What Do I Stand For?

When my mother met my father, she told me, she was late to the bookstore. (The irony of two Literature professors meeting in a secondhand bookstore is not lost on me.) She had walked in, slightly frazzled, expecting nothing more than a quick grab for a Lu Xun anthology. But there he was, flipping through an old collection of Tang Dynasty poetry. My father made a joke about her taste in books—“Lu Xun isn’t terribly romantic, is he?”—and my mother decided, in that strange, inexplicable way we sometimes do, that she would marry him someday.

That story is why I believe so deeply in the magic of relationships—a little serendipity, a lot of patience, and the knowledge that the right words, said at the right time, can change lives.

But more than that, their love taught me this: Great relationships aren’t just built on chemistry. They need dedication, authenticity, and the courage to stand by what you believe, even when the world around you feels chaotic. It’s those beliefs that guide the choices we make in love. And so, here’s what I stand for, in life and in love.

1. Love Is Work—But The Good Kind

Relationships aren’t a Disney movie montage set to a catchy pop song. (Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to wash dishes with someone while singing a romantic duet, but life doesn’t usually hand you a conveniently choreographed moment.) Love—real love—takes effort.

Growing up, my parents encouraged me to see relationships as a garden: Leave it untended, and the weeds will take over. Neglect it completely, and the flowers will die. But water it, nourish it, weather its seasons? You’ll create something beautiful.

This doesn’t mean love should feel draining. Good work, the kind that fulfills you, is the work you want to do. In relationships, this can mean having those uncomfortable-but-necessary conversations about what’s not working. It’s staying curious about your partner, even after you've memorized how they like their tea or coffee. It’s texting back, even when you’re tired (because yes, ignoring messages is NOT a love language).

Ask yourself: Am I building something, or just sitting in the garden hoping flowers will bloom on their own?

2. Authenticity Is Non-Negotiable

If you’re playing a role in love, the curtain will eventually fall. Real connections don’t survive the performance—they’re built on the backstage moments when the makeup’s off.

In Beijing, where I grew up, reputation sometimes carried more importance than individuality. There was a pressure to conform, to think about how others viewed your choices. I learned early on, navigating first crushes and awkward confessions, that being myself—even if it meant rejection—felt far better than pretending and living in fear of being “found out.”

In one of my particularly disastrous early romances (and by “romances,” I mean a boy in high school borrowing my notes and occasionally pretending to know my favorite poet), I spent weeks trying to like what he liked, discussing martial arts films I hadn’t watched and pretending green tea KitKats weren’t disgusting. When it fell apart, I felt relieved. His parting shot, “You’re too weird for me,” should have stung, but it didn’t. I thought, “Weird is good. Weird is honest.”

So, here’s my advice: Be real, early and often. The right person won’t balk at your quirks—they’ll lean in and laugh with you about them.

3. There’s No Prize for Second-Guessing

I used to overanalyze everything. (And I mean everything.) If I texted someone I liked, I’d dissect their reply like I was preparing an academic paper. “What did they mean by ‘See ya soon’?” “Does this exclamation point mean they’re excited or just polite?” It was exhausting. Worse, it was pointless.

When I spent a semester in New York during university, I quickly realized that not everything needed a hidden meaning. People just said what they felt (sometimes to a fault—New Yorkers aren’t exactly known for sugarcoating). And while I admire Eastern culture’s emphasis on subtlety and context, I learned that clarity can be a kindness.

If there’s one thing I stand for, it’s this: Don’t waste energy second-guessing what someone else thinks. Instead, spend that time discovering how you feel. Communicate openly. If someone likes you, they won’t make you solve relationship riddles like an escape room challenge.

4. Honor the Past, but Don’t Let It Anchor You

I write historical romance because I love the dance between tradition and modernity, the way yesterday’s customs coexist (or collide) with today’s realities. Relationships are like that too. We carry stories from our pasts—who we’ve loved before, who’s hurt us, who’s helped us heal.

But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my own journey, it’s this: The past can shape you, but it cannot define your future unless you let it.

For years, I avoided relationships where I felt uncertain, afraid of repeating mistakes from an earlier heartbreak. I held back even when I shouldn’t have, letting my self-doubt dictate the possibilities. It took time—and a little tough love from friends—to realize that being cautious was building a wall where no one could get in.

Here’s the thing: If you want something real, you have to risk vulnerability. Your past can inform your choices, but it can’t make them for you. Honor the lessons, but don’t let yesterday decide who you love today.

5. Humor Is the Best Compass

My life philosophy can be summed up in one rule: If you can laugh together, you can get through almost anything.

The best relationships, whether romantic or platonic, thrive on shared humor. This doesn’t mean you need to be a stand-up comedian or quote every line from Friends. (Though if someone can rival my ability to recite Monica Geller’s Thanksgiving speech, I’ll consider marrying them.) It just means finding joy in the mundane moments—a shared meme, making fun of bad TV dramas, or laughing about spilling soy sauce during dinner.

When life feels messy, humor is the glue. Relationships come with awkwardness, misunderstandings, and fears, but laughter often breaks through where words fail.

Final Thoughts: Standing for Growth

What I stand for—both in my writing and in my relationships—is growth. The best love teaches us to grow as individuals while cherishing the spaces where we come together.

If my parents’ once-upon-a-time love story taught me anything, it’s that relationships should feel like a partnership. They don’t just happen to you—they grow with the effort you put into them. And at their best, they encourage you to be your most authentic self, fully supported by someone who just gets you.

And who knows? Your next love story might begin on a subway platform, at a café, or, yes—even in the philosophy aisle at a bookstore. One thing’s for sure: Wherever it starts, it’s worth standing for.