Quarter Life Crisis: Exactly Where We're Supposed To Be

By Wen A., Jun Li, Et al.

A collection of short-stories peeking into the lives of three twenty-somethings in the midst of their respective quarter life crises. A mix of autobiography and fiction, the authors' raw storytelling explores how love, personhood, and a lot of trauma shapes a person of five and twenty.

• Language: English
• Publisher: QLC
• Release date: Sep 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215514689

Book preview

Subject: Resignation Letter

Dear Caffeine,

I am writing to confess my deepest gratitude to you. Through countless nights of unrest, you have been my one source of encouragement and strength. We both know how great of a team we make– with your stimulating energy and my intellectual brilliance, we have literally changed the world for better or worse. We have brought unfathomable technological advancements and industrial development to modernity, which now is an interconnected, interdependent web of unprecedented pace. At this rate, our partnership is more vital than ever.

These are all things you know better than I. While you have continuously delivered in the way you do, I am grieved to inform you that our work together is nearing its end. This was a difficult decision, as you know my heart is for you, as yours for mine. But now I see what I, in youth, did not. 

I have dreams of a life walking through the meadow as I had in childhood. I dream of sleep undisturbed at night. I dream of a life where I could be present in my work, in my art, and with my family. Everything considered, I dream of a life much slower than it is now– one in which time dilates. 

Unfortunately, this means that our values are no longer aligned in the ways they once were, when I was young and sought to leave a legacy of sorts. In reflection, I cannot confidently say our contributions to modernity have objective good. In that, I can only blame myself. You know I have the utmost respect for you– my longtime partner. For the greater good, I hope you come to understand.

With love, 

Humanity

By Jun Li

Prologue in Love

By Wen A.

Oftentimes, people’s first love happens with their first relationship. For me, that is not the case. My first love happened after my first relationship. My first relationship was when I was a sophomore in high school and I met my first boyfriend in Advanced Algebra. He was a senior at that time. My mom loved him: he was tall, handsome, and older than me - he obeyed my mom and followed her instructions to take me straight home after school. She felt secure when I was with him. My mom’s validation made me feel secure knowing she loved me.               

But my first relationship was rocky. When we first started dating, he would always compare me to his ex-crush, who was petite like me. Gosh, she makes the same weird noises. It’s funny how you are just like her! he told me. I grew to resent her and would lurk on her Facebook to find her flaws, but my insecurities grew when I couldn’t find any. I never really understood why he thought we were similar because she had large eyes and wore preppy, fashionable clothes. She was the President of Associated Student Government. I have hooded eyes and often ran around school in a J.R.O.T.C. (Junior Reserve Officer Training Corps) uniform. I was the Color Guard Commander. We’re very different. As our relationship went on, I grew angry at him for these comments. I cried to him many times saying that I didn’t want to be compared to someone from his past, but he would retaliate with something else I did that bothered him, while also giving me a pity story about how the ex-crush would also compare him to other people. At the end of each fight, I would be the one feeling guilty and would apologize. It soon became a pattern in which the tables were turned back to me over and over again, and I would be the one saying, I’m sorry! to comfort him.

In our relationship, he also does no wrong. I didn’t find out he slept over at his (girl) friend’s house on his prom night until it accidentally slipped in our conversation. I immediately broke up with him, but he said the breakup was unjustified. He defensively told me that he had not seen his friend in years and just wanted to reconnect their friendship now that they’re graduating high school. I asked him, If you had nothing to hide, how come you never told me? He said I was being insecure. This isn’t JROTC I don’t have to report to you because I’m not your subordinate! I felt like I was being lied to, but he said he couldn’t have lied and that he simply forgot to tell me about it. Somehow, he convinced me that I overreacted, and I eventually apologized to him for being dramatic. So, we got back together.

He was also the jealous type; one time, he ran and tackled a male colleague of mine because my colleague joked that I used to have a crush on him. It was clearly a joke, and I even replied, Let it go, that was before you got ugly! But before I could even finish my punchline, I saw my colleague scream and run into the RO classroom with the boyfriend fuming close behind. I was furious, and yelled at him, Stop! What are you doing? He reluctantly let go of my colleague and stomped away from me. I tried to break up with him again, but he told me he would kill himself if I break up with him. I was triggered, but I was aware of his issues; I felt obliged to make him feel loved so that he would not hurt himself. I continually assured him that I never had real feelings for anyone else, that I only had feelings for him alone. So, we got back together. Again.

