I do all of this great stuff, yeah, but it’s not fulfilling because it’s not really adding to anything. It’s just “stuff I did” and maybe it’s cool stuff, but it’s stuff nonetheless.
Thirty years on and I don’t have much of an identity. I have a personality and a few exploits, but it’s nothing I can hang my hat on. My pictures are all just photos of me or photos of other people or photos of me with other people. They’re not photos of “Aron Hsiao’s XYZ” that detail my life and who I am. I can’t really claim to be anything, I’m a mile wide and a millimeter deep.
I don’t really have family, most of the people that I call “family” are actually my parents’ family. I don’t really have a career, my work history isn’t filled with people that recommend me or achievements I can list. I don’t really have any hobbies or any identifying features.
I haven’t managed to build much for myself. I look at some of the other people that I went to school with who now have a personal life complete with wife and kids and a career in the state department or at CNN or are teaching now and about to achieve tenure, and I wonder: what did I get by avoiding all of this that was actually worth it?
Or was I just too busy intently being a bastard to notice that half of what my elders warned me about was probably true?