A Toast to Grief and Growth

Grief and Growth both start with the sound /gr/, yet they hold opposite meanings. Even more fascinating, they complement each other, acting as partners in one’s journey of refinement, breathing life into the human experience.

I began my journey of Grief and Growth when I was 17. It was at that time I started to develop a clearer sense of independence, relationships, and social hierarchy. I eventually realized that there are things in life that I cannot control, and in my frustration, I resented them: the world I was born into, the way I was raised, the experiences that shaped my personality, the opportunities I missed, those who were more privileged, my parents, and even myself. Everything that happened in my life seemed to happen to me, shaping me in ways I didn't always want—and at times, I hated that I was born into myself.

I began to worry about things I had never thought about before: how to get a job, which products were the most cost-effective, how to fold my laundry, how to cook for myself, how to look good, smell good, and how to behave and socialize appropriately in public. These everyday concerns, which once seemed trivial, became overwhelming.

During many of these "first experiences," I learned important lessons. I also had to make difficult choices—giving up things I treasured, things that represented who I was and what made me happy, in order to survive, to keep moving forward, and to grow. I grieved deeply, but in doing so, I made room for growth. And in time, I grew tremendously. It was painful, but I also came to realize that, often in life, there’s a balance between opposing forces, a kind of equilibrium, a homeostasis. Grief and Growth, Personal and Professional, Expressiveness and Collectiveness, Self and Society, Egoism and Humility, Appearance and Functionality, the Extraordinary and the Ordinary, Luxury and Necessity, Art and Science.

Many times, I found that, in order for one side to thrive, one has to give in to something that compromises the conditions of the existence of another. It doesn't mean only one can live; one must be reduced so the other can stand in the spotlight.

I was humiliated and had to give up on many of my identities. My confidence for humility. My pride for functionality. My creative, critical thinking for tedious, ordinary work. My expressiveness for collectiveness. Give in my-very-own-self in order to serve society. Give in art to pursue science.

It was just life really, and everybody goes through the process, I realized.

As much as I am grateful for everything I've been through that made me the person I am today, a more mature, collected, and sympathetic person, and less of a pathetic, needy and chaotic brat, I can't help but also feel angry at myself for not foreseeing sooner the components to become a more well-established adult.

I came across a post on Facebook recently about a 75-year study from Harvard that tracked people's behavior throughout their lives, from childhood to old age. The study found that individuals who regularly did household chores as teenagers grew up to be more responsible and confident adults compared to those who didn't.

Well, it is kinda embarrassing at this point because I grew up doing nothing for the house. And even doing mostly nothing ... for myself.

Another interesting insight I came across in Morgan Housel's book The Psychology of Money is that people who grow up in different times or under varying socioeconomic conditions can develop vastly different perspectives on life. None of these perspectives are inherently right or wrong; they’re simply shaped by different experiences.

But how does one effectively explain their point of view and gain understanding from the other side—perhaps with some frustration—but without coming across as foolish, irrational, or cowardly?

My favorite word to describe a sensation ever is "bittersweetness". I bet that is also why I love matcha, because of its umami taste. This world is the most beautiful when it is experienced, and it should be, in the most chaotic but well-rounded, total and whole way, that gives a similar sense of umami, with an aftertaste of bittersweetness.

You taste everything and grow, but at the same time, feel everything and grieve. It's what bittersweetness is made of, the irritating feeling of having done it all but couldn't go back.

Maybe my writing lacks cohesion, but maybe it is not. What I am trying to say is that it is such a pity that people argue so hard just because they can not see from both worlds at a time, when in fact, that is what they should do before getting into any quarrel at all. There are consequences, the bittersweetness of knowing too much, but simultaneously, there are rewards, the umami experience of empathy, understanding, and acceptance.

What I am trying to say is that I have gone this far, trying understand both sides of the story, not to be defeated by the first hardship or burnout that comes my way and return to my narrow, opinionated well. I am so over it and I am not. Going. Back.

This piece of writing is closed off at dawn, followed by a daunting night before, during which I had doubted myself so much. I know I am better than that. This is the end of my very first web post, thank you so much for reading, and have a nice day.