post-grad anthology II
It has been another gruesome week in corporate America.
There is constant work throughout the day and more to turn to at night. I’m also looking for another job, so I’ll spend whatever precious few hours I have left after dinner prepping for interviews. I can count on one hand the number of full nights of sleep that I’ve had in the past month. I am constantly tired, and loneliness has started to settle in. Seeing my friends on the weekends is somehow not enough.
I finally had a day off today – it was our last company summer Friday. I worked through the previous few, so I wanted to make the most out of this one. I missed spending time with myself, so I decided to take a day trip to Newburyport, a small coastal town an hour north of Boston.
I rode the train to the end of the Newburyport line, where I stepped out into what seemed like barren land. The center of the town was about a half hour walk away, so I set off down a paved path through the woods. The trees were tall and green, arching beautifully over me, and the leaves gently swayed. It felt like the world was watching over me, cocooning me in a green heaven. I felt as if I was in Ohio again.
After half an hour, I finally found myself in the downtown area. I stopped by a small booth advertising whale watching tours. A kind man with deep-set lines and white hair greeted me at the window. “How do the whale watching tours work?” I asked.
He chuckled. “You’re the first person to stop by all day. There is only one tour every day in September, and it just left this morning at 10am. Will you be staying the night?”
I explained to him that I was unfortunately only here for a day, having taken the train up from Boston. “Yeah, the whale tours stop after October,” he said. “The whales go down south for the winter.”
I continued on the paved path and entered a mildly-energized town center. The buildings were made of brown-red stone and couldn’t have been more than a couple stories tall. They had slanted black roofs, and some even had chimneys. There was a lot of stores and boutiques with ranging aesthetics – some sold boating wear and totes made of recycled sails, while others sold baby clothes and rose-embroidered dresses. None really spoke to me that much, so I headed to lunch.
I found a place called ‘Loretta’s’ online. They had a lot of tables outside, and I sat amongst groups of elderly men and women. I listened to them muse about the day and complain about friends and neighbors. I heard lots of gossip on where neighborhood kids were going to college. I diligently read my book while waiting for my waitress; I was reading ‘The Handmaid’s Tale,’ and each page was a tough pill to swallow.
My waitress finally came by, a joyous, short women with a pixie cut and purple glasses. She was quick on her feet, weaving through the tables and speaking so fast that my brain felt slow. She was so kind. I thought about ordering a lobster roll but settled on a burger and fries (in these small coastal cities, it’s better not to venture far from the staples).
The sun was high and strong, and perhaps that’s why I would start to sweat under its rays, but I would shiver in the shade. I read on a small circular table draped in starched white cloth. My food came, and the juices dripped from my fingers as I tore into the burger. The fries were thin and perfectly crisp, and the tomato slice was gigantic, covering the span of the bread. The bacon was fried to perfection, and I quickly tucked the meal away.
After lunch, it was time to explore. I stopped by an ice cream store and bought a scoop of ‘shark bait’ ice cream, which is white chocolate ice cream with sprinkles, chocolate chunks, and a swirl of caramel. The ice cream scoop teetered dangerously on the ledge of my cone, and I made quick work of it, turning it this way and that, careful not to let a drop dribble onto the pavement.
I walked through the streets, passing by the same boutiques and stores that never seemed to make a sale and a couple people that I had seen on the train and in the restaurant. I made a mental note that of course there was no one else my age out right now, it was a Friday afternoon, and it was a miracle that I didn’t have work. I wandered to the waterfront, where I found a plastic lounge chair. I dumped my stuff next to it, finished off my ice cream, then stared into the water because my phone was about to die and I had to make sure that I had enough juice to call an Uber home. In that moment, I thought, I am so grateful for my life and for my job, for now I can spend a beautiful afternoon exploring a new town. But then I thought, is a job required to walk through Newburyport on a random Friday?
I am now sitting on the beach at Plum Island. I brought an old beach towel with me, tucked my toes into the warm sand, and laid back. The sound of the water is loud and calming. I am watching dogs run past me, joyous and free. A man has his shirt off and is staring out into the expansive blue – I am shocked by this, because it is 70 degrees and windy (I have a windbreaker on, and I am still cold). I close my eyes and my mind drifts. I let the sound of the waves remove every last feeling of stress, and I let it all wash back into the water with the seaweed.
It is sad that there are no young people out and about on a normal Friday afternoon – only elderly people who have already devoted the majority of their lives to the workforce. I crave being outside – the airconditioned walls are never the same. Summer is already over, and I have spent much of it in a cold, sterile building, typing away at a computer.
