transitions

Arien had been living two floors below Yue for the past 6 months. It was a rainy Wednesday, and Arien had knocked on Yue’s door earlier that morning to invite her over to celebrate the completion of a recent project. Yue stepped gingerly into Arien’s home that evening, carrying a set of flakey, red-bean filled mooncakes that she had made earlier that day. “Arien, would you mind turning on the oven? I’d love to re-heat these. Thanks so much for having me here!” Home cooked meals weren’t hard to come by these days, and Yue was grateful for that. That was one of Yue’s favorite things about the Transition. She was very much looking forward to trying the steaming dumplings and noodles that Arien had traded for earlier that day from Helen, a middle-aged mother who lived a few blocks over in Chinatown - a home cooked meal that she never would have been able to have before. The wafting smell took her back a few decades and reminded her of her grandmother’s cooking, containing the perfect ratio of sesame oil, soy sauce, wine, and sugar. 

Yue came to the celebration with a smile on her face. She was excited to spend more time with Arien, and to get to know Alexi and Marin, both of whom she had just met a couple of months ago at the Union Square farmers’ market, who had both been working with Arien to sew a quilt, the object of celebration for today, over the past week or so. Yue walked over to the table that displayed their latest work, and ran her hands over where the wool patches met cotton ones, her fingers trailing the vibrant colored threads that connected the various materials. It’s so beautiful, she thought to herself. Maybe I should start sewing again. It was the middle of winter, and the aging Miss Norwich from 501 Orchard was needing some support, so Arien had taken it upon themself to find a group of people to sew a new quilt for Miss Norwich. With gratitude, Miss Norwich would feed Arien’s moody cat for the next few weeks. 

The quilt was set up in one corner of the room, which seemed to be dedicated to sewing and knitting. As a stay-at-home parent prior to the Transition, Arien had Transitioned seamlessly, having begun living around her activities years ago. There were toys in one corner of the small 2-bedroom apartment, a corner dedicated to their paintings, a ballet barre in the middle, and cooking supplies piled near the kitchen. Underneath each piece of furniture was a multitude of boxes. Like many Liberators these days, much of the apartment was taken up by stored extra materials that weren’t being used at the moment, saved just in case someone else could use them in the near future. 

Yue had a wonderful time at the meal. She laughed and was happy to see her mooncakes enjoyed by others. It was nice to feel so familial. At the table, everyone shared their latest projects. For Yue, her time had most recently been following sunlight, as she was harvesting tomatoes and wheatgrass in her apartment. She expressed her challenges with the Transition, which had only started about a year ago. While it was nothing she couldn’t handle, especially compared to her previous 9-5 work week, it was still challenging nevertheless, for very different reasons. There were parts of it she loved: with money no longer in the equation, she was finding more time to care for herself, her dog, and her neighbors, and spending time only producing and consuming what she needed. The tough part was that she was still being phased out of her office role, which, without a need for a salary, felt futile. It also made for a tough balance, having to spend a certain amount of time online reporting to someone else, when the rest of her time she had full control and freedom to build relationships and skills as she pleased. A year since the Transition began, there were still some people trying to make “work” work. The Laborers, who had dominated American ideals for decades, still believed that traditional jobs could be reformed, and were holding onto their beliefs stubbornly, but were finding it awkward to fit in a world in which the majority of the population no longer valued money. Most people, these days, fell instead towards the Liberators, people who free themselves from constraints of money and larger institutions, and instead focus on building relationships amongst themselves. 

This week, Yue was finding it particularly challenging, as she continued remote work on Tuesdays and Thursdays, while the rest of her time was flexibly reserved for Transition activities, taking breaks as needed. The longer she worked on her Transition projects, she felt less and less motivated to continue dialing into her job, and wondered when it would be over. Her goal was that by the next few months, she would be able to Transition full time. It was always inspiring for her to see others who were pursuing their Transitions more smoothly than her; Alexi and Marin were previous coworkers, and had both phased out completely over 2 months ago. They were really seeming to enjoy their time, and have been able to take on a variety of activities and projects since they started. Arien had always been a stay-at-home parent, so the Transition was more comfortable for them. Yue and Alexi exchanged addresses; it was decided that Alexi would visit Yue next Friday. Yue would exchange wheatgrass for Alexi’s ginger root. 

