Push

(Saturday, March 22, 2025)

It’s Formula 1’s Chinese Grand Prix weekend—and it’s a sprint weekend—so of course, I had to watch.

Yesterday morning, I started working with the F1 sprint coverage playing in the background. As soon as the broadcast began and the familiar intro music played, it hit me. It was the most familiar thing I’ve felt since arriving in Lyon, more than the Hacheir Parmentier.

Why do I love F1?

F1 makes me feel like I’m part of an ongoing story. It makes me feel connected—to friends, to all the drivers and teams, and to something bigger. I also love how the sport works. It’s the ultimate team effort: even the best driver won’t make it to the podium in a bad car. If the strategist messes up a pit stop or tire change in unpredictable weathers, the leader can fall to the back of the pack within mere 30 seconds.

I deeply respect the drivers. They have to be both physically and mentally tough—always pushing. I think of Romain Grosjean jumping out of the high flames of a burning car. George Russell losing 4kg in one race at the brutally hot and humid Singapore Grand Prix. Daniel Ricciardo, fighting for a seat with a big smile and reminding us to “enjoy the butterflies,” after heartbreak after heartbreak.

My favorite driver is Oscar Piastri—quiet, focused, the calmest of them all. That kind of emotional control is something I truly admire.

But sadly, I don’t think I have anyone to watch F1 with right now.

Today is Saturday. I had a lot of time to read. I picked up The French Ingredient again and read about the author’s early entrepreneurial journey. Every word of her roller coaster experience reminded me of building Yishi. My eyes felt sore and my throat tight as I flipped through the pages.

She wrote:

“I was on a roller coaster ride—at one moment thinking, Forget it, this will never work, the next feeling euphoric because we had booked a client or gotten some press. Then rinse and repeat. Utter despair and regret when another bill arrives and still you don’t have clients, then sheer elation that one person out there (other than friend or family) has discovered that you exist.”

That was exactly how it felt building Yishi. Each day came with dramatic highs—like being on top of the world—and crushing lows that left me feeling helpless. I’d give everything I had and still not be able to turn some things around.

It’s been six months since we shut down, but my body still freezes and my chest tightens whenever I think about Yishi. I’m afraid to go there. 

It’s all still so fresh. So complicated. So raw. Sometimes even shameful. I don’t even know where to begin to share it.

I know what I’ve learned. I know how it’s shaped me and moved me forward. I know there are so many beautiful, meaningful memories tied to it. But somehow, that only makes it harder.

It’s like the aftermath of a long-term relationship ending. The scar is too fresh, too tender to touch. And so, we bury that part of the heart for a while.

But like an F1 driver, I have to push.

I promise myself: this trip won’t be an escape. It will be a journey—of forgiving, of believing, of healing.

There will be one step forward, two steps back, and that’s okay.