issue 7: I would prefer not to

i do not dream of labor, covid edition 🦠

Mired in COVID stupor, my mind swirled with Melville’s “Bartleby, the Scrivener” and Jenny Odell’s How to Do Nothing. If there was ever a time to truly, victoriously, ‘prefer not to’ and do nothing, embrace the idea that one’s worth isn’t predicated upon productivity, etc etc, it would be now. There was no lame, girlbossing excuse I could give faced with the reality that I could not, and should not, work. My mother periodically texted me that my health mattered more than my grades (I told her I felt nervous for a midterm I couldn’t reschedule, one I took when I couldn’t sit upright for more than an hour at a time). This is the same woman who once told me the only thing that made me valuable was my work ethic, a gilded narrative I seem to have internalized so completely that even she feels compelled to tell me how wrong it is.

Still, I worked. Or, rather, I tried. I sat on calls when colleagues and clients were practically begging me to rest. People responded with achingly kind well-wishes to my out of office and I would instinctively want to respond to them. Whether out of spectacular ignorance or immigrant daughter guilt or ruthless denial, I could not bring myself to stop. It was laughable how ordinary it felt—willing myself to tackle something until I collapsed again. My body demanded respite and my mind still debated whether I should take that meeting or answer a question.

I hated myself for it. I thought I was getting better. (Therapy has allowed me to work through my high-functioning anxiety, a term I dislike for how clinical it feels. I’d like to think my mental state is a chaotic splatter painting, not the interior of Kim Kardashian’s home!!) I thought I embodied my own advice for friends feeling burnt out—”don’t define yourself with work! Capitalism SUCKS!”—and now I was a fraud at best. Working felt so easy compared to sickness-induced nothingness. Why would I elect to be alone with my thoughts, fiercely fighting a depressive spiral, when distraction and numbness were merely a click away?

I played and lost Suffering Olympics. So many people didn’t have the privilege of staying home. How many have died because taking care of themselves would mean losing their health insurance? Why have I not fought harder for them? Death and war and oppression surround us and it’s too painful to fathom. I can punish myself instead; at least that’s pain I can control.

i can be your long lost pal @PallaviGunalan

what stage of capitalism is feeling guilty that i’m sick

My dad listened patiently over the phone while I croaked out how guilty I felt—guilt over potentially giving it to others, over Doing Nothing and not enjoying it. “Would you blame yourself for getting wet in a hurricane?” he asked, the plaintiveness in his voice breaking me further. “This is hard enough, why won’t you go easy on yourself?”

Why, indeed? I want someone to assure me that it goes beyond simple conditioning. I want a more vindicating explanation, a play-by-play of how the white capitalist patriarchy has convinced me that I can stave off a virus’ hopelessness and dread by working a bit more. I want to know how something so wrong, so absurd, simultaneously feels like the only way to survive.

Grace Jarvis @gracejarvisohno

stop glamorising The Hustle and start glamorising whatever lifestyle this is

I meditated for hours, gulping in air like I inhaled cup after cup of Robitussin down my throat like a benediction. I breathed and breathed and marveled at the way my lungs tried to reassert themselves. I felt ashamed for how little appreciation I extend to my body just for functioning, when the patriarchy and its propaganda would rather I pick it apart in the mirror. Here it was, trying to mend, and I was determined to make that harder than necessary.

On day 12, when the line next to “T” mercifully disappeared, I stepped outside. I felt the sun blaze on my forehead and watched a goldendoodle lunge from its leash. I reveled in the sheer aliveness of being, as intuitive as resting (‘with kings and counselors,’ no less)—and the irony is not lost on me that I would prefer not to.

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Lately (Recommendations)

• Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson’s (!!!) confirmation speech

• Thirty, Nine on Netflix

• “Two Musicians of Color Are Creating Their Own Space”

• “How to Unionize at Amazon” from The New Yorker

• Louise Erdrich’s Future Home of the Living God

• “How Dune Composer Hans Zimmer Created the Oscar-Winning Score”

• Pachinko on AppleTV+ (register here to watch it for free)

• “Find Your North Star” ft. Eric Kim on Feeling Asian