Carry that weight

An immigrant story in three generations

I recently started this legendary manga called Berserk, one of the all time greats that I’ve been saving like an old bottle of wine I wasn’t quite ready to open. The story follows Guts, a man born from a corpse, raised on battlefields, forced to kill his abusive father, betrayed by the one person he trusted and branded to walk the world forever pursued by demons. It’s a story of power and sacrifice, of friendships formed and loves broken, and a story about one man’s struggle against his destiny. Read at your own peril.

I’ve been thinking about this manga a lot as I start a new chapter as a founder, about the similarly long journey and struggle I’ve chosen to walk down. Anytime you listen to any of the success stories, there’s a similar throughline: Jensen talks about how he would never have started NVIDIA knowing what he does now; Zuckerberg’s motto is pathei mathos, a Greek phrase that connotes learning through suffering.

So let me tell you, dear internet stranger, a personal story about why I choose the struggle.

My maternal grandfather should not have lived as long as he did.

When he was a boy during WWII, Japanese soldiers swept through his village in one of the countless massacres that marked the occupation. He survived because he was working in the fields, and hid in a ditch when the soldiers were doing their patrol. They were so close he could hear their boots on the soil, but their commander called them back just in the nick of time. He got lucky. Yet, till the day he died, he always referred to the Japanese as 日本鬼子, which roughly translates to Japanese devils. Seventy years later, he still remembers the ditch he hid in.

My dad’s side of the family lost everything during the Cultural Revolution. This is a generational trauma that most Chinese carry but rarely talk about. I don’t think those of us in the West can fully appreciate what it means to lose everything—status, money, freedom, safety—in a matter of months at a society-wide level. My dad’s family was descended from a notable general and diplomat during the Qing dynasty. But since my grandfather was a university president, the entire family was blacklisted and turned upside down. Everything was taken, including the old family estate. My dad grew up with nothing, eating white rice (with some chilis if he was lucky) and sharing one pair of shoes among three siblings.

It is against this backdrop that both my parents made it into Beijing University - the Harvard of China - and then got into Harvard itself for their PhD studies. Studying hard and coming to America with nothing but $100 to go pursue the American dream. A classic Hollywood immigrant story but lived firsthand. So when I think about the personal traumas that I’ve been through - getting bullied physically and emotionally, not having friends, being excluded - it pales in comparison to what my family went through.

There’s this concept in venture capital: bet on founders with a “chip on their shoulder.” Something to prove. I used to think betting on people was more about their intelligence or grit or pain tolerance. But I’ve come to believe that those are necessary but not sufficient. The truly best founders have a why that doesn’t make sense to anyone else.

So here’s mine: I want to get the old family estate back.

It’s objectively ridiculous. The estate is in the outskirts of Changsha. The house is long gone, just a field of weeds on some old ruins. I have no practical use for a plot of land in Hunan province and I haven’t even seen it in person. And yet the idea of reclaiming it sits somewhere deep in my chest, irrational and unmovable. Call it filial piety. Call it symbolic. Call it my own way of righting the wrongs of history.

The founders who build the greatest empires have something like this. Some core motivation that goes beyond money and status, though those are also powerful motivators. If you’re reasonably talented and born into decent circumstances, you can get a good job and live comfortably. Most people do, and that’s totally reasonable and actually very rational. But the ones who choose to struggle, really struggle, they’re usually running toward something only they can see. Or running from something that they can’t forget.

I’m driven by my immigrant story and being the son of a people wronged by history. I’m driven by competition: I’ve been playing games since I was a kid because I love to win. And if I’m honest with myself, some of that competitive fire traces back to being bullied. To being fourteen and weak and forced under the bleachers by people I thought were my friends, and swearing I’d never feel that way again. I’m driven by my many failures: the dream school I didn’t get into, the many jobs and internships that passed me over, the relationships I lost, and the deals and markets I failed to see (more here).

So you might be wondering why I chose to pen this essay right around Thanksgiving. Actually, I’m not thankful in spite of these things. I’m thankful because of them. It’s because we grew up poor that I appreciate the little comforts of life. It’s because I went through so many rejections that I appreciate the monotonous grind it takes to succeed. And it’s because I formed and lost so many relationships that I appreciate the people who have stuck by me throughout all these years.

At the end of Berserk, Guts is still swinging. Still carrying the weight of everything that happened to him. Still moving forward. The manga was never finished—the author passed away in 2021—but maybe that’s fitting. The struggle doesn’t end. You just keep going. So find your ditch, the thing that almost buried you but didn’t. And climb your way out.

Happy belated thanksgiving.

—

If this resonated with you, consider subscribing. I will be writing weekly: sometimes personal essays like this one, sometimes breakdowns on venture, careers, and biohealth. Most of my writing will stay free. If you want to go deeper, premium subscribers can DM me directly, and I’m always happy to chat. Till the next one.