Speak Up
By GRACE YANG‘27
Growing up, my parents often told me “Chi qui shi fu,” which quite frankly translates to “Suffering is a blessing.” This mantra, rooted in Chinese culture, is a quiet promise that enduring loss with grace will bring unseen rewards. Over time, the saying marinated, leading to a mutual understanding that it was wisdom — a way to teach the next generation patience, humility, and the art of seeing beyond the immediate.
We live in a world that worships humility. Being humble is painted as the golden standard of virtue, the hallmark of a “good person.” Society tells us to work to the bone but never brag, to achieve greatness but never shout, to embrace criticism but deny praise. In Exeter, this phenomenon is fleshed out in a group setting; whether it’s group projects, clubs, or sports teams, there’s always the quiet worker.
We’ve all seen them. Perhaps we’ve been them. The one who clutches up the night before a deadline, piecing together research, writing the slides, rehearsing the presentation, only to watch someone else take the credit at the front of the room. The athlete who shows up 30 minutes before practice and stays behind to enhance their skills sacrifices personal glory for the bigger picture and never hears their name shouted in celebration. The organizer spends weeks ahead planning an event, juggling chaos behind the scenes, and smiles silently as the spotlight lands on someone else.
And while they nod along, saying, “It’s fine,” and “It’s not about the recognition,” they are human. And as humans, they feel. They feel the sting of invisibility, the ache of unspoken frustration, and the heaviness of watching their efforts go unnoticed. Maybe they scream in agony and curse out the injustice of it all. They’re the quiet workers in the wings, hoping someone will turn around and acknowledge them, only to realize that no one’s looking back. And all this, we are told, is virtuous. But is it?
Allow me to introduce “jealousy.” Society tells us that jealousy is shameful, a “sinful” emotion that needs to be swallowed or suppressed. But jealousy isn’t a flaw — it’s a sign that we’re alive. It signifies our ambition, it reminds us that we care, that we feel, that we yearn. It’s the spark that ignites when we see someone standing in the spotlight we want, our motivation and source of passion. And yet, we’re taught to bury it. We need to chain it down with ethics and morals, turning it into fuel for silent effort instead of a call to voice our worth.
But at what cost? Too often, we sacrifice the richness of human connection for ambition. We swallow our pain and force a smile when our friends win what we want. Perhaps growing up teaches us how to disguise the hurt. We trade vulnerability for perfection and honesty for politeness. In doing so, we lose our fundamental ability to feel. We lose our qualities to be human. Because to be human is to feel deeply, to let jealousy, love, and everything in between flow through us like rivers — not dam them up until they run dry.
And then there’s “selfishness” — a word so heavy with judgment it feels like a crime even to say it aloud. But selfishness, in its purest form, isn’t inherently bad. Because, as humans, we’re so complex, with interactions and heartfelt lessons, we often convey emotions with a twist. There’s selfishness that destroys — that tears down our surroundings and becomes a threat to the community. Usually, it’s accompanied by the concept of power, ranking, and position. In so, as we’re not exactly equal, and jealousy chimes in. People with great ambition rebel by ignoring titles and boundaries to fulfill egos. This is the selfishness that contaminates human connection in its hunger for domination.
There’s another type of selfishness that allows us to whisper, “I matter too.” To set boundaries and to demand recognition when it’s deserved. It’s the type of selfishness that keeps us whole and allows us to show up for others without losing ourselves in the process. But benefiting ourselves doesn’t have to come at the expense of others — it can coexist. We can pour into our own cups while still uplifting the people around us.
To love yourself in the kindest way means embracing your humanity — your jealousy, ambition, and flaws. It means saying, “I deserve to be seen,” and not apologizing for it. It means knowing when to let others take the stage and when to step into the light yourself.
Humility is a virtue, yes, but so is self-worth. And perhaps the real wisdom lies not in the silent suffering but in finding the courage to say, “I am here, and I matter.”