必须好 – pt. 1 by Jessica Z. '27

additional context: hello! the writing below was my first ever attempt at blogging—funnily enough, i only started this writing to apply to be a blogger. while i read it now and see many things i would change,⁠01 emphasis on the many lol i think i generally did an okay job representing my feelings, and i’d like to keep it in a more authentic state (even if i cringe reading it now). 

i remembered this draft’s existence when i found myself writing a similar-ish blog last week. i thought it’d be interesting to post this now—nearly one year later—and post a part 2 later reflecting on how MIT has both changed and not changed my perspective.

I am an angry crier. In high school, I stared blankly at a wall whenever I was hit with a wave of sadness. But when I felt a bubbling feeling of frustration build in my chest, I knew that a rush of tears would soon follow. 

I went through a rush of angry tears last Friday. 

Rising Waters

I spent Friday morning and early afternoon helping my friends move into their new apartment. I drove home at 3:03pm and made a mental plan of everything I wanted to do for the rest of the day in the spirit of productivity. If you know me personally, I am a notes app lover; I spent the next few minutes typing out a personal schedule for myself and started working on my first task. 

Roughly forty minutes later, my phone exploded with an onslaught of notifications from my parents alerting me that the restaurant was busy. For some background, my parents immigrated to America and opened a small Chinese restaurant back in 2003. There’s a deep history to Americanized Chinese food,⁠02 which is better described in this UCLA class project: http://conniewenchang.bol.ucla.edu/menus/index.html but in short, it’s a common business practice for Chinese immigrants to open small restaurants in America. In an all-too-familiar rhythm, I threw on my working clothes, chucked on my shoes, and went downstairs into the restaurant. 

Working in the restaurant isn’t light work. It’s surprisingly physically demanding, and it’s not exactly glamorous sprinting back and forth between the kitchen and dining area. I walked back upstairs roughly six hours later at 10:23pm. 

Entering my room, I took a look at my planned schedule, the unchecked boxes on my to-do list, and the stationary scattered on my desk from my unfinished first task. I felt my body tense, and my nose began to twinge with heat. A bubbling pit of frustration in my chest began to build, and soon enough, the tears started to fall. 

Going Under

My relationship with the restaurant is complicated. It’s my family, my culture, my identity, and admitting I harbor any feelings of resentment towards it makes me feel like I’m giving up on all those core aspects of my life. At the same time, however, it’s undeniable how much time it takes away from my life compared to other students.

For as long as I can remember, one of my deepest insecurities has been falling behind academically. Part of this is rooted in imposter syndrome, but it’s also rooted in knowing the long hours I spend in the restaurant are hours that I could have spent developing technical skills that would make me feel more confident entering college. It was easy to feel more “ahead” in middle school simply because I didn’t understand the vastness of the world, but my fear deepened as I grew older. Once the initial euphoria of getting into college wore off, my sinking fear of being unable to catch up returned. No, I didn’t take AP Calculus at 14, publish a paper at 15, patent a product at 16, present at a conference at 17…the list goes on. I always wonder what I could have become with more free time. I worry that, because of my family responsibilities, I missed a critical time in my youth where I could have molded myself to understand more, learn more, be more. 

I know that this is an unfair mindset and not entirely true. I’ve done meaningful work throughout high school that I’m proud of, including being able to support my parents. But it’s hard to tell myself that when I see people my age or younger completing internships at well-known companies or conducting professional research in laboratories.⁠03 i also want to be clear that these experiences, like working in the restaurant, are valid. however, it’s hard to feel like my work is worthy from a professional perspective because it isn’t directly related to my prospective major or intended career

It’s also not to say I don’t appreciate the restaurant or my parents—they’re the reason I have the opportunities I do today. It doesn’t escape me that I’ve been given an opportunity my parents were never afforded—I’m incredibly lucky. But it’s on days like today where I feel an unmistakable sense of jealousy for other people who don’t constantly have to be on standby. Who don’t have to put their priorities on the backburner for sudden schedule changes. Who don’t have to finish their homework between long phone calls and bustling customers. 

When I think about it for too long, the ache in my chest deepens, and it feels like I am choking. I become a worse version of myself: envious, spiteful, childish. 

Catching my Breath

I was able to think more clearly after about a half an hour of angry tears. I’m a bit embarrassed to admit how upset I was, but I think crying it out is sometimes necessary. Even after years of working chaotically in the restaurant and experiencing similar emotions, I haven’t found a fool-proof way to combat them. However, I have practiced some healthy ways to cope with these unpleasant feelings and ground myself from spiraling. 

One of those ways is to remember how the restaurant has helped me, even if unconventionally. When I become upset, I childishly tell myself that the time I lost to the restaurant is wasted time. But, I know that this isn’t true. It’s not the time I planned to spend, but it’s certainly not time that I wasted doing nothing. 

While preparing food every day doesn’t initially seem academically beneficial, it’s true that it’s taught me the importance of consistent work. The same way that speaking to disgruntled customers makes me want to scream, but it has also taught me the value of communication and conflict resolution. Instead of feeling annoyed at being suddenly called to work, I tell myself I am learning to be adaptable. Yes, sometimes I feel like I’m drowning and can’t catch my breath, but eventually, those feelings begin to fade.

Learning to Swim

When I think about my earlier angry tears, I can’t tell where my anger is directed. I’m not angry at the restaurant. I’m not angry at my parents. I’m not angry at myself. Maybe there’s a thinly blurred line between anger and general frustration. Or maybe I’m more upset that I have no one to blame. 

There’s a Chinese phrase, 必须好 (bìxū hǎo), that directly translates to “must be good.” In lieu of accurate direct Chinese-to-English translation, the saying basically means that life moves on because it has to move on.

The boxes on my to-do list are unchecked, but they will get done simply because they have to get done. And not having everything done today won’t create a setback so strong that I’m unable to catch up. It’s not that I’m not trying—it’s that life simply gets in the way sometimes, and that doesn’t necessarily mean that my time spent on another task is automatically useless because it’s not what I originally planned. 

The next four years at MIT are going to be filled with a much larger and diverse community than I know now. There will be people who are, objectively, ahead of me academically—I’ve never coded more than ten lines in Python, presented at a major conference, or taken an engineering class, even as a prospective engineering major. I fear being the only person in a PSET study group that just doesn’t understand. My fear of falling behind and not understanding is simply something I will have to get used to because it will happen in college. At the same time, though, I have to keep reminding myself I have other skills I can bring, and I’m at college to learn.  

In other words, you just have to keep swimming.