After a long night, Yue returned home. In the morning, she decided she would try and reorganize and start to plan her Transition activities and projects more intentionally. Tomorrow would be Saturday, and she’d have time to do some organizing before her farmer’s market shift. 

Yue woke up feeling inspired. After seeing Arien’s Transition setup, she felt she needed a change. Organizing was something that was relatively new to her, and her relationship to it was constantly changing. She knew she had to be gentle with herself, as Arien had been a stay-at-home parent for a while, and she was trying not to compare herself to others in her network, though she found that difficult after so many years in a competitive and rigid structure. Yue had gone through a few phases of organizing in her life. She came from a family of what they used to call “hoarders.” Her parents having immigrated from China, from them, she learned to carry ancestral habits from the dynasties before her, learning to worship every last grain of rice and knot each plastic bag before it lined each bathroom trash can. Then, came her more minimalist phase, after graduating from college, in which she tried to throw out everything she could, during which Mari Kondo and efficiency were prioritized back in the 2010s and 20s. Most Liberators Yue’s age held bittersweet memories of those times, ones in which “efficiency” and money were what bought freedom, but “efficiency” was prioritized so much so that self-care was neglected. These days, however, what used to be called “hoarding” was now more similar to collecting, and was a much sought after skill. Yue was still establishing her relationship with her stuff, and was now thinking first about what might be useful for another use, or for someone else. 

She decided to start with her closet, a piece of her room which she had been avoiding for some time. Ever since the Transition began, she had opted for comfortable clothes that helped her move and feel like herself. There were so many items here she no longer felt were useful, but perhaps they could be used for something or someone else. She started with clothes in the back of her closet, when her fingers accidentally caressed a set of blazers, which hung delicately and stood out, alien amongst her other more neutral and soft clothes, cradling in soft velvet hangers she had overpaid for at Bed, Bath and Beyond. The Good Old Days. She had almost forgotten about these, since it had been so long since she had worn them. Before the Transition actually happened, there were a series of events that led to most jobs preferring casual wear, so she had had no use for most of these formal clothes for a while, and to be honest, she wasn’t sure why they were still hanging in her closet. 

With the rhythm of an assembly line, she removed and draped a series of pantsuits, button down shirts, and blazers into a large hanging storage bag, whose mouth gaped at her like a question that could not be answered. She wasn’t really sure how to feel. These clothes had served her for so many years, but it had been so long since she had even put them on, and all they did was collect dust in her closet. She remembered being a young recent graduate, wearing these clothes to her interviews and even during a few more formal jobs, feeling stuffed up like a packed zongzi, paired with the echo of her restricting 2-inch heels as they clacked down hardwood tile and career dreams that she hoped would follow. Except those dreams hardly ever happened. How naive she was then. She smiled, thinking of her mother who used to tell her her skirts were too tight. Sighing, she knew she’d have to come up with something new to do with these clothes. She didn’t know if she might need them - though she hoped she never would - it was still possible that the Laborers could regain control in the coming years, and it felt frivolous to throw them away. But since office jobs started going out of style, Goodwill had even stopped accepting business clothing donations. Plus, she did spend hard work, time and money on these clothes - that had to mean something, right? She decided to hang them in the storage bag, and to fold them under her bed. She continued moving stuff around for a while, until she found her sewing machine again. I’ll put this in the northwest corner of my apartment, she thought to herself. 

She had decided to be done organizing for the morning, and was settling into a cup of sencha that had just been delivered from her neighbor Rosewood down the street, when she accidentally knocked something off the shelf. It was a tiny object that had been covered with an old t-shirt. She had no idea how long it had been sitting there for. She held it in her palm, and squinted. It was a miniature 3d printed dog, with her name engraved on it. FOR YUE. She closed her eyes and breathed in the stale, radiator air. 

He would have loved it here, she thought to herself. I wish he could see me now. I wish he could see who he could have become if he had just made it to the Transition. Yue was thinking of her younger sibling, Kyle, who had passed away a couple months before the Transition started. One year, and 2 months. It’s been that long. Kyle had gifted the dog to her on her birthday the year before he had passed. To Yue, it still felt like yesterday. Kyle had been born with a fatal genetic disease, and Yue had always known that she might not know when to say goodbye. Throughout his life though, it wasn’t the disease that gripped her. It wasn’t his life, or even his passing that made her sad. it was the fact that he had never achieved her dream, or his, of living independently.

