This weekend, I asked my boyfriend if I could borrow some money to pay my income taxes.
I can feel all the spirits of my ancestors, rising from their respective graves somewhere in China and floating across the Pacific Ocean, crossing the country at light speed to fly into my living room here in Miami, only to look at me disappointingly, and then fade away.

This is the first year in six or seven years where I owe a good chunk of money to the IRS, and it’s all due to my condo in the Bay Area making a modest profit from renters. For those who don’t know the backstory: I bought a condo in 2005, right next to a strip mall right off the exit of I-880. Dad was super into the real estate as investment thing, buying houses to rent out, selling houses the family had spent weekends fixing up for a minimal property. He eventually offered to pay half the downpayment.
“WALUE,” he said, trying to say the word “value.” So I agreed.
Let’s pause here: Asian parents do this because their children are an …
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