Returning to roots

06 May 2025

These days, I've been checking my email multiple times daily in anticipation of a response to a job that I applied for back in February. Now I've finally reached the last phase of a very lengthy application process and am hoping that I'll land an offer. The waiting feels especially painful since it's all that's left between me throwing my letter and serving out my two months' notice, which, at this point, feels like an eternity.¹ To be honest, some things have gotten slightly better at work. But it still doesn't put a dent in all the shitty things that have happened and continue to happen, which is why my decision remains set. I can't undo all that I've seen and heard. I'm emotionally spent. And I don't have the heart to carry on.

Though my back-to-work experience has turned out to be largely negative, I've found that some good can come out of all these shitty experiences that I would not have in any case wished for. They have clarified what I value and have shown me the kind of person I want to be as much as they have the kind of person I never want to be. They have also caused me to grow a spine, to become bold in standing up for myself and for the things I believe in.

Just six months ago, I had an accidental moment of self-discovery in the process of writing, where I realised that I had lost myself somewhere in the years of growing up. There was a time when I was unafraid to speak my mind, to stand alone, to pick a fight, but I lost that. At that point of reflection, I knew no way forward. How do you change the person you have been for more than a decade? And yet, here I am, six months later, and not quite the same person that I was before.

None of this was even intentional. It only happened because I became increasingly bothered by certain attitudes and behaviours. And my frustrations only built as I witnessed the silence of those around me—a silence that I felt served to embolden and condone. And so my one big moment of rebellion and going rogue consisted of writing a strongly worded reply (not with AI, mind you!) to a situation that I found concerning and posting it in the group chat for all to see. I had felt compelled to call out what I felt was a mishandling of a situation openly because I was certain that things would have been glossed over and covered up otherwise. My supervisor remains civil, and though I sometimes wonder what she thinks behind closed doors, I ultimately do not care. She wouldn't have known it, but in that moment, it was completely personal. I was making a stand for all the people I knew that had come and gone, who experienced what they did under her, and who at that time did not have anyone to stand up for them.

I can't even explain what came over me. But being fed up and angry unlocked a boldness in me that I could never conjure. And now, though I do consider what I ultimately decide to say or do, I'm no longer afraid. This I-don't-care-about-what-you-think-and-I'm-just-going-to-do-my-own-thing attitude is something unfamiliar and yet so freeing. And though I don't yet know the extent of this newfound boldness, I think I'm off to a good start here. Because this is the kind of person I want to be—someone who possesses the courage and freedom to be myself, to say what I think, and to stand up for the things I believe in.

To have balls—like the election candidate I'm quite taken with after reading an interview she gave. This was how she said others would likely describe her—the kind of person who would say what was necessary, often without trying to package it up in a more palatable way. Because her answers were candid and devoid of the usual PR bullshit spouted by others, she came across as real, and her words felt authentic. It was refreshing!

It's been on my mind lately—honesty, authenticity, heart.

I feel it in the words of a person who journals online—words raw and vulnerable, words that I, though nameless and faceless, would never dare utter here. I really appreciate it—the honesty, the vulnerability—something so rare in our age of curated perfection. And though his experiences are often unfamiliar, I sometimes see echoes of myself, reflections of a hidden me that I find hard to acknowledge, let alone embrace.

I think about it when I recall a teacher I once met, who appalled me with her never-ending stream of bombastic compliments directed at six-year-olds for every little thing they did, praiseworthy or not. Amazing, fabulous, fantastic, marvellous, terrific, wonderful. My ears bled at the barrage of empty praises that came from her mouth. Her words rang hollow.

I contend with it in my work and with the way things work here. I hate the show. The ridiculous need to produce evidence to prove the work we actually do, the big performance we put up to tick all the boxes to certify that we do all that's required, even for the work we don't actually do—a system that's meant to produce excellence that only serves to cultivate pretence.

I ponder it in our possibly-abandoned search for a new community. Why does it often feel like a performance? Why does it have to be so flashy and showy? Why can't you just strip away the bright lights and loud music? Because all I'm looking for is heart. And it's hard to find heart when the lights are flashing and the music blaring. And even if it's there, which it may very well be, it's lost in a sea of distractions—to me at least. Jon Foreman says it best: I hate all your show.

Honesty, authenticity, heart—these are the things that matter to me, and these are the things that I'm searching for.

And it is here in the midst of a superficial and artificial world that I find myself returning to roots—to the person I once was and the person that I am inside, bearing with me the beliefs I hold true—落叶归根—

And this time, I will bloom.