My Journey with Psychedelics, My Asian Upbringing, and My Unrelenting Need to Grow
“You found a shaman on google and took a 14 hr. greyhound to a stranger’s house in Oakland to take an ancient medicinal psychoactive drug and thought it was a good idea? Yes, yes, I did. And yes, I did it alone.
I don’t know how else to justify what I did but state that I was desperate for answers.
It was November in California the week of American Thanksgiving. I’m not American but a Canadian who at the time was an expat living in Singapore. I flew to the US for my cousin’s wedding and got permission to work remotely for the next 6 weeks. I somehow convinced my boss that there was no point of going back to Singapore [to a job I was paid for], if I was going to fly back home again in December for Christmas. He reluctantly agreed.
I had done some research and dabbled into the world of psychedelics via podcasts on self-help. Thank-you, . I also read one book — Michael Pollen’s . Read is a stretch, since I got lost in the technical jargon and gave up quickly after the first chapter. An appropriate alternative, listening to his interviews and talks on YouTube, I thought, should be sufficient.
I remember the day I found Gabriel, the lady who eventually became my shaman. It was a rainy fall Sunday afternoon in Singapore and I was sitting in Raffles City Mall at a well-known local bakery called Tiong Bahru. I sat across my friend who was in town from Shanghai. We were grinding out some work and he was helping me sort through some goal-setting and personal OKRs. Greg was an ultra-runner — the small crazy population of humans that find joy in running hundreds of miles just because they can. He was also an entrepreneur and one of the smartest and most articulate people I knew. I told him about my crazy idea of doing ayahuasca and jetting off to Peru for a week. That clearly wasn’t feasible, although I had entertained the idea a few weeks back after opening up a pandora’s box of emotions and heartache with an ex (another story for another time).
He (Greg) had seen the state of my bedroom and had a good sense of the chaos that plagued my head. I had sticky notes everywhere of to-do lists, inspirational quotes, random business ideas — anything that came to my mind that I didn’t want to forget — I’d jot it down and leave them on my wall, let them pile up, until I could find time later to sort them out. For any sane person, the sight would be maddening, but, it’s just the way my brain works.
He looked at me with dead-set eyes and said, “Joyce these sticky notes aren’t serving you. You need to red light or green light these tasks. This will help you prioritise.” So, I set out to find a shaman to finally green light this task. I felt in my heart of hearts I had to do it now or never. I also knew I had to get it done in California. I couldn’t take anymore time from work to elope off to India, Bali or Peru to do a week long trip — (where a majority of these psychedelic retreats take place). I settled for California. I knew there was a huge community there and I just needed to align my trip schedule with the sessions being held that same week.
If you type Ayahuasca shamans on google, you’ll be bombarded with flashy websites of ‘spiritual gurus’ claiming to transform your life forever. I must’ve viewed a handful of sites. None were impressive and some were off-putting. Something about the clip art type font and rainbow coloured typeface that repelled me. That’s when I found Gabriel’s site. It was minimalist and her face wasn’t plastered all over the website like some tacky MLM influencer or Real Estate Agent.
She was holding a 2 day event in Oakland the day before Thanksgiving. Perfect, I thought. I can be back in time for Thanksgiving with the fam. I had to fill out an extensive form to ensure I was mentally sound to partake in the ceremony — screening for traits of schizophrenia and other personality disorders. The form also screened for any underlying health or medical issues.
I set up a call with her to discuss what to expect. I pulled the trigger and put it in my calendar.
I was already spending hundreds of dollars on the ceremony and pricy flight back, so I thought, let me take a greyhound and visit my friend in L.A. en route to NorCal. The bus-ride was an event it itself. I would drift in and out of sleep imagining different scenarios of the ceremony. I had nightmares of missing the ceremony due to unforeseen circumstances that prevented me from participating. Nightmares of running out of time. Nightmares of baby demons and ghosts — — omens that any normal lucid person would see as a sign that this was a bad idea.
But everything inside of me still felt content in-spite of these reoccurring frightening visions. I hallucinated. I drifted in and out of day dreams. My blood sugar was low. I essentially starved myself the past 4 days — being on a strict diet of berries, yuca and tea.
