A Word of Encouragement for the Creative and Culturally Depressed
“There is a downside to being an artist or a writer, and it is that you won’t be fully satisfied in life unless you are doing what you are meant to do, which is making art and writing regardless of the naysay. I still love my parents, but ow. And I see it too. What’s the point of going to graduate school to read sad books that will drive me mad enough to write a book of my own only to be rejected by the status quo of today and a near future society that will burn books anyway? Sure, I don’t have to go to college for that, but gosh darn it, I’m still working on a plot twist and some moral support would be nice.”
Author’s Bio:
Sabaitide is an emerging Asian American artist and writer from Santa Barbara, CA. She seeks to understand both her eastern culture rooted in Buddhism and her western views as a Christian while going through the motions of an extra ordinary life.
She is currently challenging herself to write at the graduate level as she explores difficult ideas to put into words. She would like to write a science fiction novel someday, but in the meantime, she is working on her portfolio and she has a vegan food blog called @partyinmyrice.
www.sabaitide.com
IG: @sabaitide @partyinmyrice
Author’s Note:
I reached out to Julia at Project Yellow Dress months ago and I’ve been meaning to submit a written piece ever since the time of #StopAsianHate and Asian American Heritage Month, but then I got shy. A few difficult things crossed my mind during that season, but I didn’t want to necessarily bring too much attention to myself. Since then, I’ve gotten into graduate school to pursue writing at a higher level and I’ve been finding my voice through creative writing on my personal blog, but it is now August and I still owe Julia a good story. Thank you so much for your patience and today I’d like to open up about my story as an emerging Asian American writer in hopes that you will find some encouragement in your own craft.
My family came to California from Laos, Thailand, and Vietnam. My mom’s side is from the northernmost part of Thailand in the Golden Triangle, where the Mekong River separates the countries of Thailand, Laos, and Myanmar. My mom’s family travelled across the river from Laos to seek refuge in Thailand as my uncle continued his travels and immigrated to the United States first. After several years, my uncle was able to help the rest of the family come to America. My family initially arrived in San Francisco and soon came down the coast to the Santa Barbara area.
On the other side, my dad’s family is from Bac Lieu in South Vietnam and the whole family was displaced from the war. They had to leave everything behind and fled the country on a boat with all six children. They spent years at refugee camps, and with the help of a church sponsorship, they were eventually able to start a new life in the Ojai valley. Both sides of my family eventually relocated to the south side of Oxnard. My parents met and fell in love when they were teenagers and they became high school sweethearts. My family’s immigration and love story is so touching and everything seems fine and dandy, except I’m not my dad’s kid.
I wasn’t told my complete family history when I was younger, but I have been able to put most of it together over time. My mom told me that my Ying, or my grandma, had arranged her marriage to another man. That’s how she had my older sister and I, who are both Thai and Laotian. Then something bad must have happened for my parents to divorce when I was a baby. Years later, my mom married her high school sweetheart, my step dad, and then they had my little sister, who is half Vietnamese.
My mom also told me that I was hospitalized when my parents separated and my biological dad didn’t even visit me. I don’t know why I wasn’t wanted or if I was the reason why my parents divorced, but I finally met my dad twenty years later and I was the last one to know that he’s gay. Someone could have kindly mentioned that to me because my dad was the biggest mystery to me and putting this all into words now has been A LOT to process, but it’s not like my dad leaving impacted my life at all because my mom worked hard to give me the life that she didn’t have. My step dad was also present throughout my life, but there was definitely some confusion growing up.
Another thing that confused me was that I was really dark while my older sister had light skin. So many people made comments about my skin color. My mom told me that I’m lucky to be dark, but my skin color made me even more self conscious about being different. Not only were we some of the few Asians in the area, but I also didn’t look like other Asians, especially my own sister. Like was I adopted? Because there was no visual resemblance between my sister and I. I didn’t know if it was my birth order or my skin color or some other reason, but over time, those small comments and subtle ways I was treated differently made me feel unliked. My older sister was more favored and she had three more years of schooling on me because she got to go to preschool while I had to stay home with Ying and watch Sesame Street until I could start Kindergarten.
I love my family, but what I mentioned so far with my family and being the odd one was kind of the foundation of my depression. I wasn’t a negative person, but the sadness hit me later in life when my personal relationships weren’t that great. My childhood is also when I developed my creative personality. I spent a lot of time with Ying. She lived with our family and she used to watch me while my mom was busy or when my older sister was at school. I was pretty random. I used to draw on the walls, tried to read, played in the yard, or something like that. I also got to watch Ying. My grandma was a female monk who shaved her head and dressed in white. She lived simply, didn’t eat meat, I think she ate once a day, her room smelled like Tiger Balm, and she spent a lot of time in meditation.
I had a language barrier with my grandma and my understanding of religion. Buddhism is a big part of my Thai culture, and even though my grandma was a monk, I wasn’t too religious and I got to grow up as a normal Asian American 90’s kid. I used to watch anime, I played piano, I had the coolest avatar on GaiaOnline, and I thought Nigahiga was the funniest person on YouTube. I got to grow into my creative personality and be myself, but I became really self conscious about how I looked in high school because now I finally went to the same school as my older sister and no one was expecting her little sister to be brown. I was already teased in school for being the only Asian girl from the avenue and it took me like another year to make friends in high school across town. I also had to stop liking anime because then it would’ve been even harder to make friends.