By the time I was a junior, he was a first year in college. The time for me to start preparing for college was here, and the pressure to perform well in school was intense. I received my Pre-SAT score one day and was devastated that I was in the 60th percentile. I texted him immediately, crying about how I was afraid that my chances of getting into a good college were low. I thought because he had gone through the preparation for college and anticipation, he could be my mentor. I was wrong: he told me I was not smart enough and will never get into any colleges. He said, And just so you know, I accepted the school here in San Francisco because of you. I could have had other options, but no, I stayed near you.

That message was decoded to say he had sacrificed his chances to attend other colleges for me. But I grew up to see sacrifice as a form of control by my parents since the day I stepped on American soil. I was told that I’ll have to pay back their generosity, and whenever I’m disobedient, the word SACRIFICE comes up. So, I didn’t see his supposed sacrifice to stay in SF for the sake of me as romantic, but just a desperate attempt to control me. My future was threatened, and I finally saw the toxicity in this relationship.

But I was there for your college acceptances. I fought back, with a newfound sense of empowerment, You weren’t even accepted into any other school.

It took tremendous effort to write this piece because I don’t remember too many specifics from this relationship. Everything was traumatizing. I was young and naive - my mom loved him, and her approval of him gave me the reassurance that she also approved of me. My first relationship wasn’t love - it was an attempt to gain approval from my mother. 

I had a hard time telling my mom that we broke up. She would always name drop him and reminisce on how filial he was. I finally broke down crying at a Chinese buffet when she said he would have made a great husband to me. I spilled out all the toxic things that had happened in our relationship, and my mom stayed silent, crying along with me in public. She never mentioned his name again.  

I also stopped mentioning him to those around me. So much so, I have consciously repressed most of the other memories of this relationship. I never mentioned this person to any of my college friends. I think I’ve been so successful at concealing my first traumatic relationship that even some of my high school friends forgot about him.    

Writing this piece prompted me to ask myself: why couldn’t I bear to say his name or tell our story in full? I guess I still haven't fully healed from the emotional abuse and trauma. It’s my body’s response to protect me from remembering the pain. A dear friend of mine in her early 30s, Lucy, told me that maybe I haven’t forgiven myself for being in that situation - after all, I was the one who subjected myself to the toxic relationship, time and time again. In fact, I had so many chances to get out! But Lucy asked me, Could you look back now after 8 years and still hold that little girl accountable?

I may still need time and space to explore that. Some things take longer to fully process, and that’s okay.

In my following sections, I want to share all my love stories: my first love that ended because of racism, the one I thought I would marry, and the star that continues to shine. I’ve learned critical lessons from each of my love stories, and the biggest lesson I’ve learned was how to be confident in my own skin.

This Is What Love Is

By Wen A.

Our First Encounter

It was the first day of the spring semester in my junior year of high school. I had recently gone through a liberating break up, and with the new year and semester, I sensed great things happening. My first class was AP Calculus, and the bell had just rung to signal the beginning of the class. I was sitting at my desk mulling over why I was put in the morning class when I had specifically requested the afternoon class.

The AP Calc teacher gathered our attention, Good morning, class! New year, new grades? The class laughed. He continued, I would like to introduce a new student today! He recently came from Russia, and we should all welcome him to a new class, high school, and country! The class clapped. I looked over at the new student. He was wearing a red hoodie, and awkwardly smiled at the teacher’s introduction. He had dimples and his face turned red, matching the color of his hoodie. That was my first memory of Vanya.

After that class, I went to the school counselor to transfer to the afternoon AP Calc class. Junior year slowly passed by, and Vanya never crossed my mind.

Towards the end of the academic year, the AP calc teachers hosted a weekend study session to help students prepare for the annual AP exam. Couple weeks prior, we had taken a practice test for the exam. I received a 3 (maximum score is 5), which was the minimum to pass. I wasn’t satisfied with my score and was anxious that I might do worse on the actual exam. Our teachers reassured us that in their history of teaching, they have always had a great passing rate. In fact, one student this year had a perfect score!

Sometime during the study session, Vanya made his way through the classroom, with his backpack hanging on only one of his shoulders. His headphone wire was hiding inside his blue flannel, and only one earbud in his ear. It has been a while since I saw him. One of the students shouted at him, "Vanya! Why are you here? You got a