Being an adult writer but like a kid is a tricky business.
Friends leave the city, and suddenly the streets feel lonelier. I’d try to pour my feelings into writing, but then came the sting — unsubscribe notifications, one after another. I started thinking, maybe my words really are garbage.
For a whole year, I hadn’t found friends I really liked. And then (drumroll) something unexpected happened: I met my readers.
If you ever reach out to me, it’s usually for one of two reasons:
You hate me so much you absolutely must tell me.
You love me so much you absolutely must tell me (or see me).
One day, it was the second. A Vietnamese reader sent me an email so long it could’ve been a novella. I guess she is in the second category.
When I opened it, my first thought was: bruh… if you actually read my posts, don’t you already know I’m a confused human being? Why hit me with all these questions I clearly don’t know the answers to? But, out of courtesy (and because I’m very Asian), I invited her over for dinner. I made sushi.
That’s when I realized: my readers are hella strange.
I seared this beautiful, expensive sashimi-level salmon, and she said, “Can I cut it into heart and star shapes?”
Inside my head: This girl just dismissed my great cooking… but also, that’s kind of creative. Out loud, I said yes. And so, there we were, slicing salmon into awkward little shapes.
The next day, I was bored, working in a café near her place. I told her to swing by. She did. Out of nowhere, I blurted, “Wanna practice interviews together?”
She didn’t hesitate.
Her: “Now?”
Me: “Yes.”
Her: “Okay.”
And just like that, we started meeting every day. Practicing interviews. For MONTHS, I’d been searching for someone to practice with. No luck. And then, suddenly, this stranger who turned my salmon into stars became the person I’d been waiting for. (FYI: I missed all my viet friends that they all so hardworking and accountable.)
Weirdo friends are the best kind of strange.
Another reader once slid into my Twitter DMs, and we decided to meet for coffee. Over lattes, I told her my story about selling matcha at YC’s AI Startup School. She laughed and shared her own hustle, selling souvenirs at a Taylor Swift concert… until the police caught her.
Just like the first “strange girl,” she had this playful personality. The second time we met was at a friend gathering. Out of nowhere she asked:
Her: “I wanna bike to the Golden Gate Bridge.”
Me: “Now?”
So she went and rented bikes. We pedaled into the darkness, through a forest that was both terrifying and exhilarating. And as the night wind whipped past us, I thought about how everyone always says I’m too bold, too adventurous, too spontaneous. Yet here I was, effortlessly finding people just as wild.
That’s when I realized, my readers, my weirdo friends, are one of a kind. I like them (which also means: I like you).
So feel free to keep reaching out. But please don’t reach out if you are category (1). Life is already hard so please don’t traumatize me more.