The Girl, The List, and The Lies I Built My Life On

My chronically online identity started back in 2013.

At that time, I was a young, hungry, and ambitious 19-year-old community college student who knew that there was more opportunity in life than what had been handed to me.

The economy was still reeling from the after-effects of the Great Recession, and unfortunately for me, my family was hit pretty hard.

My mom had left her job as a supervisor in the foreclosures department at Fidelity National Title in 2008 due to stress. (It makes sense, considering her department had grown from five to over 100 employees in the span of five years.) But she didn't know that the economy was on the brink of disaster. Nobody really did until the fall of '08.

We had moved out of our apartment and in with my grandfather, who at that time was 10 years sober. I hadn't really known about his previous proclivities because to me, he had always been that loving, doting grandfather. But on a trip back to his home state, he picked up the old habits again.

I was 15 and scared. I confined myself to my room, hiding from his anger and rage. "How could he do this?" I thought. "How could he change this much?"

The environment was too much to bear. And so we left, or rather, were kicked out, as he had thrown all of our belongings into the driveway.

We stayed at a seedy motel that night, not knowing where to go, and scared of what would happen next. We then moved in with my aunt, into a studio apartment in a not-very-safe part of the county.

The three of us crammed into this tiny apartment, just barely making it by. Shortly thereafter, a long-lost cousin came to stay with us, and then a cousin's young son. There were now five of us in this apartment, and it was not sustainable.

My mother and I decided to move to Portland, Oregon, where my uncle had moved a couple of years prior.

Along with my aunt and cousin, we drove the U-Haul and the Mustang the entire length of California and Oregon, crossing the mountainous range of Northern California and the southern grasslands of Oregon.

We arrived in Portland at the first fall of snow, almost welcoming us with our arrival.

My uncle lived in the southwest part of town, right underneath OHSU, one of the region's largest hospitals. And downtown Portland quickly became my playground.

I enrolled in Lincoln High School, which was supposedly one of the better schools in the city. The reality was a lot different.

An inner-city school nestled at the foothills of the city, it hosted kids from both wealthier and lower-income families. There were drugs, gangs, and violence—a far cry from the life I led back home in Orange County.

I skirted by the second half of my sophomore year largely undetected and finally made it to the summer of '09.

The Summer That Changed Everything

This was the summer that changed my life.

I was 15 going on 16 and explored downtown Portland, totally free and uninhibited from parental supervision. (In retrospect, I'm super surprised that my mom even let me go on these adventures!)

I would catch the city bus which had just left OHSU and head down into the city. From there, I would hop off at a location of my choosing and just walk around.

From the downtown library to the Willamette River, I saw it all. And I had my trusty Maltese poodle, Chacha, in tow.

The lilacs were in full bloom, and summer was full of hope and possibility. Until reality hit.

My life was a wreck.

I was uprooted from my school, my home, my LIFE back in California, thrown into a scary situation with my grandfather, lived with four other relatives in a tiny studio apartment in a not-safe neighborhood, and then was dragged across state borders to a state and school that I had absolutely no intention of ever stepping foot in.

This all took place in less than a year.

As I sat at the park near my new home, which I lovingly called 'The Lilac Park,' I pulled out my 99-cent composition journal and began to write.

• "Fettuccine with Creamy Red Pepper-Feta Sauce"
• "Directions from Extra's Only to Vanderveer Center"
• "Classes at Portland Community College: JPN 101 First Year Japanese. ART 209 History of Asian Art. ART 131: Introduction to Drawing."

Then I began writing a "to-do" list:

• I want to start a business
• I want to take a sewing class
• I want to study hard and get good grades
• I want to retake French II and Geometry after school
• I want to read more books
• I want to start a club
• I want to learn Japanese
• I want a tutor
• I want a desk with a light
• I want to get out more
• I want to make jewelry
• I want to update my blog

I left this list, along with the journal, untouched for about three years. It was rediscovered when I turned 18 years old.

Flipping through the pages, I was surprised to discover that I had completed all of the things I had set out to do back when I was 15 (minus the desk/light thing).

I set out to write a new list, a more ambitious list:

My New "I Want" List of 2012

December 30, 2011

So the first time I did this I wasn't expecting much. I was just being a silly girl writing down all my simplistic wants. When I found this journal in storage, I was shocked to find out that I accomplished most all of the things on that list. I was 15 at the time. I'm 18 now and have new goals. I hope in the next 3 years I will also accomplish these as well.Transfer to a universityGo to JapanStart a businessBe in a beauty pageantBe a daughter my Mother can be proud ofStart modeling/actingGet a carContinue blogging

I just hope that everything will get better.

