A Tale of The Celery
a grouphouse I used to live at
The Celery is the name of an apartment that I lived in, along with three friends, in Brooklyn, New York. I have, for many times, thought about how to tell the story of our little group home. Nothing that I could come up with feels remotely adequate.
We were all children of immigrants, who grew up with all sorts of expectations on our shoulders. It’s a trope among immigrant kids that they were born into a bargain, that by default they are not acceptable, that unless they did something more extraordinary than the kids next door, they would not be loved. It’s a carry-over from a world where a decent life was only available for the successful few, where the floor of how bad life can become was extremely low, where love was expressed as intense pressure to achieve, for achievements means a shot at a better life. We also swam in the water of a striver culture, given that most of our friends work in tech or finance. Despite all that, we were a home for each other. Living in a society so vastly different from where our parents came of age, we were all trying to figure out, what “a good life” meant for ourselves.
What’s precious about Celery is precisely that our friendship is not contingent on achievements. We had an opportunity to get to know each other’s characters, and we love each other because of who we are. My friends rescued me from not having a place to live and gives me sanity checks, held my hand in my most helpless moments, and to this day continues to give me pep talks and cheers me on. The experiences that we shared together is irreplaceable.
New York was not my birthright; I tried to build a life there on temporary work visas. Eventually I had to leave, but before my departure, the Celery was my home — the people at Celery tried their best to be a home for me.
It was at Celery that I learned to accept that sometimes things really don’t work out despite my best efforts, and crucially, I don’t have to blame myself for everything. My friends made me see a glimpse of myself from their perspective, and I found it easier to be gentle to the version of myself through their eyes than the version of myself that exists in my own head. It’s perhaps easier for us to love each other than to love ourselves.
We did not live together for very long; life as a 20-something in New York was really transient. In our dreams we’d live together for years and years to come, but life pulled the four of us to three different cities. So now Celery exists as video calls every now and then.
I’m grateful that I get to bear witness to my friends building lives for themselves in this big, chaotic world that we all find ourselves in; I’m grateful that they loved me and accepted me more than I could do so myself.
I’ll take care of you along the way
My love one day at a time
We’ll leave our troubles behind
And you’ll take care of me along the way
My love one day at a time
We’ll leave our troubles behind