6/5/2026
It’s been about a year since the previous entry, and I guess things have more or less remained the same. I find myself constantly fighting against the monotony that threatens to settle in. I no longer marvel at my surroundings during my commute to work. I catch myself growing bored with the picturesque city around me. I sometimes feel as if I’ve explored everything that I’ve needed to explore, met all the people that I would like to meet, and the comfort starts to feel a bit suffocating. Things have gotten easy, and maybe I want a challenge.
I’ve started taking myself on ten-minute walks around the neighborhood in the morning before I set off for work. It’s usually just me and a few retirees, but it’s refreshing to do something for myself before the majority of my day is dictated by my job. The best thing about Boston is that it is so green – the street from my apartment is enveloped by branches and trees, and I sometimes literally stop to smell the roses in someone’s front yard, or maybe I let my fingers gingerly brush against the leaves to see if they feel like what I’ve imagined in my head. After such a long winter, it feels like a great luxury to be able to take a walk outside without grabbing my coat first. These walks rejuvenate me, and while they are short, they seem to alter the start of my day a great deal.
While I was recruiting for my job last year, I realized that there was a high chance that I might have to move out of Boston. This realization was met with multiple outcries from my friends and duress from myself. In the dark winter nights during my commute home, I would survey my surroundings, and I would wonder if I could give this all up. I briefly fantasized about my potential move, and I dreamed about starting all over.
However, that sentiment has changed over the course of this summer – I’ve spent more weekends outside of Boston than I’ve spent in it, and somehow, I always find myself missing it. In the bustling streets of Beijing, I found myself wishing for another peaceful picnic in the garden. In the quiet subway cars of Tokyo, I missed seeing the Charles dotted with sailing boats. It seems that wherever I am in the world, my mind drifts to this city.
I love sitting on the piers on the Esplanade and reading a book by the water. I love the Baked Alaskas from Oleana. I love getting tipsy on a drink that costs as much as a meal in a swanky new bar. I love my apartment that has seen every side of me. I love the community that I have carefully built, brick by brick, who never fail to remind me of their presence and of their love. And I love who I have become in this city – seemingly so sure of myself but discovering something new every day.
It was with great relief that I accepted a new job offer in Boston. I felt momentary panic as I watched friends move away, and perhaps, I will one day do the same, but when the harsh winters subside and the trees start to blossom, I am reminded every year that I can begin again.
6/12/2026
After a long and busy week at work, I am once again at a beach. I took the train 45 minutes north to try a new beach, and honestly, I’ve definitely seen better. There’s rocks and shell fragments everywhere, and a lot of branches and ocean shit has washed up on the sand. The water is blue but murky, as if it’s being polluted by something. I set my towel far away from the ocean shit, and thus, a bit far from the waves as well. The sun is high and it is warm today, and a beach is a beach, so I can’t complain. I am a bit taken aback that I’m so judgmental about this beach when my quaint Ohio town only has a small lake – adapting to your surroundings kind of sucks, because it makes you always want more.
I took out some leftovers from a picnic with friends last week and laid out on an old towel. I had half of a wheel left of Brie cheese, a couple slices of salami, a box of crackers, and a dream. Even though the crackers broke very easily while I tunneled them through the cheese, it was still a holy trinity.
I sat there on that mediocre beach and had quite a time. Even though the sound of the waves were occasionally drowned out by a plane taking off overhead (this beach is quite close to the airport), it was quite freeing to be away from my desk and my responsibilities and to be able to snack on the beach alone with my thoughts.
After I finished off the meat cuts, I took a heavenly nap and baked under the sun. Once I felt that I’d reached the right crispiness, I stood up and started ambling towards the water. Given the shell shards and rocks everywhere, it was a gamble to approach the waves without slicing my foot open. A seagull approached my towel and my box of crackers menacingly, but a kind stranger shooed it away.
I finally made my way to the water and dipped my toes in. As you can imagine, it was ice-cold – the Atlantic is not quite a tropical destination. I kept wading forwards slowly, letting my legs grow numb and accustomed to the cold, and I was able to make it up to my waist in the water.
I stood in the water and surveyed my surroundings: a couple of kids to the right of me had braved the cold and were cartwheeling through the waves, and a lady on the phone with her boyfriend kept drifting cautiously towards me. The New England coast curved around the ocean, dotted with gray and white summer houses in the distance. It was funny; I had felt as if all my worries during the week were so magnificent, like did I have enough money saved up if AI were to obliterate everything tomorrow? Did I have enough friends, and should I be making new ones? Was I working hard enough in my 20s, but also, was I making the most of them? Should I have a boyfriend, even though I’m not sure I want one? Those worries seemed to dissipate as I stared out into the ocean that seemed to stretch on infinitely in front of me.
