Living in your 20s is supposed to be the best time of your life. That's what they tell you, at least.

But it doesn't feel that way. It feels like the hardest and most stressful time. You're trying to learn how to be an adult while forgetting how to be a kid. You're going to college, getting internships, applying to jobs, building a resume, optimizing a LinkedIn profile. You're told what you need to do, what you should do—by teachers, parents, your school, your boss, society.

But nobody asks: what do you want to do?

And even if they did, would you know the answer?

I didn't. For a long time, I didn't.

I was born in Boston, Massachusetts.

But I grew up understanding that the life I have came at a cost I'll never fully comprehend.

My parents came to the U.S. because staying wasn't an option.

In the 70s, during the Cultural Revolution, schools shut down. Dreams shut down. People were sent to labor camps. Education ended overnight.

My parents didn't finish high school. They didn't grow up thinking about college, careers, or "finding your passion." They were just trying to survive.

The stories they told me still sit with me today:

Swimming for hours through open water. Trekking for days from mainland China to the coast. Crossing into Macau and Hong Kong with nothing but a belief in a better life.

I grew up hearing those stories. Reminders of what it cost for me to even have a chance.

So yes, I am lucky. Very lucky. I have opportunities they never touched, pathways they never walked, choices they never had.

And because of that, I don't push myself to impress people. I push because I want to honor where I come from.

Because if they could survive everything with nothing, then I can build something with everything they sacrificed for.

I want to make their journey worth it.

For a long time, I thought purpose was something you find. Like it's buried somewhere, waiting. Like if you just search long enough, think hard enough, ask enough people, it'll reveal itself.

It doesn't work that way.

Purpose isn't something you find. It's something you build.

It's not a single moment of clarity. It's a thousand small decisions that add up over time. It's the things you choose to care about. The problems you choose to sit with. The people you choose to show up for.

It's not about having all the answers. It's about moving even when you don't.

I spent years asking "what should I do?" when the real question was "what do I want to do?" And even then, the answer wasn't clear. It still isn't always clear.

But I've learned that purpose doesn't require certainty. It requires direction. And direction comes from trying things, not thinking about them.

I think about my parents a lot. About the fact that they didn't have the luxury of asking "what's my purpose?" They just moved. They just survived. They just built a life from nothing because staying still wasn't an option.

And now I have options they never had. I can choose. I can try. I can fail and try again.

So I don't waste time overthinking whether something is the "right" path. I don't wait for permission or certainty or the perfect moment.

I just build. I try.

Because purpose isn't found in the planning. It's found in the doing.

If you're in your 20s and you feel lost, confused, unsure of what you're supposed to be doing—you're not alone.

Most people feel that way. Most people are just better at hiding it.

But here's what I've learned: you don't need to have it all figured out. You don't need to know your purpose before you start. You just need to start.

Try things. Build things. Show up for people. Pay attention to what energizes you and what drains you. Notice what problems you care about. What work doesn't feel like work.

Purpose isn't a destination. It's a direction. And you don't find it by thinking. You build it by doing.