I found ways to stay busy and I thrived in the arts. I explored painting, photography, writing, magazines, and fashion, but that’s when I still seemed like a really bright kid. When it was time to apply to college, I got into a few fashion schools and merchandising programs because that’s what I thought I wanted to do at first, but then I felt like fashion was too glamorous for me. I liked the creative side of it, but fashion and social media could have led me towards a superficial path where I would have to care about what I wore or how I looked or how many people liked me. That’s why I went the art route and chose to suffer (I’m kidding, sort of). I enjoyed painting and making things, so whatever path I ended up going on, I figured that I would have to create that path myself even when all the naysayers told me I would end up working at Burger King.
I got into a few art and design related programs, so I was going to have to pick one and change my major later. I could not even consider community college because my social life and home life made me so depressed that I could burst into tears. On top of every painfully awkward thing that I had to deal with in high school, my family relationships weren’t that great at the time. I really should have been on antidepressants or checked in, but I didn’t know I could seek help. I didn’t know enough about depression or think of it as a medical condition that I had because I didn’t cut myself or romanticize death. My depression affected my ability to sleep and function due to my emotional distress. My eyes got swollen from crying regularly, so I had monolids for a while. It became so noticeable that an old friend got me tape for my eyes as a bad Asian joke. That’s not even the worst thing that happened in high school and I just had to leave.
So I still had to choose between fashion school or art, and what a privilege it was to even have the option (I ended up going to a state university and discovered my passion for plants). I got into those programs because I’m good at my craft, but I was just so underwhelmed with myself because I didn’t feel like I had anyone to be excited or happy with me. I felt bad because I knew how lucky I was to go to college or to pursue something creative while my parents didn’t get the chance to. That’s also a reason why I downplayed my depression because what reason did I have to be sad when my parents were refugees and lived through difficult uncertainties? Why didn’t I become a nurse? Or study astrophysics? What a disappointment. You all need to calm down.
Even now, nearly ten years later, I feel like my intellect and sense of humor is so underrated because I’m an artist. I’ve seriously gone through the mental breakdowns and spiritual path to self actualization to come to the strokes of creativity I have now in both my art and writing, so I’m not going to fight my artistic calling anymore. I was ecstatic to get into my program so that I can write at the graduate level because it’s what I’m called to do and I’m finally bold enough to write, but getting into graduate school hasn’t changed much and my parents still can’t even pretend to care.
There is a downside to being an artist or a writer, and it is that you won’t be fully satisfied in life unless you are doing what you are meant to do, which is making art and writing regardless of the naysay. I still love my parents, but ow. And I see it too. What’s the point of going to graduate school to read sad books that will drive me mad enough to write a book of my own only to be rejected by the status quo of today and a near future society that will burn books anyway? Sure, I don’t have to go to college for that, but gosh darn it, I’m still working on a plot twist and some moral support would be nice. There are anxieties that come with feeling like no one cares about what I write, including my own parents. It doesn’t matter if I am good at painting and writing or if I pour my heart into my work. I don’t feel like I’m good enough but I keep at it anyway. What’s worse than being a middle child? Being an artist, and a vegan.
I guess I would like to be the voice of encouragement for any creative person, regardless of your craft or ethnicity, who also struggles with pursuing their artistic calling and getting their parents’ support. It’s a cultural and generational thing, but I’m sure that your family still loves you even if they don’t know how to show support for doing what makes you happy. It might be art, or music, or something else. So many people are incredibly gifted, and talented, and naturally inclined to do a specific craft. You likely have a special reason to be here, something you need to do, and something valuable to say. I understand how creative expression is necessary to cope with mental health as a 90’s Asian American who has also experienced similar cultural and generational challenges as many of you.
Having that said, I’m not mad at my folks and I guess they’re sort of supportive at this point, but don’t show it. As I said before, I’ve been processing a lot and I’m just grateful to be where I am now. I have my parents to thank for their courage to start anew in America, and I understand that there have been cultural and emotional challenges for both of our generations. The way that I can show courage right now is to write like no one has before despite knowing what to be fearful or anxious about. I appreciate everything and do want to say that every single blessing that I’ve received in my life, I pray that the same blessings will be given to other children of refugees, like being able to go to school and explore their artistic calling. I also pray that anyone who needed encouragement will be nudged in the right direction and make a breakthrough with their craft.
Below is a curated list of mental health resources as well as links to help the refugees of today. My heart goes out to you all, thanks.
Afghanistan Relief
Asian Mental Health Collective
Asian Mental Health Project
Brown Girl Therapy
Brown Therapist Network
Crisis Text Line (Text HOME to 741-741)
Know the Signs
OK2Talk
National Alliance on Mental Illness (1-800-950-6264)
National Sexual Assault Hotline (1-800-656-4673)
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (1-800-273-8255)
Painted Brain
South Asian Therapists
UNICEF
USA for UNHCR
320 Changes Direction
7 Cups of Tea
On an endnote, I would like to recommend listening to Yeonmi Park’s interview on Joe Rogan’s podcast about her incredibly heartbreaking story defecting from North Korea. Her story has changed my life and will also make you reflect on human rights, women’s rights, and life as a refugee. The full podcast is available on Spotify.
Recent Works
Poetry Sample
Sabaitide. “No Matter.” June I Issue: Poetry Roundup, Overachiever Magazine. June I. 2021.
A Word on My Mental Health Journey
Sabaitide. “Gal Wonder vs. Galzilla.” Overachiever Magazine. April I. 2021.
A Word on Asian Hate
Sabaitide. “A Different Kind of Sad.” Overachiever Magazine. March II. 2021.
A Word on Finding Your Purpose
Sabaitide. “Ikigai to Discover Your Purpose in Life.” Overachiever Magazine. December II. 2020.