Don't hang yourself on one tree
2025.6.22
And this is going to be long.
The earliest thing I remember in my life related to art was in primary school, around 2nd-3rd grade. There was an optional course every Thursday for everyone to choose, based on our interests. There were so many options, but I chose art—I just liked drawing and thought it would be fun.
Though my parents were like typical Asian parents who preferred piano and violin courses rather than art courses for their child to learn in the early days, I still insisted on signing up for this, and I convinced my mom. But the next day, when I gathered my prepared colored pencil case and ran to the classroom for my first day of that course, I saw a full classroom that didn't have a spot for me.
I stood there, and the tutor came and asked for my name, then told me I didn't sign up, or somehow wasn't on the list for this course.
That was the first time I was rejected by art. I didn't know how to react—I cried in front of all the people, in front of the classroom. I didn't know why I couldn't be there while others were just sitting there, ready for art class, and they looked happy.
The tutor seemed to feel that she needed to deal with me, so she came to me and said: "Why do you need to be in this class so badly? There are so many options. Don't hang yourself on one tree" (it's a Chinese phrase, simply saying there are so many options out there and people don't need to obsess over a single one).
I still remember that, because she seemed right. Yes, there are so many options out there—why art?
I don't remember what happened after that, but I didn't get into that course anyway. I guess I just left.
The second thing that happened to me related to art was during the time I tried to apply to university. Still, I wanted to be in the art field. I guess at that point, I was thinking painting made me feel quiet and concentrated—as simple as that.
But the situation in my family got super chaotic during that period of time. My father, who was diagnosed as bipolar and never cared about my education or personal life, called me screaming and said: "You can't get into art school—that's the best decision I've made for you. Art is shit, and I don't allow you to do that. Also, you will never achieve anything in art."
It was at night outside of my high school campus when I picked up that phone call. I still remember I was standing out there—the air was cold, and I saw the moon was so bright that it made me feel confused and unsure of where that light would lead me.
I did get into an art-specific university eventually, but not studying art—something related to it, luckily. As you would see in my CV: Advertising. And then I got sick for a month after I started my college life. I was just so unhappy with the course and my life.
My father's situation got worse and worse during my college time. Finally, he couldn't do anything related to his business because of his unstable mindset, which meant I needed to learn to take care of the business for him. He lost all memory of how to maintain this business, not to mention the details of clients he had, which meant I nearly had to learn everything myself to understand the whole system that was new to me while I continued college. The third moment that I still remember related to that was during my third year of college. I was drunk, at midnight, sitting in my car, listening to some music, and just thinking why it was so fucking hard to do what I wanted to do—why I needed to be trapped there dealing with this chaotic situation.
I need to say, my father never supported me in any way—emotionally, financially, or anything. And I don't think I owed him anything to do this for him.
After I graduated, I got serious depression and anxiety maintaining his company. I didn't feel I should be doing this. I should do art, I should create things, I wanted to create things—just anything related to it, but not this. That was during COVID; the business faced a huge challenge too, and I looked out from my apartment on the 18th floor. The sudden thought was: "How would it feel if I jumped out of here?"
That thought scared me immediately. And the next day, I was thinking, I need to change my life.
I need to say, despite all the emotional damage that my father left me with, I'm still grateful for the money that his company left me. I tried different things to make it better and started to save money. I always thought this time I would get approved somehow in the art field—by my own money, by my own talent, and not be rejected by this cruel world.
I started to officially learn to create art projects, learn to research in the art field, and develop my own language in art. It was tough and full of self-doubt all the time, thinking that I still wasn't good enough to be qualified. To be honest, getting into an art school abroad was just a qualification in my mind—something that would let me know that I could do something related to art, and that my father and those rejections in the past were bullshit. At that point, I never thought I would really become an artist.
This world finally told me that I was qualified.
It was wonderful during the time I did my work to get my master's degree in art research. But after I finished the course and graduated, I was still confused about my life. I got trapped in this meaningless feeling—I had gotten qualified by an authority that I was capable of doing art, so what next?
I spent tons of time thinking about that, and then I figured it out: I'm just a person who should create things, no matter what.
I don't have many hobbies. Designing pretty things, thinking about deep questions, writing things, and creating things from that—this is my hobby. I can do this forever and never get bored. Nothing can compare to the joy that creating things brings me. I'm satisfied when I see a whole book layout that's been done entirely by me. I feel joy when I find a really intriguing visual effect. I get super excited when my friend and I wander around a topic and get a bunch of new ideas waiting for me to realize in real life.
During this whole time, though I started to realize that I'm just a person who loves to create and enjoys the whole process—which isn't limited only to visual work or making things pretty, but also research and philosophy—I still felt stuck from time to time.
I developed a fear of becoming my dad.
As I became better and better, I started to feel that I was becoming ignorant of students' work, tired of new ideas, and most of all, becoming pretentious. One day, I shook my head and told my friend, "I don't think this idea would be a good one."
The deep fear of becoming my dad really beat me up. Every time I felt that I was talented at creating new things, he came into my mind—as he was a famous guitarist back in the '80s. I remembered the moment he screamed at me when I was 10 and trying to do some Photoshop work to help his guitar brand: "This is bullshit. I will never wait until you figure out how to make a good design."
Am I becoming him? But at the same time, the complex feelings about him also made me think that my talent might have come from him. So should I hate becoming him, or should I be happy about that?
I decided to slow down and stop judging others and myself. Slowly I realized the only way I could rise above that was to keep learning—always learning, always growing, always staying curious instead of closed.
I know my whole life until now has been me fighting against him, trying to prove him wrong. But I'm done with that now. I'm setting myself free from that battle.
Now I want to fight against something bigger—the fathers, the authorities, the systems that make women like me suffer and doubt ourselves. I've spent years learning that the world will try to reject you, will tell you that you don't belong, will make you question your worth. But I also learned that you can prove them wrong, not by their standards, but by creating your own.
I want to use everything I've learned—all the pain, all the growth, all the skills I've fought for—to help other women find their voice. I want to show them that they don't need anyone's permission to create, to dream, to take up space in this world. I want to help them break free from the voices that say they're not enough, and help them discover the joy that comes from making something beautiful, something meaningful, something entirely their own.
This world tried to convince me I didn't belong in art. Now I'm going to help change that world, one creation at a time.
So why art? As the tutor from my childhood asked me, I guess now I have the answer: Because art is the language I speak when words aren't enough. Because creating something from nothing feels like the closest thing to magic I'll ever know. Because in a world that tried to silence me, art became my voice. Because every time I create, I'm proving that little girl crying in the hallway was right to fight for her place in that classroom.
Art chose me as much as I chose art. And now I choose to use it to light the way for others who are still standing in that hallway, wondering if they belong.