But I wrote a piece for the homework for Hope's dance. I do not know why she wanted us to write something that we always wanted, or did not want, or wanted but found useless after getting it. But I trust her. And I wrote the piece about my family.
It is attached.
Hiding and running away from my family
I’ve always wanted to run far away from my family. I could not remember when the whole thoughts started, but very early I guess, even before I could systematically put it into clear thoughts in words like this.
How do I describe my family? It is hard to use English to describe my Chinese family. It is unfair for them, but now I have the pen. So I am going to have a try anyway. The closest words I can get is “depressive” and “negative”, of course, without the stigma usually attached to these words. I had constant urges to argue with my parents and grandparents, but I felt I was powerless in the family hierarchy transitional to Chinese family. So most time I would keep silent, pretend to be cool, not care, and sink myself into my own imaginary world that I wouldn’t be hurt by those feelings. Sometimes I would wander on the street on my bicycle aimlessly rather than staying at home, since home is not only a boring place, but also alienating. I wanted to hide from them, being invisible so that I could be free to do all the things without their scrutiny. In terms of what I really want to do? I do not know, but I firmly believed it would be a better world then the one I currently attempted to hide from.
However, since it is a small town, my parents tried to know how I am doing in schools. Hiding from them becomes my games. It is burdensome, but I was happy whenever I achieved to hide some insignificant events from them, such as like a trip with my friends, some pen pals I have, or so-called “secret girlfriend”. I even wrote a letter addressed to my parents to address these issues, only to toss it in the end, thinking it ridiculously stupid.
I finally had my chance. My parents wanted me to go to a college near home, but I went to a far away place instead. Freedom! I acclaimed it all the way, all the way then to a country across the Pacific Ocean. I tried hard to discard my past but focus on the future, as if it was a happy past and as if I had a happy family.
All the way, until I hit a bottom. I got into some trouble with anxiety and low self-esteem. I sought professional help. With my therapist, I talked about my family, probably the first time in an unbiased way. No longer running away from this touchy topic, no longer hiding under a constructed past that I put a bunch of happy spice. For reasons unexplainable to my logic, I reached a compromise with my family. They are not perfect, but they are MINE. I do not want to blame them for anything, and I do not want to hide any more.
So I called them. I called them every week, but for the first time, I felt happiness for hearing their voice. For a millisecond, I also felt my eyes were a little wet. They are imperfect human beings, just like me. Besides, they are my parents. They have their own problems, but that’s no reason for me to hide from. I also wrote them a letter, my first hand-written letter after I was hooked with the convenience of emails. I told them my life, even the smallest details, like how much I jog and what dance piece I was rehearsing, along with a bunch of photos recording my happy moments at Stanford.
They must be surprised. My letter probably brought even happiness to their post-retirement life since they would be able to show off a letter from their son who is currently in the US to their neighbors. They told me they also sent me a letter, which is still on the way towards my mailbox.
When I started this writing, I thought I would have a stronger ending. An ending where all issues would have a solution, just like a typical Hollywood movie. But I simply couldn’t. I am still not close to my family, physically or emotionally. I do not believe I will be in the near future. We just have too much difference. But one thing for sure: I am not running away and hiding any more. I want them to know me. They may be proud of some part of me, or disagree with other parts. But if it is the real me, I could see their happiness.
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