THE WORST PERSON AT HARVARD

The best thing about Harvard? The people! In all earnest, architecture school sucks. Anywhere, not just at Harvard. All-nighter sucks. Consecutive all-nighters suck. Dosing off next to laser cutter sucks. Design getting rejected sucks. Facing review juries sucks. Wrist arthritis sucks. Back pain sucks. Being in the trenches together, architecture kids formed a special bond that I am ever grateful for. During my four years here, I have met many of you whose talents never fail to amaze me. Your work ethic constantly motivates me. In your kindness and optimism, I found inspiration to strive forward.

The worst thing about Harvard? Not the work. Not Boston weather. The people. Overachieving, hyper-competitive, relentlessly ambitious, constantly stressed-out, workaholic, suffocating people. Perfectionism is the Harvard epidemic. In this cultish glorified strive-for-excellence culture, the worst person at Harvard neglects your mental and physical needs, pushing your boundary near the point of breaking. The worst person at Harvard condemns you for every bad review, every turned-down design, every job rejection. The worst of them all is the self that you have unknowingly involuntarily become. The self that lost interest in what you loved. The self that was no longer in pursuit of meaning. The self that constantly compared you to other people. The self that doubted.

Starting my third year, I was that person. Jaded of architecture. Designing a building that beyond a geometric game, bears no meaning to me. I abandoned myself physically. Sleeping too little. Eating too little. Going to the gym still, to give myself the illusion of having a balanced life in control. The endorphins kept my mind going, ignoring all the physical signs that my body needed rest and help. At times, it felt as if my gut was turned inside out. I clenched my teeth and got through the semester, but I lost passion for what I do and, in that process, lost myself.

Most people got the wrong idea about passion. There was no such thing as waking up springing to the table with fresh ideas. There was only a lot of tossing and turning agonizing over iterations and iterations. There was only a lot of sulking over a creative block whining oh-dear-I-don't-know-how-to-design. There were plenty of self-doubts, second-guessing and erasing, swearing, and restarting. Still, nothing beats the exhilaration of putting together a space you envisioned. The amusement of seeing how natural light moves through a room. The joy and headache of choosing materials and colors for a wall. The exuberance of a design discussion you have with your classmates. The silly delight of photoshopping cut-out people into your space.

When those joys got numb, designing lost its meaning. Screw architecture, screw productivity culture, screw Harvard. I turned to running, writing, playing music, learning languages, going to concerts, and reconnecting with friends whom I used to be too busy to hang out with. By distancing myself from architecture, I somehow found the joy of living again.

I hope you all love smart. Love what you do but there is more to life than professional and academic achievement. Life is not just about future careers. My passion for architecture was not what got me through graduate school. At times when my professional path fails to deliver, my otherness, love for the arts, being active, and staying in touch with my best friends, kept me in love with life.

After a disorienting year, I rekindled the relationship with architecture while working on my thesis - an art museum in Hanoi that questions the meaning of exhibition culture and challenges the political intention of museums in Vietnam. Devoting the design to my roots, in connection with the built environment of my hometown, I found meaning in designing to defend cultural needs and the representation of people. The sparks and flow came back. The silly joy of photoshopping friends into the renderings returned. Such fulfillment reminded me that I first love architecture as an expression of culture, first wanted to go to architecture school to have fun, first believed I deserve a good education learning from people better than me, and first chose Harvard because I would be happy to be mediocre, surrounded by the best.

My favorite word in Chinese is 初心 chuxin - “first heart” - the original spark, a beginner’s mind, your naïve passion, that initial drive for knowledge, not prestige, that intellectual curiosity that carried you to the steps of Widener. Remember the you before Harvard whose yearning for knowledge is insurmountable. The you before entering this school crave to be challenged as a thinker. The many you upon arriving at Gund Hall, after lengthy explanations of “why architecture”, all ended with “I love architecture”.

I hope you remember your chuxin. My overachieving, ambitious friends you might all be intoxicated with the adrenaline of all that Harvard® hustle, the buzz of staying busy, and the fantasy that you are devoting yourself to your passion. Under all pressures of this toxic work culture, surrounded by overwhelmingly brilliant minds, there will be times you slip into the undesirable version of yourself. It is ok. It is normal. Please embrace this person, you will grow out of them. In the beautiful minds that you are all blessed with, self-doubt will creep in, insecurity will creep in, do not let those poison you. Chances are that, as clueless twenty-somethings, you might not be the best you at Harvard. If you ever feel broken, the way I did, please be patient with yourself. Healing takes time. One project, one good semester, one break could not undo years of damage but they are the starting points of a slow and gradual healing journey. Every day still I am picking up the pieces of myself. Remember why you started. Know that you will take this experience with you on the path to becoming the best person you have the potential to be.