Post 9: History

Throughout my life, I can only recall two instances of my father crying.

Today was one of them.

His oldest brother sent him a letter that his father, my grandfather, had left when he died, which was about ten years ago. Now some people know that my father came from a poor farming family in China. Only today did I learn the extent of poverty they endured.

I've decided not to post the letter here, partially because it's written in chinese in my grandfather's shaky handwriting, but mostly because it's too intimate and personal to display to the world. But I will give a slight translation/summary. My father read it out to me since the handwriting was shaky and messy, but he couldn't continue and therefore this isn't complete.

(in my grandfather's words)

My father was incredibly strong. He could lift 250 kg. What needed two men to be lifted, he could lift by himself with just his back. But strength is just strength and no matter how strong a person is, it doesn't guarantee enough food or enough clothes or even a long life. All he wanted was to save the three of us, him, my mother, and myself. But my father died when I was 3 years old and my mother, 26 years old. Because she refused to be married off again, we were left with only our small one room house and a small box of a garden in the front. She rented out some rice fields and worked in them. (Back then, women didn't work in the fields, my great-grandmother was the only one.)Too often my mother would have to take the slop meant for pigs and try to make it edible for us...

I can't translate any further because at this point my dad couldn't continue to read. He let out small coughs as he tried to control himself. I turned away.

My grandfather went to school for six years before dropping out to find work when he was 12. But I can't capture the emotion and the words he wrote even with his limited education through my inadequate translations.

At this point I felt choked up.

When my dad was about nine he saw his grandmother washing clothes and asked why she wasn't using soap, she told him that soap was too expensive and she couldn't afford it. My dad had then told her that when he grew up he could earn money to give her soap.

She died when he was twelve.

And I cried.

I cried or my grandfather and my great-grandmother. For their pains, their struggles. For my father because I knew how much he wanted to help his grandmother, his father, his grandfather. How must he hated not being able to do anything even with his million dollar house and his $200,000 salary. Because even though my father rose from poverty, he was unable to fulfill his childhood promises. The promises that mean the most.

Some find it weird that I'm a Republican even though I'm surrounded by Democrats. You'd think after hearing the situation my family's history has been through I'd be more lenient and helpful toward the lower-class.

But I see it differently. I see my father rising through obstacles in a communist country. I see opportunity and reward.

Yes, I'm a republican. No, I'm not closed-minded, nor do I hate poor people.

My grandfather's story doesn't motivate me to plead the government to help more with the fight against poverty and hunger.

It motivates me to help more with the fight. It motivates me to work harder in the charity organizations I'm in. It motivates me to study harder to not let my ancestor's sacrifices go to waste.

-

This is my history.

Do I make better sense now?

Post 8: SAT

I'm really afraid of doing badly on the SAT's. I feel like, even though I've studied so long and hard, I haven't been entirely honest/diligent. and that's going to come back and bite me in the ass. It doesn't help that I'm going through issues at school and I don't need SAT's constantly hanging over my head.

College
College
College

Just trying to drill it into my head. Focus. Now.

US history essay due Wednesday.
Art Project due Wednesday.
Physics Lab due Wednesday.
Math Meet Thursday.
English Outline and Thesis Thursday.
English Rough Draft Friday.
SAT on Saturday.

I know deep down I'm not going to do well on the SAT's. I've taken too many shortcuts. I haven't really focused on improving like I should have. I really should have.

But it's too late now. I mean, how much can I do in the last few days before the exam. I can only hope I'll do marginally well.


Breakdowns really help release stress. Just a minute or so is all I need. Just let it out. Then I can re-focus on my agenda.


Please. Please, don't let me disappoint my parents. Don't let me disappoint myself.

Post 7: Disappointment

I've grown up with this.

By the time I was five, I was convinced that somehow, if I were to get excited about something, it wouldn't happen. Only if I pretended not to care, would something maybe actually happen. Trips to disneyland, family vacations, anything really.

My parents are very good at promising things.

Not so good at keeping those promises.

I drove myself crazy trying to force myself to think "oh it probably won't happen anyways..." so I wouldn't be so crushed when it actually didn't. And this was the mindset of a five year old.

And they wondered why I never seemed to care about anything.

Post 6: Gold digging Bitch.

Dear Elise,

Now that you're probably some big CEO of your mom's company I wonder if you still remember this.

Do you still remember that little whore who thought she could get ahead by being such damn good friends with your dad?
Do you remember that little weasel who made your mom's company do some illegal filing and records?
Do you remember how much you wanted to fucking punch her face in and throw her on the damn street, leaving her to fend for her own damn self?
Do you remember how you couldn't stop shaking when you put yourself in your mom's place?
Do you remember how much you wished you were old enough to take over now?

Do you remember? I hope not because this feeling is disgusting. Like a relentless gnawing on my gut and consience. But then again, I hope so because I hope this motivates me to work harder to grow up faster and do my mom a favor.

It only makes my goals that much more important. I'll guarantee you this, I'm going to take over the company.

And I'm going to make that little bitch wish she never stepped foot in our company and if she doesn't get her hands out of our financial bank I'll fucking cut. them. off.

Post 5: Shut Up

My God. Just Shut Up.

You have different priorities. You have a different way of living. You feel much more accomplished than I do. You think I'm working too hard. You think I have my priorities wrong.

So shut up and leave me alone.

Did I ask for some idealistic Disney channel-worthy morals?

