Are you ever angry with your parents? Do you want to find a way to deal with it without emotional distress? Lemme know if you do, because I need it too!
I come from a family of Vietnamese refugees whose parents experienced fairly different histories. My mother fled Sài Gòn (current-day Thành Phố Hồ Chí Minh a.k.a. Ho Chi Minh City) as a young adult with her younger sister. She fled to Brisbane into the sanctuary of her Third Sister’s home, and they all had to make a living sewing in their shared home, leaving behind the rest of the family in Việt Nam.
My father, on the other hand, escaped westward to Cambodia where he was captured by Communist. He was then placed in a concentration camp in Thailand and then fled via refugee boat to the shores of Brisbane. From there, he had to learn English with fellow refugees, lived with an adoptive family, and essentially built his life from the ground up.
With these two different family histories, it’s a miracle that these two actually married and had two kids. And despite all the turmoil, the mistakes, and the verbal abuse, these two children are still alive today, with some semblance of a will to live their lives in happiness. God knows that my younger sister and I are blessed with the ability to hold on to life, even though I’ve personally let myself go into horrible bouts of depression multiple times; that even despite the thousands of times I’ve wanted to end my life, silence my father permanently, or whatever atrocious criminal thought I could conjure up… I could still find SOMETHING to let me forget that hatred.
Occasionally, I have (and still do) let my anger get the better of me. Conflicts that could’ve been avoided were summoned into existence because at some point, in my deteriorated state of mind, I thought “I might as well do something stupid just so I can either die, or get put into gaol.”
I would (and still do) think that if I can just let myself be…purely me, then that would show people who I am… what I wanted… and why I so intensely desired it. If I showed people my horrible, uncontrolled… heck, demonic side of me, then only the true friends would exist. But then I doubt if they were really friends or just really persistent people who wanted to take control of my unstable mentality.
I guess that’s why I sought video games as a kid… I used them as an escape from my negative mindset. But then my parents demonized gaming… the one thing I cherished as a companion, and through the help of my Sixth and Seventh Grade teacher (she taught me for two years), I was able to appreciate friendship, as opposed to despise it.
And through the reinvigoration of my anime-watching habits, I found the concept of romantic love as the more realistic step in escaping my disappointment. After failing to see that someone had a crush on me, and then numerous attempts at dating someone, I found my ex in Eleventh Grade. She gave me a chance… and I blew it. My childhood of insecurities only stressed her out, compounded by what my parents’ perception of her, and she ultimately had enough. At the start, I was strong. I thought I could let her go easily if she chose to be free. By the end of it, I was a wreck. I found no value in life since my loyalty to her meant nothing in her mind, and she was honestly afraid of how desperately I hung on to her love. After an intervention with the high school guidance counselor, I had to ultimately accept my fate.
You know, my thoughts still sometimes linger on her memory. I think of what I could’ve done better. I reflect upon whether I’ve changed enough to consider myself worthy of a relationship. I think about whether she’s doing much better than I am… and pray that she’s not worse off. I can’t talk to her, obviously. It’s still too painful to bring up the past, and perhaps it will always be that way.
Even now, with my new romantic interest, I wonder whether I am even worthy to keep a romantic relationship going. Trying to reduce the apparent distance between us is as tough as always, let alone the fact that it’s a long-distance relationship, and that I’ve never actually held her in my arms before. This is a new challenge in of itself, and I wonder if I’m just gonna end up causing another heart to ache.
I am a person who feeds off fear… my own, that is. I cripple myself easily, hoping to bring myself down to earth. Then I begin to stab and hack at my wings of hope and promise, making them bleed and rot away as my soul escapes the corpse that is my sanity and happiness. Finally, I finish off my soul and my aspirations with torture – a mental breakdown – and a fiery explosion of self-hatred and verbal abuse…directed at yours truly.
Don’t you just adore my use of vocabulary to viscerally show you the intensity and nature of the pain I put myself through? Doesn’t it just wrench your heart and tear you at the seams? And what about the use of bolded and italicised text to just drive the point home, and to manipulate the way you read?
Hahahahahaha! I’m having a crack at you… I’m messing with your mind. But seriously, don’t you love it how just those simple textual features can influence the way you read? Kinda amazing when you think about it. Who would’ve thought that all these little things actually affect the way you read?
But anyway… thank you, dear reader, for going on another journey with me. If you liked this post, please hit the Like button. If you wanna get all the latest post from my blog, hit the Follow button. If you wanna contact me about anything, head to Contact Me and fill out the short form.
Thanks again, and remember… don’t forget to be awesome! (DFTBA!)