Chapter 3: Palm Trees: Growing Where You're Watered; Bending Not Breaking
If you're on a plane descending into Los Angeles for the first time, or driving through the streets of LA, one thing you may notice is the presence of palm trees. The palm tree is synonymous with Los Angeles: a symbol of luxury, wealth, exoticism, and paradise. They were planted intentionally as "street trees", despite lacking any functional uses of shade, reduction of heat, clean air, and fruit. But their uniqueness allowed them to grow and thrive everywhere, from beaches and boardwalks, major streets to tiny residential streets, the affluent neighborhoods to the hood, they're a unifying symbol. No matter where you reside, look outside of your window and you'll see a palm tree. Compared to more densely populated and vertical mega cities like New York and Tokyo, Los Angeles is much more horizontally spread out, with palm trees towering over our buildings, with a few exceptions in downtown Los Angeles and Century City.
A brief overview on palm trees for the purpose of analogy. Apologies in advance for any scientific inaccuracies. Palm trees aren't like other trees, in fact they share many of the same qualities as grass. They're made up of small spaghetti like roots that form into balls which make them very easy to dig up, transport, and plant. As long as they have sun and water, they can pretty much grow anywhere. And their cylinder like rings allow their trunks to bend without snapping, and their leaves also have a flexible spine that fold up against hard weather. Which is why you see so many palm trees grown at an angle instead of straight up, especially by the beaches. Again if any of that was factually incorrect and incomplete, I'm sorry. Science was my weakest subject in school, I was admittedly a C-student in High School, which for AAPI is worse than an F.
The palm tree symbolism works two-fold in my life. First, the palm tree's ability to be dug up, transported, and planted, not at all particular about where they are. My life has unfolded as a series of restarts and reinventions in a search for place and belonging. It's why I went through middle school and high school making a whole new set of friends every year. While my classmates spent summers going to each other's homes, going out to the mall, etc. I remained in summer school (aka free daycare) and then at home trying to master Super Mario Kart on Super Nintendo. When the new school year began, my other friends had strengthened their bonds while I stayed behind stranded on Rainbow Road. Shortly after graduating high school in La Canada, my family moved to Northridge and I didn't let any of my high school friends know. This was before the days of Facebook and even MySpace, before everyone had their own cell phone. You had AOL Instant Messenger (AIM) if you're lucky but good luck trying to connect with others on a landline connection.
I followed the same pattern in college. Living in the freshmen dorms at UC Irvine was a chance to start over and not have to carry the weight of being a loner in high school. I tried to make friends with dorm-mates and then eventually joined several campus ministries, KCM and KCCC. After trying to establish my roots in more religious social circles and being unofficially blacklisted for being a "bad influence", I refocused on my energy on switching from an English to Sociology major, and making friendships based on common hobbies versus mutual cultural or religious identity. I was able to make a handful of friendships in my last few years of college, but they also faded after graduation. While I had a shiny new Bachelor's Degree to show for it, me at 23 was otherwise in the exact same spot as me at 18.
Not only was I continuously resetting my social circles, I went through various phases while trying to find myself in the workplace. I had zero idea what I was going to do once I graduated from college, so I ended up staying a fifth year like a bad model minority. I took a year studying for the CBEST and CSET exams to enter a teaching credential program, while working part-time at Target and then Togo's sandwiches. I got my preliminary teaching credential in history at CSUN but ended up tutoring at an after-school program and substitute teaching. Once I realized that my credential would expire before I got placed in a full-time classroom, I pivoted and entered non-profit with K.A.F.E. On top of that, I took on various freelancing gigs for my mentor: including personal assistant work, book editing, and working as a House Manager for her one woman show. Another freelancing gig I found was working as a personal assistant/roadie for several adult industry performers at various adult conventions and feature dance performances at strip clubs (there's a whole 15 year period of my life loosely associated with the adult industry that I may delve into in a future chapter, no promises). When K.A.F.E. dissolved, I drove for Lyft for 2 years while continuing to take freelancing jobs and a failed venture with someone in the tech world.
Looking back at my search for community and purpose in life, I realize I am very much like a palm tree in that I belong both nowhere and everywhere. Sometimes I lament that I haven't been able to firmly establish my roots with a community or a workplace. But on the other hand, I acknowledge my resilience: the ability to be uprooted and be planted elsewhere, remaining as long as I continue to receive sun and water. And once a particular phase in my life dries out, dig myself out and find the next place to plant my roots.
"If we only knew how to stop waiting for all the things that are not meant to arrive, then perhaps some of us would finally let go and learn how to fly against the wild wind" - R.M. Drake
The second area that the palm symbolizes my life is the ability to bend but not break in the midst of strong winds. Like the palm tree bends in the direction of the wind, I had to learn how to bend and let go when the universe sent messages that certain things may not be meant for me. I bent towards other people's best intentions for me until I felt confident and rooted enough to express that those things weren't best for me. I didn't want to live up to some model minority myth and become a doctor, lawyer, pastor, or whatever other field that would reward my parents' sacrifices. Nor did I want to be a small business owner like my parents did, because what the statistics of AAPI small business ownership doesn't tell you is the ungodly hours they work everyday and all the illegal child labor of having your children volunteer at the store so they don't have to hire extra staff. My dad essentially handed me down a small water refill business to run with the promise that I would still have the flexibility to do my non-profit work. Almost immediately, I was miserable at that store and developed a chronic back ailment from a buildup of resentment and tension/stress. My mentor, Helie Lee, once encouraged me to develop a pilot for a show once I shared with her some of my dating misadventures. Even though my mentor was validating my story, I could never put paper to pen because it wasn't my dream.
There are other strong winds that suggest other things aren't meant for me. As an only child and especially only son to immigrant parents, it's expected of me to want marriage and children to carry on the family line. Maybe the winds are telling me to let go of the idea that I'll ever bear my own biological children. Sure a male can technically have children as long as he's fertile, but palm trees don't produce fruit. The winds are also suggesting I let go of meeting a life partner. The way that the winds frequently blow me into the friend zone direction, maybe I'm not supposed be anyone's source of air or shade. Sometimes I wish I could be nice lemon tree or maybe a fig tree in someone's back yard, but that's not necessarily my purpose.
Instead I was born to be a palm tree: existing anywhere and everywhere; bending without breaking. As an empath I'm prone to bend to whatever winds are surrounding me but through acceptance and building my self-worth, I am learning how to also bend with intention and purpose rather than always reactive to the winds of climate change, racial and gender inequality, war, poverty, and everything else that is designed to break us, as well as my own internal winds (more on that in the coming weeks). Look outside of your window and you'll see me knocked over but continuing to stand and instill hope that authenticity, vulnerability, and connectedness still f*cking matters.
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