I arrived in Oakland. I can still remember how sketchy it all felt when the bus pulled around the station to a rougher part of the city. It was 6pm at that point on Tuesday, and it was already pitch dark. Gabriel texted to notify me that a family emergency had just come up. Ceremony would be pushed back to 9pm. I thought, shoot where the hell do I go? I asked her if I could stay at hers until then. She said no. I hadn’t really thought this part out. Maybe there was a 24 hr. spa I could go to? I couldn’t find anything open. I went to a Pete’s coffee. They kicked me out at 8pm. Did I mention it was November in Northern California? It was pouring freezing rain, 5 degrees and I could see my breath outside. I made my way to an organic grocery store across the street which luckily stayed open till 9pm. I thought, this is what it feels like to be homeless. I loitered there some more until I heard back from Gabriel. She messaged me profusely apologising, saying the family emergency couldn’t be resolved tonight, that she would put me in an airbnb and that the ceremony would commence next day at noon. Um ok, I thought. The ceremony was supposed to be from 8pm to 8am — 12 hr. window to leave room for rest and reflection. My flight the next day was at 9pm. I thought, fuck fuck fuck, how did I think this was gonna go? You found her on eventbrite! She’s totally screwing you over! This is a sham. Good job, Jay. Then for whatever reason, my default self-sabotaging instincts just stopped. They didn’t spiral into negative rumination. They were neutralised by this one thought — at least this will be a great story for your friends and future grandkids. So instead of questioning Gabriel, I said, please let me know what I can do to help you right now, I hope things get resolved (I wasn’t sure if someone was dying or if there was a domestic violence case etc.), and I’ll see you tomorrow.
I really had low expectations for the airbnb, thinking she’d put me in some basic accommodation in a room likened to a closet (real estate prices are exorbitantly high, so I’d understand, I thought). Instead, my Uber pulled up to this mansion overlooking the Oakland skyline. The couple was still changing the sheets on the bed when I arrived. I was supposed to pretend I was Gabriel — who looked nothing like me. Gabriel had a caramel complexion with green eyes. Instead of keeping a low profile, I engaged with this couple and asked them questions about their life in the epicentre of technology and innovation, their roles as tech executives, their travels etc. I was so enamoured by their stories that I almost forgot the predicament I was in. Then I went to bed. It was such a beautiful room and the floors were heated. I showered and prayed silently, if this was meant to be, it would happen.
I slept peacefully, although my dreams proved otherwise. I had yet another nightmare about baby demons (that happened to be Gabriel’s and who I would later find out may be symbolic of the miscarriage she had when she was younger). I shrugged it off when I woke up and journaled. It was slightly foggy, still raining but the sun pierced through the layer of clouds.
Then I saw a bluejay. I had never seen one before. The normal sight of birds outside my home in Calgary is of the big magpies. I liken those to rats, because they’re everywhere and there’s nothing novel about them. I googled to see what a bluejay sighting meant. Surely, it’s a sign, I thought. “Bluejays are symbolic of energy, curiosity and determination… it’s about going for what you desire. They’re full of vitality, energy, demonstrate assertiveness, when the need arises.” And with that thought, I went to my ceremony.
What transpired the next 6 hours was an indelible stamp in my life that I hope to keep in my memory bank until I’m grey and old. I arrived at Gabriel’s apartment, a modest compact space with a dedicated corner in her living room full of bright embroidered pillows and blankets, reserved for ceremonies. My first impressions of my shaman was wow she is stunning. But I couldn’t quite put into words why. She also had a calming presence and a cool, composed deamnor. I proceeded to flood her with a million questions hoping she would remove any remnants of doubt and fear. She poured a viscous substance from a large canister into a shot glass to drink. “Wait, but how do you know I only need this much? How is this made? What’s going to happen? When will it hit me?” Gabriel answered all my musings with grace and kindness. I could never be a shaman and deal with annoying asses and their interrogations like this, I thought.I fought everything inside me to not panic, overthink or ask for anymore assurance. Something inside me said just trust the process.
I was instructed to lie down and wait. Gabriel chanted traditional indegenous songs typically performed as accompaniment to sacred plant healing ceremonies. I waited and the voice inside my head for the first 15 minutes (which felt like hours) flooded me with skepticim. Shit, I thought, what if this doesn’t work? What if my brain is wired in a way that makes me imune to even the most powerful ancient medicinal drug on earth? Then it hit me. It was like a poof of nothingness. I never knew what the feeling of oblivion was until that moment. I had no recollection of my conscience, who I was, where I was, no memory of my past, my present, no ability to comprehend the future. I just was but I also didn’t exist. It was the most liberating feeling — — the lack of awareness, the releasing of all my neurosis and questions — for that moment I had the sensation of being no-one and not even knowing what it meant to be someone. I had no concept of life or conciousness or existence. This quickly turned to this existential dread that this was no way to live. I shivered as I felt my environment quickly drop in temperature. It was hues of grey, but not the type of welcoming grey I’m usually drawn towards, as evidence by my neutral wardrobe and choice in household appliances. It was a deadening type of shade that was dull, lifeless and sombre. On top of that, I was freezing. If I’m going to get the ultimate meaning and answer to life, I might as well be warm! Why am I so fricken cold!?? I remember a blanket being wrapped around me. It was Gabriel. She must’ve witnessed me suffering as my teeth chattered more aggressivly and louder as if to cry out to stop this feeling.
