Hiiii :)

I'M SO EXCITED

Hi friends,

Welcome to the first installation of my newsletter! If you don’t know me, my name is Asaka and I’m glad you’re here. Amongst other things, I’m a writer, content creator and a disability advocate. I’m starting a newsletter because honestly, there’s just SO MUCH I want to talk about and not all of them has a beginning, middle, and end, a unifying theme, or a clickable headline. I absolutely enjoy being a guest writer and hope to one day write for major media outlets, but I also wanted a way to relay my thoughts, feelings, and opinions, directly from my thingamabob to yours. At first I thought about using my Instagram, but I’m not one for short, succinct writing. I don’t like limiting myself to 2,200 characters count, and I’d rather be able to use formatting tools, like hyperlinks. So Substack it is.

I’ll send out newsletters when I feel that I’ve hit a turning point in my life, rather than sticking to a strict schedule. It could be a big, monumental breakthrough, or a brief moment of reflection. I’ll aim to hop in here once or twice a month, to keep my insight juices flowing — we’ll see.

I’m glad I’m writing regularly again. It means the world to me. I first started writing to cope with the myriad social obstacles that came with my disability. It’s given me a way to reclaim my story and seek closure. But I soon realized that writing isn’t just about explaining myself to others… It's also about explaining myself to me. 

Positive self-talk hasn’t always come naturally, mostly because I’m not much of a verbal thinker and tend to hop from one thought to another without warning. Writing converts all that hubbub in my head into a more workable format. With language as a common denominator, I can remind myself that I’m not alone, that plenty of other people have also gone through what I have, and rectify unhelpful lines of thinking. Sometimes I get overwhelmed by my paradoxical desires and emotions, but writing helps me stay anchored.

On that note, I wanted to talk about something I didn’t talk about before because I felt like there were more pressing things to address with my followers, namely, my obvious disability. The truth is, I live with mental illness, in addition to a lifelong mental disability. I experience a form of dissociation, called depersonalization/derealization (DP/DR), which comes hand-in-hand with chronic stress and trauma. Basically, it’s a subtle, yet consuming, feeling of disconnect. It can feels as though I’m watching my life play out behind glass doors rather than being an active participant. Sometimes I wonder for a second if I’m dreaming, because my surroundings feel unreal. While DP/DR doesn’t directly affect my ability to feel, think, or remember, it bums me out.

Many psychologists believe that dissociation can be a coping mechanism, and I think that’s true. Far too many times, I’ve been faced with the choice of keeping my head above water or keeping my feet on the ground. It’s easy to go on autopilot when I can’t get anything done, no matter how hard I try; it’s easy to check out when everything fucking sucks. Over time, detachment becomes a habit.

But I’ve discovered that my biggest trigger is anticipation, the kind that is wrapped up in prolonged tension and release. For example, publishing an incredibly cathartic article, joining a new group, and now, moving on campus after 1.5 year of studying from home.

Mindfulness is the antidote to dissociation, and I know that it’s crucial to knuckle down on the here and now. When I see something nicer and shinier on the horizon, that feels nearly impossible. Instead of planning for the practical, everyday things, I start dreaming about hypotheticals. Rather than staying engaged, I get stuck in waiting mode, watching sand fall through a proverbial hourglass, and often I become so removed that my whole life, including the very thing I’m looking forward, begin to feel unreal. I tell myself, this can’t be happening; it’s too good to be true. I start imagining all the ways things my ambitions could be cut short. I could become very sick. I could be kidnapped and held captive. For all I know, I could be dead tomorrow.

I try to refute my pessimistic thinking, reminding myself that dissociation is a feeling, not a reflection of reality. I am safe, even when my brain is playing tricks on me. At the same time, I don’t think I can completely disarm my cynicism. Nothing is guaranteed; tomorrow is not promised. It’s a reality I cannot ignore, as the pandemic continues and our faith in humanity dwindles. Maybe everything will be ok, but maybe it won’t. What matters is that I live life to the fullest. I want to stop moping, because moping won’t change anything: I just want to be happy, goddamn it. 

All this leads back to this popular, but never trite, notion: live in the moment. I constantly remind myself of this, as I prepare to move out in a week. I started brainstorming new articles so I can keep myself busy. In times of rest, I strive to befriend, not kill, time: hear the cicadas buzz, feel the AC on my skin, and marvel at the fact that I’m alive, with the capacity to feel joy. I am teaching my brain that excitement for the future can, and should, coexist with an appreciation for the present. 

You know, the past year I worked my ass off to build the foundation of a fulfilling life — a life I won’t feel the need to constantly escape from. And I went from wondering if I should stop writing to dashing off 5 full articles (and 2 drafts) within six months, which is, like, so wild. I have so much strength, knowledge, and resources at my disposal. I can’t let that go to waste.

So yeah, that’s where I’m at. Staying present isn’t not as easy as it seems. It requires discipline and sometimes, I stumble. But I know that I’m strong enough to pick myself back up and brave enough to ask for help when I need it. And I’m so grateful to my friends for being present with me. I could never do it alone — no one can. 

To the chagrin of the defeatist in me, I’m doing great. Like Billie Eilish, I’m happier than ever. Thank you for joining me, and I’ll see some of you on campus. 2021 has been an incredibly transformative year and I’m ready to explore new frontiers. 

Until next time,

Asaka

P.S. I know that I look a little different. After two years of using Wescott scissors to create layers, haphazardly giving myself micro bangs, and realizing that I look like a 5 year old cosplaying as Edna Mode, I finally got to see my stylist to get an asymmetrical pixie cut and shortly after, dyed it dark burgundy. I also got thick-rimmed glasses, which, if you’ve read this article, you know that I’m a huge fan of. Here’s to hoping that I (if anything) look more like badass video game avatar and less like a middle-aged woman demanding to speak to the manager (Karen — SMH)!