Justina's Writing Corner

Growing up, I tried my best to ignore the presence of money; it was like a stain on my favorite coffee mug–I simply had to overlook it to enjoy my morning tea. I despised characters like Cruella De Vil from Disney, who would commit despicable acts, including killing puppies for their fur, in the pursuit of fame and wealth. (Of course, characters like Tony Stark, who earned his fortune through intelligence and used it to protect others, seemed to be justified.) I grew up with the belief that wealth was inherently tied to corruption, that those with money had earned it through immoral means. This view was not unique to me; it was a sentiment reinforced by the many stories I heard growing up–complaints about exploitative bosses and the labor they profited from, which only widened the gap of social inequality. For years, I convinced myself that more money would inevitably lead me down a path of moral decay. Real life examples, like Shein and Zara exploiting workers, further validate this belief, making the connection between wealth and unethical practices seem undeniable. I feared becoming one of those I despised, the wealthy who cared for nothing but their own gain, their hand stained with greed.  

At the same time, I wanted to stand against these greedy forces and protect everyday people from harm. Rather than seeing the underserved and underrepresented exploited by powerful capitalists, I aspired to help them find their voices and speak out. I wanted to be the hero who defends the vulnerable against powerful villains–a dream many have had, of stepping up and becoming the hero to save the day. Even without superpowers, my 15-year-old self believed I could impact the world through knowledge. With movies like Legally Blonde, I dreamed of defending those in need before the scales of justice as a lawyer. 

My dream wasn’t born solely from watching TV or movies; I was deeply influenced by my own family’s experiences. As a first generation immigrant with my mother, I have seen the struggles she faced firsthand. Coming from a lineage of entrepreneurs–my grandfather with his hospital, my grandmother with her hotel, and my (no clue how many great) great grandfather who authored one of the most widely read books of his time–I grew up observing her determination to live up to her name. I watched her navigate the intricate legal challenges in America, from establishing an LLC to deciphering complex corporate tax codes. Often, I wished to help her, to stand by her side and untangle the maze of laws and regulations, but I lacked the expertise to contribute meaningfully. Seeing her challenges instilled me further with a determination to learn legal expertise and help more underserved immigrant communities. 

Yet, as time passed, I began to realize a difficult truth: I had become the very person I once loathed. Instead of pursuing the dream of becoming a lawyer and fighting for justice, I found myself chasing opportunities for financial gain–seizing internship opportunities and even ‘gambling’ with cryptocurrency on platforms like SolCasino (a name that only underscores its riskiness). I felt guilty not just for abandoning my dream but for openly pursuing money. Admitting that I wanted wealth made me feel shallow and indifferent to the suffering of others. 

I couldn’t bring myself to share my ambitions with my pre-med friend who dreams of curing cancer and alleviating humaniti’s pain. But in life, money seemed more important than anything else. It felt like money could solve nearly everything–except , perhaps, for death (a problem I imagine would be solved soon through technology of uploading consciousness to the cloud, though likely only the rich would afford such immortality). 

Legal issues? With enough money, I could hire countless lawyers to handle any issue instead of spending 12 years memorizing a 2,500 page law code. Every problem that once puzzled me seemed solvable with the right price. And now, I have become one of those who wag their tails at the sight of a bone–money, wealthy individuals, and opportunities to get rich. The name I had once chosen for myself, “Justina,” symbolized the justice I longed to embody. Now, it is a cruel irony, a mark of shame that betrayed my original aspirations.   

You may wonder why I abandoned my noble aspirations. The truth is, I am not entirely sure. Perhaps it began during a trip to Disneyland, where I invited Shirlyn, a new friend, to join my close friends and me. My desire was to create a memorable day while introducing a new member to our little social group; yet, the planning quickly devolved into conflicts. Shirlyn’s insistence on purchasing the cheapest tickets led to a heated argument with my friends who preferred to visit on a holiday, which means the tickets would be priced higher than normal. The small disagreement escalated, transforming what should have been a joyful occasion into a tense negotiation. 

On the day of the trip, I dressed with care, hoping to reverse the earlier discord and provide everyone with a happy memory. However, I soon realized that Shirlyn had an unsettling habit of making excuses to avoid spending money on food. Despite my family’s middle class economic background, I found her behavior surprising; it had never occurred to me that a few dollars could prompt such dishonesty. I felt a pang of guilt for inviting her without confirming her financial comfort, and I couldn’t help but feel frustrated at her unwillingness to communicate her limitations openly. This incident planted a seed of doubt in my heart regarding those from economically disadvantaged backgrounds. If she had been honest with me, I would probably have happily shared my food or gone somewhere cheaper. I wouldn’t have judged her or looked down at her if she admitted she couldn’t afford it. I’ve also experienced times of financial hardship, and whenever my friends invited me to somewhere I couldn’t afford, I wasn’t afraid to admit it. I’ve always believed that what truly counts is your sense of self and what you believe about yourself. And there it was again: money, complicating relationships and bringing problems. 