Then, like a flash flood with no warning, I was inundated with flashbacks of my lowest moments of my time abroad. It was a running recording that cut from one clip to another of my time in Shanghai and Singapore. Nano-seconds to full scenes of some of the toughest points I experienced — just flashing right before my eyes — - times where I would just weep uncontrollably in my tiny bedroom on Panyu Lu wondering how to get out of the mental rut I was in; crying and grieving with the feeling of emptiness, confusion, anger and loss after I packed the rest of my stuff alone in the lanehouse I shared with my ex on Gao’an Lu; my 50th floor bedroom in a CBD highrise in Singapore, feeling so alone and wondering why I was so far away from the people I loved most. All these intense emotions and sensations relived in that moment. I must’ve been literally crying at this point. I had moments of awe and reverie. Moments of fear and death. The feeling of nothingness and not having a body or mind or any recollection of being a conscious human. I just was. Some people experience hallucinations of geometric shapes that can’t be put into words, and some see mother Aya, herself. But for me, as a very emotional creature, I experienced a powerful flood of emotions that to this day, I don’t think I can fully comprehend or put into words.
They say purges come in many forms throughout the ceremony, the most common form, vomit or diarrhoea. Mine came in the form of tears. I alternated between wailing, to soft sobs, to inconsolable crying to the point of hyperventilating. Gabriel said that I cried pretty much the entire time I was down. I was out for almost 4 hours. My eyes were basically swollen shut. But my heart and soul felt so full. And I was glowing. I felt emancipated from the restrictive neurosis and barriers in my mind. I was reminded I was never alone. That God, this father figure I longed for, had been with me the entire time I was in Shanghai and Singapore, most especially during the lowest moments. It was an image that to this day is still burned in my memory. The image of a father-like being just rubbing my back like a dad would next to their child who’s in tears and in pain. A father consoling their daughter holding a space for them, feeling the pain alongside them. BUT I WAS ALWAYS WITH YOU— this was the voice I kept hearing throughout the journey. It was revealed to me that my need for control and answers didn’t serve me. I just remembered screaming out to Gabriel, “I don’t want to forget this. Don’t let me forget this. How could I have I been living my life otherwise?”
I can’t say I got my answers to all my questions or to the ultimate meaning of life, or that my childhood traumas, personal insecurities and neurosis were wiped clean — although at the time, I felt I did. However, looking back, in retrospect, almost a year later, what has remained is a renewed sense of possibility and self. The way I now interact with people, my family, colleagues, is intentional. They’re not tainted with the air of self-importance I often carried, albeit unintentionally. I’ve learned to listen to my intuition more. My sense of FOMO and disease to please have gradually dissipated. I laugh more and try to see the humor in every moment, no matter how stressful it is. I’ve learned to take myself less seriously. I’ve replaced my tool of judgement of situations and others with something more effective, discernment. Undoubtedly, there are days when I fall back into my old patterns of thinking and habits, but I have the ability now to pause, reflect, and practice self-compassion — -a concept, which that ceased to exist in my vocabulary until after my journey with mother Aya.
This wasn’t a one stop shop, fixer upper event that changed my entire life and being. That would be deceitful for me to portray my experience that way. The truth is, I had already invested a heavy amount of time, energy and resources on seeking out help, finding my truth, and identifying the tools I needed to better my life. I’ve had my aura read, hired multiple life coaches, consulted with fortune tellers, sought mentorship from spiritual gurus, read countless of self-help books, and clocked in hours of talk therapy. It’s a continuous journey and takes daily effort to transcend your limiting beliefs and past. It’s naive to think one doesn’t need to do anymore work after a psychedelic experience despite its very real and powerful impact on the psyche and the brain.
I still see my therapist to this day. My neurosis rears its ugly head periodically, still. I sometimes think of anxiety provoking thoughts shaded by unrealistic, inaccurate portrayals of my experiences via absolutism and catastrophizing. The difference now, though, is that my tools are at my disposal and I have confidence in an anchoring memory to look back on.