I turned 24 last month, and I am about to hit the midpoint of my 20s. I feel very relieved, because honestly, I can’t wait for my 30s. I imagine that things must make a lot more sense by then. Everyone says your 20s are this transformative decade that sets you up for the rest of your life: if you’re a career person, you need to climb the corporate ladder at lightning speed or risk being a “soy sauce boy” (as my mom would call it; someone that gets the soy sauce; the person that does all the bitch work) for the rest of your life; if you want a family, then you should have found your person, or at least be close to finding someone by now; you should be saving enough for a house one day (and a couple people have already bought one); you should have a career trajectory in mind; maybe you should become a TikTok influencer to get some monthly PR and a side income; maybe you should run a marathon; you should feel comfortable being alone, but you should also spend every weekend wasted with your friends … I honestly don’t know the answer to any of these questions, because I’m still in the eye of the storm.
I think our 20s are talked about so often because almost everyone seems to wish that they could have done things differently. Some people say they wish they let loose more, and others wish they had been more focused on their careers. There is a subliminal messaging that your 20s are the bedrock for the rest of your life.
At least, for now, we are all just people on this beach. There are a couple boys throwing a football to each other, and I wish I could catch one with the ease that they do. There’s a middle-aged man laying on a picnic blanket alone, sun tanning. Two beautiful bikini-clad girls waltz past me to take pictures by the water.
At least, here, we all get an afternoon of respite, and there is a shared understanding that our worries can wait. We are reminded that maybe, today – and this second, right now – matters more than what could happen tomorrow.
Perhaps I can start by being more appreciative of this beach.
7/23/2026
On my birthday, I went to Ulta to collect my freebie. The cashier showed me an array of options: a lip gloss, a face cleanser, or a hair oil. I picked up the hair oil curiously – Asian hair gets oily enough without the help of a third party. The small, clear and cylindrical package advertised a light consistency with the promise that I could tame every flyaway. I did not know that the tops of our heads were supposed to be smoothed down so not a follicle was out of place, and, grateful to have learned something new, I chose the hair oil.
I decided to test my new product a week later while getting ready to go out with friends. I lightly matted the oil on the top of my head and smoothed down the strands that dared to stray away from the rest.
The result was completely dissatisfying. Only one strand was tamed, which caused me to pile on more oil (and subsequently use more product, which probably quickened my repurchase date if that was the intent), and after 10 minutes, I still had flyaways, but now with the addition of oily hair. Maybe the logical conclusion here is that I should try another hair product – I miraculously survived the night with a couple strands sticking high into the sky – but I found it all to be a bit cumbersome.
We’ve grown up with the same messaging and seen the same bodies cycle in and out of fashion as if we are a pair of jeans. It’s terrifying how fast our bodies are expected to change based on the current trend – one minute, you’re supposed to have a figure that looks like you flew to Brazil, but now, those curves are old news, and you should be a size 0.
The easiest way to control is through distraction. Our 20s are an especially fragile time, when nothing seems to be stable, so policing our bodies feels like one of the most autonomous things that we can do. This world was built for you to continue questioning corporeal things instead of other (more important) things, like why femicides are on the rise and why the White House is trying to take away the abortion pill’s FDA approval and why are there bills in Congress desperately trying to mollify the woman’s right to vote (see the SAVE Act and its effect on married women)?
Your body is a vessel to interact with the world, and that is all it will ever be. When we die, no one will remember if you had an ass or a thigh gap, but maybe they’ll talk about how you did many hikes or how you liked to play pickup soccer; maybe they’ll remember how you kept a garden into your 70s or how you were a yoga instructor.
A woman who loves her body is dangerous: if she can defy this system, then maybe there was no reason for it to exist in the first place.
7/31/2026
I had a month off in between jobs, and I spent the time traveling with my family, hanging out with my friends, and making new ones. There were many dinners and drinks and themed parties to be had, and on a random Wednesday afternoon, I found myself at Viale in Central for their $1 oyster deal, every day from 5-7pm.
I sat outside, surrounded by empty chairs. A kind waiter came up to me with a couple menus. “Can I get you started off with anything other than water?” he asked.
I thumbed through the menus quickly. I am usually one to omit drinks when it comes to eating out to be frugal, but I had one more week until my next job started, and I thought, might as well.
“Do you think the limencello would go well with the oysters?” I asked, pointing to the drink that boasted John’s very own secret recipe.
“It could,” the waiter said hesitantly. “But I personally wouldn’t recommend it. I would recommend one of the wines.”
I forget which wine he pointed out – it was probably in French or something – but I told him that I’d take a glass, and that I’d also take twenty oysters.
