The End of Beginning

This painting was born from pain.

Why? Because I could no longer feel hope for the world.

On a personal level, I was laid off, even though I am still certain I did nothing wrong. Yet my coworkers and bosses vanished afterward, as if they had never known me as a person. I felt hopeless, uncertain about what my future would look like, despite still pursuing the work I care deeply about and have always said I wanted to do — creating my own business. That is how Yet Gallery was born.

On a larger scale, the relationship between the U.S. and China has deeply worried me, especially as a Chinese person now living in the United States. Day by day, the media is increasingly emphasizing the hostile side of China, rather than fostering harmony between the two superpowers. I guess that’s what power does to some people, huh?

I also finally cut ties with my toxic mother after years of abuse. Even now, I struggle to admit that openly. Every time I revisit those wounds and describe what happened, a small voice whispers:

“Did those things really happen? You know it’s shameful to talk about this, right? It makes you look weak. Ungrateful. And people will abandon you — just like your exes, some of your friends, your coworkers, and your workplace did.”

The painful truth is that many people did call me a liar when I told the truth, personally and professionally. Sometimes the rejection became so overwhelming that I closed myself off completely. At times, I even questioned my own memories.

Despite all the negativity, something else happened that showed me how much I have grown recently — while still reminding me how uncomfortable and hopeless this world can still feel:

It was Mother’s Day, and we were having dinner with my husband’s family. My husband, who teaches middle school, shared a story about students making a teacher cry.

The students had created slides mocking the teacher, and one of them told her to “go back to her country” because she was an immigrant.

As an immigrant myself — someone who has heard similar words more than once — I felt immediate pain realizing that the next generation already sees this kind of cruelty as acceptable behavior.

Then something else happened that hurt me differently. My husband added:

“The teacher is quiet and soft-spoken, so the students have been doing this to her a lot.”

That sentence triggered something in me because I have always been a quiet, soft-spoken person in workplaces, too.

As if the cruelty of others somehow became my responsibility to carry.

So, I stopped my husband and said:

“You shouldn’t judge the victim for someone else’s behavior. In this case, the students are at fault. It is unacceptable, no matter where they learned it. It has nothing to do with the teacher being quiet or soft-spoken.”

I think I notice these patterns because I have lived them myself. I know what it feels like to be that teacher.

But awareness does not make it easier. It is devastating to realize that people often believe someone “deserves” to be bullied simply because of who they are.

This painting came from that mindset.

There is nothing glamorous or inspirational about it. It is a pure expression of hopelessness toward society.

You might ask: If it is hopelessness, why is there light in the painting? Shouldn’t hopelessness look like complete darkness?

But I think the cruelest part of hopelessness is not the darkness. It is the light itself.

Most people continue living even through suffering because they believe life will eventually become better. We are taught that there is always light at the end of the tunnel. And maybe that is the beauty of life itself: no matter how painful things become, we keep moving forward.

We walk toward that small light. We continue working, loving, surviving, and hoping — even when that light might only mark the end of one beginning, or the beginning of another ending.

It is all perception.

An infinite loop.

What do you feel when you look at this painting?