Why I wrote "Am I just a cute Asian girl?"

You either burn… or you break through.

“Just take it down. Take it down.”

“It’s just bad. So Under-researched. Take it down.”

“But—” I tried to explain.

“Take it down.”

That was a real conversation, the day after I published Am I Just a Cute Asian Girl? I tried to explain why the post needed to stay up without sounding defensive. But I probably didn’t succeed. In the end, some quotes had to be removed. But I knew one thing for sure: the post itself had to stay.

Because after I hit publish, the messages started coming in. All from women.

To me, writing is a filtering process, a way to put signals out and see who resonates. Whether it’s a future business partner, investor, client, or just someone I want in my life, this is how I find my people.

Reading takes commitment. So if you’re here, I know I’m offering something that matters, or at least that we’re aligned on something, or can enjoy a real conversation.

I know I’m taking risks by taking off the PR mask and writing vulnerably. But I also know I don’t have much of a choice. Because right now, I’m running on several clocks:

Clock #1: Visa

My Graduate Visa is expiring. If I want options, I need to move fast. (No, I don’t have a BNO.) The UK no longer feels like a safe bet. Immigration policy is shifting, and I can’t afford to bet everything on one country.

Clock #2: Family

My grandmother and mother are getting older. Time away from them needs to be worth it, and right now, I’m not sure it is. I carry guilt: the money I’ve burned could’ve gone toward a plane ticket home, a trip with my mother, a quiet meal with my grandmother. Or just more time with them.

Clock #3: Burn Rate

London is expensive. Every hour here costs me. Just staying still means bleeding cash. Taking no risk has become the biggest risk.

These three clocks are forcing me to wake the f**k up.

My biggest mistake in the startup path? I brought a corporate, risk-averse mindset into venture building. I said I was all in but I wasn’t. I was cautious. Too cautious.

One Hong Kong executive said to me bluntly over lunch:

How can you help more people if you don’t grow?

He was right. I spent too much time clinging to excuses, like saying I wanted to “do good,” which justified playing it safe. But the truth is, playing small doesn’t help anyone. If you don’t grow, you don’t change anything.

I’ve been sitting with three thoughts lately:

Thought #1: I’m tired.

Tired of people-pleasing. Tired of second-guessing my gut. Tired of muting my voice.

What frustrated me the most during the startup path wasn’t just the uncertainty. It was how hard it became to make real friendships. There was somewhere I wanted to go, but I wasn’t quite there yet. I often felt small in the “founder club.” Too early. Too unproven. At the same time, I no longer fit into where I used to be.

I got tired of letting all these thoughts sit in my head. Because I knew I wasn’t alone. All founders struggle. One of the first books I read before starting my journey was The Hard Thing About Hard Things. I knew what was coming. I just didn’t expect the emotional weight to hit so hard.

I saw it firsthand too: F&B founders quietly burning out over broken supplier contracts. Agency owners glued to their phones 24/7 because revenue isn’t enough to outsource. Everyone second-guessing themselves, especially when the spotlight fades.

Thought #2: Maybe I’m a little angry, too.

Angry at myself for not trying harder in my early 20s. I got a casting I was late to. A blog that fizzled out. An Instagram account gathering dust. Photography work that never got published. A plant-based chewing gum idea that I couldn’t bring to the finish line. I was a contributor for A Day Magazine but I never submitted a single piece.

So many rounds of prototypes. So much code thrown away. So many unfinished things.

At some point, you just think: There has to be something that stays.

Thought #3: Honestly, what’s the worst that can happen?

I’ve advised some of the world’s leading organizations on crisis management, mapping out best- and worst-case scenarios during COVID-19, no less. If anyone should be comfortable with uncertainty, it’s me.

In Chinese, the word crisis, 危机 (wēi jī), contains both danger and opportunity.

This is the logic of asymmetric risk: the upside is real traction, real connection. The downside? Maybe a few people misunderstand me temporarily.

Even I surprised myself. The moment I got fed up, angry enough, brave enough, to finally believe in myself, things started to shift.

People started telling me I was popping up on their LinkedIn feeds a lot. Then one of my posts went viral, and just like that, I began getting more inbound interest for my business.

That brief episode, the debate over whether to take down my blog post, left me asking a bigger question:

Why are we so afraid of the truth? If we don’t say it out loud, how are we ever supposed to change anything?

I’ve come to believe that truth is just better data. And better data leads to better decisions. So why do we keep choosing bad inputs, polite silence, curated optics, and half-finished pictures of reality?

I once asked fashion photographer Michel Haddi (who’s shot Kate Moss and Cameron Diaz) for advice. He said:

I have no fears. You’re from Hong Kong, not Serbia. You went to LSE. You’ve got more than five quid in your pocket. You have a roof over your head. What are you scared of?

When I panic about hitting Publish, I think about that.

Years earlier, when I was new to my job and overwhelmed by the Chinese ecosystem, I was spiraling over deliverables. A senior leader calmly said:

Don’t panic. There’s always a solution.

I know my bluntness might raise eyebrows. But in a world with an 8-second attention span, if you’re still reading this, I’ve already won. Most content just gets ignored.

People are tired of AI-generated fluff dressed up in long dashes on LinkedIn. They want something that lands. The era of the safe, polished PR monologue is probably over.

I recently turned 30. As a birthday gift, a friend of 10 years gave me the book Let Them.

Let Them judge. Let Them disapprove. Let Them have their opinions. Let Them think bad thoughts. Let Them talk about me behind my back.

I’m not taking anything down. Because I’m just getting started.