As a disabled person living under the Laborers’ rules, Kyle was of no value to society. Anyone who didn’t think, act, or perform in a way that was expected of the Laborers was discriminated against. While Kyle had no trouble getting into a decently high-ranking university - back when they still existed - he was unable to acquire skills or jobs that would lead him to any semblance of an opportunity, leaving him remiss of the ability to have a career. This would have a domino effect on his future - taking 7 years to graduate, not ever having a romantic partner or falling behind on both hard and soft skills needed to obtain a job, not getting hired, much less being able to hold a job at all. He remained reliant on SSI money and parental support for all of his life. When their father passed away, Yue became more responsible for Kyle’s future and finances, and that was when Kyle’s mental health situation deteriorated. Yue couldn’t change the fact that Kyle felt useless, and seemed to feel reminded of it every day. He would stay at home when Yue went to the office each day, and spend time with their mother, whose memory and patience was slowly deteriorating with age. Yue didn’t blame him: Kyle didn’t fit into a world that had been designed for people who were able to perform not just Labor, but a certain kind of Labor that looked a certain way. To them, Labor meant an 8+ hour day. Labor that may not provide enough health insurance. Labor that involved a certain level of physical mobility. Labor that involved having perfect eyesight. Labor that involved being able to speak in a way that was easily understood. Labor that involved being able to communicate and react in a short time span. Labor that involved planning and time management, Labor that didn’t include expensive assistive technologies. Anyone who didn’t fit that description was excluded, including Kyle. It seemed that there were just so many barriers to even get Kyle somewhere, that everyone involved seemed to give up.

The worst part was that Kyle was constantly stuck in a cycle of wanting to be independent, wanting to have a job, but not being able to financially take the risk of being off SSI, but in order to receive SSI, Kyle couldn’t work. In this system, there seemed to be no way for Kyle to succeed - financially and emotionally. He couldn’t build agency. He couldn’t hold responsibility the way that an able bodied person could. Not like it mattered though, since no one in their right mind would hire Kyle anyway. 

If only Kyle could have been here to see the abolition of Social Security. 

Yue thought about all of the skills that Kyle had. He would have brought so much value in the Transitional society she lived in now. What he lacked in narrowed vision was the ability to carbon copy animals and reproduce them into perfectly replicated 3d prints. What he lacked in his ability to respond immediately, was created in his robust encyclopedia of a mind, being able to identify any species you could dream of. What he was unable to produce through speech was instead knowledge and curiosity for his garden. She remembered the way he would bring in multicolored carrots, eggplants, asparagus, and God knows what else, from his garden, protecting them delicately in his rigid hands. He always wanted to share with everyone and care for others in that way. It would have been perfect. 

It had been a year since the Transition. She was extremely grateful for the opportunities she had been given, and was feeling optimistic about Transitioning off of her office job. But right now, all Yue could see, through the snow falling outside and her blurred eyes, were the places that Kyle could have been. She knew it was useless to keep daydreaming, but she couldn’t help but create shapes in the cold whiteness outside her window. What could it have looked like if he could have actually found friends who valued and understood him? Could he have been friends with Arien? Could he have met different people who had different ages, backgrounds, and interests, that accepted him for who he was? What could it be like if he lived in a world where he didn’t have to worry where his intelligence or communication skills would take him? What if he didn’t have to worry about SSI, or finances, and could just live, and Yue could trust that he’d be cared after? 

Yue thought back to the dinner party from last night. She vowed to soak in the image of everyone laughing around the table, celebrating the completed quilt for Miss Norwich, and envisioned Kyle sitting there, laughing along with them. With his crooked mouth, narrowed eyes, and stiff hands, she sat looking out her window, envisioning the lopsided carrots it might take him 30 minutes to cut, the apple pie and multicolored asparagus he probably would have brought, and imagined what it might be like for Kyle to feel free of a disability that was imposed on him by others. Maybe he could have even added some 3d prints to the quilt. 

This was the memory she’d carry with her. Kyle being there with her, right by her side, settled in between Yue and Alexi, sipping soy sauce noodles with scallion.