Every person I’ve met who has had knowledge of ayahuasca and the psychedelic space was white, with the exception of my very woke friend in Singapore who was exposed to it when he was intern in Silicon Valley. It was even more appalling but not entirely surprising to hear that many of the shamans (in California), were predominantly white AND male. This of course extends to the participants, a majority of which are a sea of whiteness. It makes sense why I had never been exposed to this world until my late 20’s because no one in my friend group in Calgary, Shanghai or Singapore ever talked about it. I do acknowledge that it is still a taboo area in many ways and that there has only been a recent revival of the topic with figures like paving the way to normalise the dialogue around the treatment and its uses. There are numerous studies, research, and money now being thrown into psychedelic-assisted treatments and the positive implications it has on the mental health landscape in the West. Most notably, the work being done at ) and . Still, there’s something to be said with the whiteness of the space.
All my life I was taught that if something was bothering me, or if I wanted to fix something about myself, I just had to pray about it. Need to ace that exam? Pray about it. Want a loving boyfriend? Pray about it. Want that dream job? Pray about it. Confused about what to do with your career? Pray about it.
I used to hold a lot of resentment and blame for my parents for taking what I felt was “the easy way out”, using the church, our Christian private schooling, and God to absolve them of their parental duties. Parenting basics such as: the validation of emotions, the security and love children need when feeling strong emotions they can’t understand, the act of reassuring your child that feelings of anger, sadness are all normal; communicating that we, their children, aren’t BAD, but that we sometimes just do bad things. It felt like a constant environment of reprimanding, guilt, and shame.
However, looking back, I know that my parents were just doing their best, using the limited tools they had, parenting to the best of their ability, loving us the best way they knew how. It’s frustrating, as a first generation Filipino-Canadian to see how my upbringing warps my view of reality now. I see it in the way I reluctantly approach salary negotiations at work, how I resort to defensiveness with my partners when I’m frustrated, how every feedback from friends and family is seen as criticism and a question to my self-worth. However, in the words of I Am Not Your Guru icon, Tony, ‘if you’re going to blame people for your sh*** you better blame them for all the good too.” Therefore, I do acknowledge that my assertiveness, ambition and self-motivation is a direct product of mom and dad.
This does not take away from the importance of cultural differences in parenting practices and its repurcussions as a well researched topic among academics. It’s well known that while Asian parents are great providers for physical needs, it often comes at the cost of emotional neglect and lack of physical and verbal affection — — basics human needs required to raise healthy individuals. There are also environmental factors that contribute to the shaping of ones personality and ultimate trajectory of life. The nurture versus nature debate has been going on for years, but there has never been complete consensus among scholars that one trumps the other in determining ones future. At the end of the day, one thing is irrefutable, it’s all very complex. For an insightful , author of “”.
Back to psychelics, I’m not saying we should all “” — although, I have indulged in the idea of doing a psychedelic-assisted psychotherapy session with my entire family including my two siblings. I think it would be a breakthrough for us all. But until this becomes normalised, it will be but a distant dream.
In short, what I’m proposing is that we need to start having more open conversations about these issues. As the eldest, I feel the immense responsibility to keep our family together. My parents are still married but my family is not without its faults and intergenerational problems. There is still so much my siblings and I have yet to unpack. I’m fortunate that my parents are open-minded enough to entertain some of my comments and musings about our upbringing and their questionable parenting methodologies (or lack thereof). I liberally talk about my observations, alongside my younger brother who has had his share of family trauma. It’s a surprise we all turned out relatively normal, we would say to each other.
As a community, I think it’s our responsibility to do the hard work to better understand how our upbringing and our cultural heritage pervades our lives as contributing members of society. Mental health in general, should be addressed at the forefront of any government’s political agenda; it should pervade in a society’s educational institutions, community organisations, and basic social services. It is in the public interest of the government to ensure its citizens are informed and have access to these basic services.
I, personally, do not want to wait until a divorce, a suicide, or a mental breakdown, or tragic death, to seek out help and be curious about why I am the way I am. I refuse to settle with being okay with my destructive behaviours and salvageable flaws. I want to have those hard conversations. I’ll go into the deepest darkest parts of my mind and do ayahuasca all over again if I have to.
I choose to do the hard work because one day I will be a mother, a grandmother, and someone’s life partner. I will be someone’s boss or mentor. I will be a community leader, an advisor, an aunt or even a great aunt! And when that day comes, I want to make sure I’m fully equipped and armed to fulfil all duties attached to those roles the best possible way I know how.
I’m not sure if my unrelenting need for answers (which led me to mother Aya) is informed by my genetic makeup, or my religious conservative Asian upbringing, or the random sequence of events that led me down a rabbit hole of Joe Rogan podcasts which led me to discover Mark Pollen and the etc. But one thing I do know for sure, is that I wholeheartedly believe in the Jungian theory of individuation — — the belief that at the end of the day, we are all just people who are on the quest for wholeness. Mine just happens to include a solo 14 hour greyhound bus trip and a thousand year old psychedelic tea recipe.
