day-to-day routines and conversations to make sure that they align with our core values.

I hope that some of these raw and personal anecdotes can resonate with you, whether you are a fellow ABC (American-Born-Chinese), Asian-American, children of immigrants, or simply someone who likes to read memoirs. For those of you who enjoyed Michelle Obama's Becoming, Ali Wong's Dear Girls, or other memoirs, then you are in the right place. However, this book is nowhere as uplifting, philosophical, hilarious, or unfiltered — in fact, at most, this is a bootleg version of your favorite memoir — but I hope that this is similarly entertaining.

Nonetheless, I am humbled that you are here reading the words that I have spilled on the page as a form of distraction amidst the 2020 pandemic. Thank you for allowing me to share a small piece of my life with you. I hope that this book prompts self-reflection within our own relationships with our family, friends, and most importantly—ourselves.

From the author and your soon to be BFFL,

Janette