The next three years I had set out to do what I aspired to accomplish:

• I transferred from community college to Concordia University Irvine.
• I eventually went to Japan in the fall of 2018.
• I technically started a business (but it didn't last long).
• I entered the Miss Tustin 2013 pageant, and won.
• I think I became a daughter my mother can be proud of (you'd have to ask her).
• I did some light modeling and acting in my early 20s.
• I bought a 2013 Kia Rio.
• And blogged on and off for years, only to delete all the work later.

Crashing and Burning

Writing this list and doing the things I set out to do over a period of three years chemically altered my brain, and in retrospect, it wasn't always a good thing.

My adult life, all the way into my early 30s, was set to heal my early childhood wound of when I was a 15-year-old girl with no money, no hope, no options. I sought power, through my looks, status, and intelligence, to get out of my situation.

And boy, did it work.

Driven by pure desire, rooted in the fear of not having enough, I made it my life's mission to make as much money, to climb the corporate ladder, and to be the skinniest, the prettiest I could be to ensure my stability, my survival. Until I couldn't anymore.

I had crashed and burned. Hard.

I was 31 and my mental health was in disarray. I was depressed, suicidal (not the first time), and questioning everything about my life.

I felt trapped. I felt powerless.

In the spring of 2023, I walked away from it all. The title, the pay, my apartment, the life that I had spent my entire adulthood building. I left it all, all in the name of "starting a business" and helping launch a startup company.

Over the course of five days, I drove cross country from Orange County all the way to Fort Wayne, Indiana. And surprisingly, I was excited.

Truth is, I had been wanting to get out of California for a while, but not for the reasons that you are probably thinking. I just felt like I had done all I could do there and was looking for my next challenge, whatever that may be. Fort Wayne appeared to be the right opportunity.

Those three months that I was here, I lived like I did back home: sociable, charming, and egotistical. Yet it worked, as it always had.

That was the rulebook: be the best, brightest, and prettiest you can be and you will succeed. But was it right?

I had ignored the red flags surrounding the startup, just as I had in my previous job. But this time, it was not worth it. And it broke me.

The Final Wake-Up Call

The catalyst for moving to Texas was the passing of my pet rabbit, Buns. Buns had been with me for about five years, since I adopted him while living on Catalina Island. I knew that Buns' time was coming to an end, as that was the life expectancy of his breed. I just didn't know that it would be coming that soon.

The day he died, my heart broke into a million pieces. He was my buddy. My best friend. My companion. We had lived on Catalina Island, in Irvine, CA, and now all the way across the country in Indiana. When I was down, he was there for me (although he would always "thump" his back feet in protest when I was crying).

Losing him was like losing a piece of myself. And it was the final wake-up call I needed to leave my situation.

I drove two and a half days from Fort Wayne to the Dallas-Fort Worth area where my mom had been living. She moved to Texas, along with all the other Californians, during the California exodus.

Texas was the last place I wanted to be. But I had nowhere to go.

When I arrived, I was a mess.

I spent the next two and a half months curled up on my mom's couch, mulling over my life choices.

• "What have I done to get to this point?"
• "Why did it have to be like this?"
• "I am such a loser. I left my entire life behind, and look where it got me."

You cannot even imagine the things I was telling myself. It was no wonder I lay in a comatose state for as long as I did.

By this point, the new year had rolled around, and it was already 2025. I rang in the new year by "jumping" into my new life. But did I really jump forward?

2025, while challenging, proved to be a monumental year in my life.

I had met the love of my life, turned 32, and surprisingly, moved back to Fort Wayne. Believe me when I say this: this was the LAST place I wanted to be.

However, just like when I was living in Portland the summer of my 16th year, Indiana also proved to be just as pivotal of a life-changer. Just in reverse.

Logging Off and Finding Myself

When I first wrote my "to-do" list, it was to placate my need for control; control over my own life and my circumstances. But now, as I've gone out on my journey, I've returned back to myself, just as the protagonist had done in the book The Alchemist. What I was looking for was in me all along.

I had lived a life of pursuing superficial things all in the name of healing my childhood wound (although, it took years of therapy and self-reflection for me to come to that realization).

I'm now choosing a life rooted in authenticity, in my power.

And it starts with logging off.