I sat back and waited. I surveyed my surroundings – Central Square glowed in the late afternoon sunlight, and people biked past me on their way home from work. Another waitress seated two women in their 30s in the table next to me, and they chattered about how they hadn’t seen each other in months, and how great it was to finally catch up.
“When did I last see you?” The woman nearest to me asked. She had long blonde-brownish hair, and she wore a purple skirt with tapestry-like patterns.
“It had to have been when we went on that double date,” the woman sitting opposite her giggled. She had short curly red hair and sported a jean jacket on top of a green dress.
The waiter brought the wine glass over, and he gifted me with a hefty pour. I took a sip and inwardly winced – despite the fact that I am in my mid-20s, I usually order the sweetest cocktail on the menu.
My mind drifted as the two women chattered about work and other updates, and after a couple minutes, my large plate of oysters was brought over as well. The oysters were delicately propped on top of a plate of ice and encircled a cup of cocktail sauce and another cup of vinegar and garlic. I delicately squeezed a few drops of lemon on an oyster, then picked up the small spoon and dished over a scoop of both sauces. Finally, I used the small fork to scrape the oyster onto my tongue, which tasted of salt and brine and the sea. I swallowed the oyster with a sip of wine, which was beginning to grow on me.
“You seem better than I last saw you…?” The woman in the purple dress said the statement moreso as if it were a question to be confirmed by her friend. She did not seem to know the answer.
“Yeah.” The red-haired woman sighed. “Todd has been great, but…”
And thus, the red-haired woman unleashed the most disturbing, bewildering and disappointing slew of short stories of her terrible boyfriend. Todd told me that we could hang up his paintings together. He always says this so I will do it for him. Todd told me that he didn’t want to move in together, because I’m too messy. I’m not even that messy! Sure, I have a couple crumbs when I eat, but I’m always doing his dishes and cleaning up after him! Oh, and I found something from his ex while I was cleaning. I am going over to Todd’s every weekend and I have to haul my stuff over every week. I’m always losing stuff on the way and it’s driving me mad. You know Todd’s solution? To get a double of everything I own. Todd is bad with time. I try to make schedules for us, but he can’t even follow them.
The red-haired woman continued for the next hour while her friend sat opposite her silently, nodding and saying the diplomatic things, like oh, that really sucks, and, you know, this reminds me of my previous relationship, where we started to grow resentful…
I sat next to them with amusement and disgust while downing my large plate of oysters. I was shocked that such things were happening to women in their 30s, but I digress, Carrie Bradshaw was 30 in Season 1. I’ve been crying, the red-haired woman said. But I would be so sad if it ended. I don’t think I could bear being without him.
As the red-haired woman prattled on, my wine glass grew lighter and lighter, and with every sip, I felt more and more emboldened. By the time I paid the check, I had decided that something needed to be done, and this 30-year-old woman that had a mild suspicion that I was eavesdropping by the glances that she kept shooting in my direction was in need of some divine intervention, and maybe she would think that it was through me.
I stood up, smoothed my dress, and approached their table. “I’m so sorry to interrupt,” I began. The two of them looked up at me with confusion.
“I really think you should dump him,” I announced loudly. The woman with the purple skirt burst out in laughter and nodded her head in agreement. “You are so cool and hot, and he is dragging you down!” I proclaimed, emboldened by my singular glass of wine. “Every second you spend with him is a second that you could be spending with the man of your dreams.” Or alone and happy, I thought, but it seemed like this woman preferred to be in a relationship. “Period,” the waitress behind me echoed. The red-haired woman burst into tears and dabbed at the bottoms of her eyes with her fingers.
“Anyways, I hope you both have a great day,” I said once the spiel was over. I could feel the stares of a couple of people from tables nearby, and the friend in the purple dress was still doubled over with laughter. “Yes!” she crowed.
I ran away, but not very far, because I was still hungry and wanted a chicken nugget meal from McDonald’s. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, and I wondered if the red-haired woman thought that my outburst was a sign from the universe. I had many reservations about whether I should say anything at all but hearing about how sad the relationship made this woman, I couldn’t imagine that being alone could be any worse.
My McDonald’s order was prepared quickly, and I grabbed it and started walking home. I walked briskly, even though the restaurant was far behind me and I had nothing to get to. I crossed the bridge, and I surveyed the bright blue waters with ripples that glittered under the sun. The skyscrapers on the Boston side stood high and beautiful in front of me, and the ocean wind brushed my cheeks. I just did something diabolical, I texted my friends. I can’t wait to tell you about it tomorrow when we get ice cream.
And suddenly, Boston felt far from mundane. It felt exciting and teeming with life. It felt like a home that I never wanted to stop exploring.
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