* Continuation of To: The one who wears squares for life*
~Only a year and six months after my letter~
Dear Mr. Insecure who thinks he looks like a potato but doesn’t, really,
How... One year and six months, that’s how long I’ve known you. Every place on campus held a moment and every single one was nailed into my mind: the first time I met you, the infamous moldy couch, that special fire drill that wasn’t really a drill, and that one spot right in front of the library where you always went to when you skipped classes. Good thing I’m a freshman now; good thing you’re in none of my classes.
A few months ago, to be specific, six I had just asked you out and you answered with a yes. I had no wishes and no strength; I had nothing going for me but you. Afterwards, I had no wishes and no strength with nothing going for me but me. To be clear on this, you took five seconds to say goodbye and planned to skedaddle, I never accepted that. To the ends of the world, I imagined a sincere-heart-taped-to-the-front-of-his-head kind of boy but even so, I would have still ended up in the hospital and you would have still walked away. The world was wider than just us, and I’ve accepted that.
Then summer came around, and I went home--my real one all the way across the seas, Taiwan. It was just after being hospitalized for two months, and I didn’t understand why I couldn’t walk around proudly with the scars on my wrists showing. I had no clue why I couldn’t just disappear and never come back. Until I went back to my country for the month, nobody but God would have known how indescribable it felt, seven years ago was the last time I ever stepped into that mosquito-infested land, and then-now, I almost cried. It was like I was at war for so many years I couldn’t grasp the idea of home. As if all I’ve seen were the red roses in front of me, forgetting there was an ace of diamonds or a black joker who painted them red. Forgetting there was a queen demanding results, I forgot the layer beneath the red. There was a mind-boggling feeling as I passed by roads with wild dogs barking at the sides, a rusty playground for the eldery, and my old elementary school--I was the one jumping down a rabbit hole. They, this land, these people, were my history. I never thought they could be with me forever; they were just the old picture books you have on a Christmas night, reading aloud all their past adventures and memories.
America was a figurehead in my life, constantly seen as the land of opportunities, the land of freedom and democracy. And, as an immigrant there, the feeling of amazement never left me. The giddiness of being able to see the stars in the sky reflects the millions of other surprises. It drew me in and I never left--enthralled as if I were back in first grade seeing my first vacuum cleaner after using a broomstick for the first half of my life--until now, haven found the dull qualities to a diamond. Amazement stretched to the horizon and back but amazement doesn’t bring equality like how justice never brings peace. Amazement brings an imbalance like how admiration determines someone’s status. Thing is, once I’ve lived there for seven years, I can’t just pop back home and expect to feel as if I were back in my first-grade self. I was the little Native American who learned the stranger’s tongue, never able to feel truly connected to this world again, a stranger in my own house. I was Chinese, while, to the rest of the world I was American. I spoke English, but not nearly as well as American-raised children. I spoke mandarin, but not as well as I could have seven years ago. I lived in a society, but my mind always lived in the clouds with a cotton-filled head and dreams of crossing the boundaries separating the world and space. I had mediocre grades that translated to failing grades in my language. I spoke with words when my mind spoke in pictures. The world moves in real-time while I’m stuck in my own. I can say I hate it a hundred times and I can wish a few more million, but it wouldn’t change anything, I’ve known that since sixth grade. I was that introverted introvert wishing she was not. All these wishes gave me nothing, they were just words, just like how this story means nothing to you--this is just an emotional, teenage girl ranting as opposed to a heartfelt confession from a courageous, teenage boy(paraphrasing a documentary just cuz I can). I knew better than anyone, yet I held onto an illusion of happiness and it shattered, shocker. Dramatic, mellow-drama as my family would have put it. Next in the line is always blaming, but who else but me can I blame for my own faults? Everybody knows the answer to this one and it was me who wanted more than what I already had. I wanted somebody by my side, I wanted to feel cared for, I desperately needed it and getting strapped to a gurney headed to the hospital was the result.
I never understood why you couldn’t tell me you wanted to cry, why didn't you just tell me you needed someone to listen cuz I would have, really. Why couldn’t you understand that I knew your problems were as big as mine and maybe even bigger, and no shit, I remembered you had problems if you were wondering--Michael. Was it too hard, or was it because you were afraid my problems were bigger and you undermined your own struggles? Every few words that came out of my mouth held promises and I kept them, you never kept yours.
What does that say for the you who held many of my firsts? When I see someone dancing with you, when so clearly you were lying, please tell me how I should end this. It really would have been easier if you were cheating. I would know how to move; I would understand how to breathe. You did nothing wrong in fact, you made a choice and I couldn’t make mine. Indecisive, naïve, and not to mention stupid. And every single time--a whiff of detergent, a glimpse of plaid-whatever-it’s-called shirts, a little snippet of the song “Fire by Fire” by Sam Smith--passes by, I don’t want to admit that you were wrong, flawed, imperfect. This isn’t wrong, right? Tell me this is normal. Tell me this is normal. The trees never answer back. Who do I have to talk to? Voices in my brain? To admit these emotions to someone else--these bonds I tied together--displays weakness. It makes me want to stick a middle finger up our culture for silencing us, and impacting our little, little, undeveloped minds with standards. For keeping us in check, I want to stab the crap out of Mr. Society and Mr. Depression but I don’t want that on my transcript. I still need to go to college, thank you very much, so I can’t be a disgrace on me, my family, or my cow.
..Wanting didn’t get me what I needed, instead, I got what I needed without wanting it. I needed family; I needed home; I needed to be myself. Maybe I didn’t realize the glass half full in this situation, but now I understand what I couldn’t, it took losing you to find me.
It just started out that way.
This is crazy for me to think about right now, but this is only the tip of the iceberg--this gap--this mini existential crisis I’m having is far from over. I used to be scared of planning ahead, and it is only natural because I’m far from home— to be exact fifteen hours.
With sincerity,
The one who dreamt of becoming a hermit
Comments (0)
See all