"As long as you do what you want, you'll never really have to work a day in your life"

Bullshit.

I believe I've already covered this, but I'm tired of being told the same thing. I don't really care how you live your life. When I see you in a couple of years, I'll be sure to ignore your fucking existence. After all, according to you all who obviously really truly care about me and aren't just trying to make yourself feel better about yourself, I won't really feel satisfied with my boring studious life.

Because y'know, you all know me so fucking well.

It's probably just cause I'm insane. Since insane people always seem to think they're right and society is wrong, which is what I'm thinking right now.

Or maybe society's fucking insane and I'm the only sane one around.

I hope I find the cure for cancer. So I can keep it away from the rest of the insane people. They really need to stop reproducing.

Post 4: Don't even bother.

In a way, I want people to read this and in a way, I don't.

I'm not really sure, I essentially have 2 blogs I'm writing in and I don't think there's any difference between the two, only one has more posts and the other has less.

oh poo.

where that came from, I really don't know. in a way I make sense and in a way.. oh let's just face it. I don't make sense.

This really isn't making me feel any better. I was hoping typing on this would make me feel just a bit better. But it doesn't. neither does drawing. Contrary to popular belief, art or writing isn't my "escape" or any other cheesy way to put it.

I'm not some depressed teenager constantly contemplating the meaning of life while emitting gloom rays to everyone in a 20 foot radius.

what really set off writing in this thing? My mom's criticism.

"You don't take care of yourself."

Maybe because I'm not supposed to. YOU are.

Maybe because I'm too busy just trying to SURVIVE in all this chaos. I'm too busy taking care of YOU. Your lifestyle's a million times worse than me. You can't criticize me when you're no better. You can't.

Don't compare your life to me. Don't compare ANYTHING to me. Don't try and use other people's experiences to make up for the fact you didn't raise me right. the fact that you never have time for me and I've done so many favors for you, you never even bother saying thank you anymore. It doesn't make up for the fact that the reason I don't act like a teen is because I wish I wasn't one. Because if I were a teen I would make life so hard for you, you can't even imagine.

I already feel like I'm that black sheep with everyone. In your circle of "friends" they all think I'm that one child that doesn't follow the usual pressured asian route. I'm not multi-talented, I'm not popular or outgoing, I'm not rebellious. But I am the one that doesn't take care of herself. that does everything a bit differently. That has much different priorities.

If I make one mistake, everyone blames my parents. Because even they can see that I don't get much attention.

Everyone has their own problems. What gives me the right to whine and mope? Nothing. Except this computer and this blog. Because here I have the right to.

But what use is this right if no one can here me. That's why I was so upset when my mother didn't rise to the challenge and respond. I wanted to argue with her. I wanted her to finally listen.

Post 3: Anti-Social

Great. Just great.

My mom thinks I'm anti-social.

Apparently one of my friend told her mom about my dyslexia paper for english and at the thanksgiving party, her mom told my mom.

And so now my mom thinks I have issues. and what's worse was that my mom was told not to talk to me about it.

I hate that. I really hate that. Because my mom already doesn't know me well enough. She's already treating my like I'm about explode. Like she needs to prepare for me to suddenly become whiny and materialistic.

She's been waiting for that since I started High School. I wrote all about it on my old xanga.

and so pretty much all the adults have been judging me without even talking to me. Fantastic.

So anyways, apparently since I wrote my thesis paper on how people with learning disabilities shouldn't recieve extra privileges, that makes me too critical of my peers. I was surprised when my mom brought my paper up because I remember mentioning it only briefly and she doesn't remember issues I talk about constantly.

Kind of a let down when I realized it was my friend's mom who told her and not because she remembered.

And what's worse is that she didn't even really know what my paper was about. She just assumed I was using it to get back at some girl I didn't like. She never read the facts, she never saw the research. Because she never bothered to.

Even my english teacher who had me meet her after school because she thought I was being too insensitive thought that I had valid points and was reassured.

But I think what's worried me the most is that for a second when she asked me whether I had issues with friends, I thought that she might had actually noticed something wrong. But that was probably right before extreme denial kicked in.

I don't think I have any issues. But most people who don't usually think they're fine. So I guess that makes us all insane.

But anyways, it was kinda scary because what if I really do have some sorta issue? Obviously my mom doesn't deem it that unlikely. She told me she's been worrying about me since I was little when all the other little kids were really aggressive and possessive and materialistic when I was just really aloof and pretty much didn't care about anything at all.

and to quote her exact words today "You aren't like other kids, are you?"

No mom, thanks for finally noticing.

I'm not really sure. One side of me really wants to be normal and not have any disorder because honestly, that's kinda...embarassing. I know I've never been comfortable around people I don't know. And I know I have sort of a superiority complex where I think practically all teens are hormone-driven, immature, stupid, all-gunna-end-up-as-hobo brats. And well...I know I have very different priorities and a very different lifestyle but that doesn't necessarily mean I have a specific problem does it?

But then the other side doesn't want to admit I don't have an issue, because honestly, doesn't everyone want to be different? To stand out? To have something "special" about them?

Strange isn't it? Everyone wants to be the same, but they want to be different too.

And then there's that one part of me that doesn't want to admit that I have different habits than others just to be different.

This is getting really complicated, because I feel like I'd be happier if I changed my lifestyle and personality and stuff, but then I wouldn't...because it's just what I'm most comfortable with, even if it isn't quite normal..

Oh god, I really do sound insane.