I’ve been listening to a lot of true crime podcasts, lately, with the quarantine and all. Whenever they go into the history of the victim and their personal life, I can’t help but wonder if the victim would agree with the characterization. They usually seem to follow a standard format: “She loved life. She loved to help others. She would give the shirt off her back. She lit up the room when she walked in. Everyone loved here. She had a lot of talents. She had limitless potential.”
If this is how someone posthumously described me, my ghost would be pissed. A litany of vague, universally-accepted virtues would not adequately describe my singular existence. So, I decided to write my own bio, in case I am ever the subject of such a series. It goes as follows:
Most people knew Erin for her red hair. Despite the rumors, it was natural. This can be confirmed by looking at her childhood photos and hair on other parts of her body. Those in her inner-circle say that she could go seven days without washing her hair. On occasion, she would even receive compliments on day six.
Growing up, Erin always knew what she wanted to be – Chinese. But there came a day when her mother revealed to her that Chinese was neither a career nor something that one could be by choice. So, Erin became a lawyer. In law school, Erin set her sights on being a prosecutor. But people told her that criminal lawyers did not make much money, and Erin really liked money. Erin eventually chose to go into patent law. What started as an interest, soon turned into a passion. She loved drafting patent applications and responses to patent rejections from the comfort of her desk, where she did not have to wear a suit and could jam out to the music of her choosing. Her coworkers describe her as decent, sometimes even decent+.
Erin took great pride in her home – an airy 500-square foot condominium. She was something of a visionary when it came to decorating. She embraced mid-century modern before it was cool (but after the mid-century). Her sister describes Erin’s style as “Ikea.” But that description doesn’t do it justice. Erin merged Scandinavian minimalism with more ornate vintage pieces that her mother was donating to charity - culminating in the ultimate aesthetic synergy. Once, she found some old pictures of her parents as young adults. They were faded to a sepia tone that complimented her neutral color scheme. She put them in some frames from Target and assembled them as a wall collage. Unfortunately, she had to take them down whenever one of her parents visited, for fear that they may get the impression that she held some nostalgia for their married days. She absolutely did not and only wished that the separation had happened sooner.
Erin’s crowning achievement was taking in a litter of foster cats. This happened when she was still living in mother’s house and she harbored the cats in the basement to separate them from the resident cats living upstairs. Erin was met with much resistance from her mother, who did not appreciate that the kittens were still mastering use of the litterbox and did not accept their having worms as an adequate justification for the mess that they were making. But Erin tirelessly fought to keep the kittens. They were eventually all adopted. And her mother finally admitted that they were cute.
Overall, Erin lead a happy existence. However, she held the belief that happiness is not something worth aspiring to, as it is fleeting. Rather, she strived for “eudemonia,” which is a fancy word for something like a fulfilled life. Erin’s life was reasonably fulfilled. She sometimes expressed a wish for a significant other. But then she would remind herself that the reason she didn’t have a boyfriend was because she didn’t want one and she had more important things to do with her time. Instead, she focused on the things that really mattered – hunting for the best coupons for local restaurants, curating her social media with tasteful self-portraits, and educating herself in the calorie content of different varietals of wine.
A notarized copy of this bio can be found alongside my will. Another copy can be found in my “in case I go missing” folder, which is kept under my sock bin.
On a related note, when the narration reaches the part about my demise, I would appreciate it if they would portray me as having put up a fight. Street cred goes beyond the grave. And if my story ever gets made into a dramatized series, I recommend Zooey Deschanel for the role of me. Probably wearing a very crisp suit and a padded bra for accuracy.
Comments