The realization grew deeper when I encountered similar patterns repeatedly. For Shirlyn’s birthday, I carefully prepared a double sided embroidery fan, something she’s wanted for months but couldn’t get because her mom believed it was too expensive. In return, on my birthday, I received a pig stuffed animal–a choice that stung, especially since all my friends (including her) knew how much I disliked pigs.  

My growing mistrust toward my first encounter of those struggling financially–which later turned out to be false as I learned that her father is a math professor (proving that financial issues are not limited to those without money)–was reinforced by my grandmother’s experience of being scammed out of her savings. To be honest, when I first heard about this story, I was shocked. We have known the scammer for eight entire years–they had helped our family, and we had helped theirs. We never imagined they would take off with the money we entrusted to them, especially after countless shared dinners and afternoons between our families. Can anyone truly be trusted when tempted by money? They had changed so much. When they were financially stable, they were generous, giving large red envelopes to kids during Chinese New Year and regularly donating to those in need. But now, facing the economic crisis in China, they ran off with their elderly friends’ money, including those of close companions and leaving even their elderly parents and 8 year old children to bear the wrath of those they scammed.

Her newfound fixation on saving money only intensified my awareness of money’s significance. I understood that if I had more financial freedom, I could alleviate my family’s burdens, providing better care for my grandfather’s diabetes and ensuring my grandmother wouldn’t have to worry about her future. A troubling trend became clear to me: those who have financial stability are less likely to be consumed by it compared to those without it. 

Money, it seems, weaves through the fabric of our lives and influences everything from daily choices to major life decisions. With sufficient wealth, one can escape the indignities often faced by those of lesser means. It can grant access to luxury that shields one from societal prejudices, and it can relieve my family members from the burdens of relentless labor. Money provides not only for individual comfort but also for broader societal issues, such as alleviating hunger, addressing illiteracy, and combating systemic injustices. In a world rife with corruption and inequality, it becomes painfully clear that money (with the right morals) is a necessary tool for enacting change and delivering justice. 

Yet, while I grapple with my complicated relationship with money, I observe others walking on Wall Street dressed in suits, projecting an image of respectability and success. But beneath the polished surface lies a different reality–many are driven by a relentless greed that transforms into beasts, relentlessly pursuing wealth at any cost. Their charm often makes a more sinister motive, highlighting the complexity of our societal values surrounding money. 

As I reflect on these experiences, the old saying “穷生奸计，富长良心” (when poor, one may resort to cunning schemes; when wealthy, one tends to grow a conscience) resonates profoundly with my experiences. This saying encapsulates the very essence of the struggle between morality and the pursuit of wealth. I have witnessed how financial struggles can lead individuals to compromise their integrity, often resorting to deceit in their quest for survival. In low-income neighborhoods, there are often higher crime rates as these are their only means of survival. However, many billionaires such as Elon Musk emphasize philanthropy as a cornerstone of their wealth. Having experienced no current danger to their daily survival, they can tackle bigger issues like space tourism and benefiting the future world. While the wealthy may not always donate a larger percentage of their income, their contributions in absolute terms are often more impactful.  The complex interplay between economic status and ethical behavior is almost proving itself everywhere–of course, not ALL behave the same. 

While sometimes I find myself acting like the villains I once detested–employing every tactic to secure more money and revealing my fans to the newly entered freshies–I hope to hold on to the hope that this relentless urge to accumulate wealth will not corrupt me as it has so many of my predecessors. 

At the end of the day, I have learned a crucial lesson: money matters, perhaps more than we care to admit. To say otherwise is to deceive ourselves; those who claim that money is inconsequential often do so from a position of privilege. In a world where financial resources dictate opportunities and influence, we must confront the uncomfortable truth: our fixation on money is not merely a personal struggle but a broader reflection of our societal dynamics. Society itself plays a role in perpetuating this imbalance, where justice is frequently out of reach. Just lawyers often earn far less and are easily outmaneuvered by the wealthy, who can even bribe the judicial system (pointing out Trump here). 

I’ve come to accept that I may never become the kind of heroic lawyer I once dreamed of being–the one who sacrifices their own well-being and that of their family to fight for justice on behalf of others. I care too much for my family, and for myself, to endure that kind of hardship. I’ve decided to put down my heroic lawyer dream and carry a more financially realistic dream of becoming rich. By that, I mean being able to solve 99% of the problems my family faces while perhaps addressing even 1% of a larger global issue–though admittedly, that feels more like a daydream than a solid goal. 

Still, wish me luck!
Credits
U.S. Department of Health and Human Services. “Crime and Violence.” *Healthy People 2030*, Office of Disease Prevention and Health Promotion, https://odphp.health.gov/healthypeople/priority-areas/social-determinants-health/literature-summaries/crime-and-violence. Accessed 7 Nov. 2024.