Here are the most intense relationships I have encountered while growing from teenager to adult.
CONFIDENCE
1 “MODEL MUGGING” — SOCIAL INTERVENTION
My high school classmates and I were all required to take a self-defense and remediation course in order to graduate.
It was my turn to enter the simulation to stop an offender from spiking drinks or assaulting someone.
“Imagine if you were in her position…” I began, as dumbly as possible.
I failed the exercise, as my English was too proper. Too high and mighty.
As “liberated” as my therapist has made me: 6 years later, I should have retorted to the instructor…
“Well, maybe the victim should take it like a little bitch.”
A more convincing argument, no?
I kid. What I’m trying to say is that I lacked confidence at that point of time. And confidence is birthed from understanding, not a pride of self. You don’t have to be cool to handle social situations with grace. It’s like code switching into modes of language that are better suited to convince people who are fucked up. That takes a sensitivity that many wallflowers like me are pretty good at.
Besides, lucky for me, I’m not as afraid to confront these offenders anymore.
PATIENCE
2 HE WANTS SEX, I WANT TO BE HIS OLDER SISTER:
Or so my initial impression was of him. Unflinching.
I “sent” my first letter to his father by sliding the stationery under the window of the nurse’s desk. I made him aware that I would protect his son from the disgusting, corrupt, malevolent people I had met. And that even if I did not succeed, I sure as hell would try.
And as in Japanese culture, the most deep seated feeling are never uttered; always repressed; a sin to be expressed.
I spent 3 years wanting his love, his affirmation. It never came.
So I play the long game. Making sure he is okay when I see him. A patient kind of love means that my efforts are volunteer work.
Patience occurs when you don’t get what you want. Even if the genie in the bottle gives you what you want instantaneously, that still could be equally good or foreboding.
My process? I rake in the results and comb through the output of what I experience to draw inferences and interpersonal conclusions.
Then, when I see an opportunity to befriend, to network… I strike with abandon. Love of any kind is a battlefield.
COURAGE
3 LOVE IS A CHAINED YOKE. IF YOU’RE THE RECIPIENT, GET FLOGGED
I have no doubt that my dad, affectionally referred to as baba, loves me the most in this world. But sometimes I fail, and sometimes he pisses me off, e.g. licking his lips or scrubbing his fingers on the steering wheel.
I live under the assumption that everyone has it harder, thus more painful, than me. Thus I cannot ever complain.
Yet — not everyone has to leave in the middle of lecture freshman year to cook for said father. Not everyone has to handle lesbians, anxiety, and lesbian anxiety.
— NO RUBIK’S CUBES —
— LADIES CANNOT PLAY THE BACK COURT —
— I AM ONLY HERE BECAUSE OF YOU —
These are things baba has said. Turns out that the serenity prayer is much more action than acceptance in my case. When I speak with painful honesty, he is more likely to pull the reins he has on my life. By this I mean that I own very little: the car, the house, the gas, the groceries. He can threaten me and pull away any of these privileges at any time to get what he wants.
To this day, I live in fear of his tantrums and protective nature. I also feel a deep obligation to prioritize him, over my own interests and affections, even.
Finally, last week I admitted to him: “I don’t live to serve you.”
10 years of dogma, where I was 100% certain that Dad’s final judgment would send him to heaven in the form of a $10.99 Chinese buffet.
Yesterday, for the first time in my waking life, he asked my mom to a restaurant. Sure, my parents aren’t in love anymore, but I was thrilled. Baba initiating a more social life by playing pickleball, and going out… Kai’s parents guided my dad, without pushing, towards a less disciplined state. However, keep in mind that kindness cannot exist without wealth.*
I am proud not for that possibly superficial act of generosity, but rather his willingness to try a different style of living in his older age. He works too hard and expects us to adapt to him (God forbid the other way around).
When I act out of love instead of fear, I will be beautiful. When I develop the faith that my dad can take care of himself without getting sad, I will not only be free, but I will be a better daughter. I am only just beginning to slough off my pity and remodel my character framework with courage at the helm.
* A few of my great relatives have grand character arcs. For one, his parents were so poor that if they did not give him away, he would starve. Survival must find a way. Another woman in the family was so spoiled and rich that she could not even read the time as a grown adult. After that, my great grandpa later sought out wives that specifically were from impoverished areas, under the impression that poverty builds character.
DISCIPLINE
4 A MOTHER’S LOVE HAS TO BE OPTIMISTIC
My boyfriend’s mother has had four children, the second of which was special needs.
As much as I shouldn’t give myself a label, or a box to fill with excuses —
I cannot allow myself to cast a child of my genes into the dirt, in the way my trajectory has ended up now.
I have to believe in the pain of others, and to reduce suffering when possible. (While adversity can stimulate growth, facing pain you could avoid is not smart either.)
She, Y, believes in rebirth: the innocuous beauty of youth. She believes in the odds, unbarred, tablet swept clean. I do not.
When I say discipline, I am not referring to the necessary process of daily life: hygiene, food, exercise, etc.
Though I am not good at that either, discipline in its purest form is about the simplification of how to go about moving through the world.
Just like how stripping a piano arrangement to a few tasteful chords can allow one’s voice to bloom and receive the spotlight. In this metaphor, the piano is the surface dressings, i.e. how you present yourself; the singing is your authenticity.
As you develop into your full form, here’s a few seeds I’d like to plant. Nurtured carefully and deliberately, they will yield a lifetime of dividends.
Respect all.
Artistry is a daily practice, not a talent.
Frugality should not come at the expense of common sense.
True love is coincidence of the rational and the emotional mind. Any other nascent feelings or reasonings should be discarded.
COMPASSION
5 IF I RESPECT YOU, TOUGH LOVE ONLY
For a few morbid years, I had a deep seated fear that I was a pedophile. Halloween came and went, and I didn’t see a single child’s face. I just sat at the piano in the living room, and furiously played the arpeggios of Glassworks over and over. One of my early dance mates was trolling me on social media, so I responded with a frosty call and forwarded her my angry piano playing, a commonality; we had practiced routines to all of Philip Glass for years, as young kids.
She went to Princeton, she’s successful now… but I held her accountable when we were in the same dance troupe. A white girl our age would get all of the attention from the older girls and my jealous friend bullied her for it. Was it justified? Yes. Was it integrity? No. And I pointed that out to there.
“I am angry at you because you’re Asian like me and I expect more of you.”
Usually compassion can be interpreted to giving someone a second chance. The opposite kind of compassion is better.
xx ABBY