it’s just the way i am

LINK: it’s just the way i am

Currently listening to: The Way I Am – Eminem

And since birth I’ve been cursed with this curse to just curse
And just blurt this berserk and bizarre shit that works
And it sells and it helps in itself to relieve
All this tension dispensing these sentences
Getting this stress that’s been eating me recently off of this chest
And I rest again peacefully (peacefully)

Something I’ve admired about you, but which has also seemed curious, is how guarded you report yourself as being IRL, while on this blog you seem pretty darn candid. That’s a rare combination…

Also, I’ll say for the record that I think your mom’s dating advice has caused a lot of trouble for both women and men, and not just in Korea.

– Joe

Normally, I am succinct but I’m gonna have to give some context as to why I am the way I am… so bear with me.

Growing up my mom had a lot of rules for me.

Don’t do this.
Don’t do that.

My parents had a set of expectations for me before I was even born. They were going to mold me into their liking, into a spectacle they could brag about to family and friends. HAHA, little did they know that I am far from what they envisioned. I’m at the bottom of the barrel when it comes to my extended family. They are far more successful than I could ever hope to be. I mean how do I compete with cousins who went to MIT to study chemical engineering and because she got bored, she decided to go to med school at UCLA and is now the chief of her department? And she married an aerospace engineer, a literal rocket scientist. All of my first cousins attended uni and are either lawyers, doctors, in business with MBAs from Ivy League schools, or engineers.

My whole childhood was full of contradictions and confusion.
Be humble but it’s okay to be greedy and strive for more.
Be demure but mysterious.
Don’t act like a know it all but you must know it all.
Be quiet but let your actions speak loudly.

For a brief moment, my preschool teachers (Sisters, yes Catholic) deemed me as having an intellectual disability aka mental retardation because I didn’t know how to say “triangle”. This was because I didn’t have command of the English language like my peers. I don’t know how I could when all we spoke at home was Korean? Well, when my parents learned about this, my parents hired an English tutor for me. He came to the house three times a week and forced me to read and write for two hours, six hours a week, for a year, till I turned four years old and moved on to kindergarten.

I remember laughing a lot as a child, till my mom told me I was laughing too loud and that boys don’t like girls who are boisterous… so I learned to tone it down. Shortly after, I was being bullied at school and in the neighborhood by the other children because my family and I weren’t white. I thought that if I stayed quiet long enough, they’d forget I even existed and leave me alone or harass someone else. Every night, I prayed to God that they would stop picking on me but God didn’t answer my prayers. They continued to spit on my face, hit my head and body, purposely trip me, push me from behind, yell racial slurs to my face, and pull my hair. Getting out of bed and going to school every day from preschool through grade school was a struggle. I didn’t realize it then because I was so young and unable describe how I was feeling but I was severely depressed. With all that being said, I could feel myself diminishing and becoming a shadow of my former self.

I never really got to be a kiddo. My daily schedule consisted of: school, pages and pages of math homework that my dad created for me (#fuckkumon #daughterofamechanicalengineer #onceyougoasianyoucansolvetheequation), piano lessons, orchestra—violin, and caretaking for my younger brother while my parents were either working or sleeping. On the weekends, I was enrolled in sports: iceskating, swimming, and softball. I was expected to excel in everything like a good little robot—academics, sports, and arts. Failure wasn’t an option. They never let me forget how much they sacrificed coming to America so “we” could have a better life.

My parents taught me how to be discreet. Sitting with adults was not only an honor but it was interesting to me. This is where I learned about “adult things”. The unspoken rule was that I could listen to them (they spoke in Korean) but I wasn’t allowed to talk nor was I allowed to repeat anything that was said. They were always spilling tea, left and right, even at church… despite the Bible strongly condemning gossip. Then there were times when I watched my parents’ friend show up at our house, time and time again, seeking shelter after her husband assaulted her. I wanted to reach out to her and hug her, but I was told that I needed to sit quietly in the corner. I sat there in horror as I observed everything that transpired, all while keeping a watchful eye on this “auntie”.

As a kid, I made the mistake of complaining about my mom to my cousin. Well… my cousin went and disclosed what I told her to her mom, who then turned around and told my mom, and I got an earful and a beating for it. Not only for what I said but also because I embarrassed her and shamed the family. We were supposed to keep everything contained, not having it oozing out everywhere. Sorta like what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas… but instead it was what happens at home, stays at home. After that incident, I realized that I couldn’t trust anyone anymore. I no longer shared things about my family with our extended family or friends because it always finds a way back… unfortunately.

I got my menses at 10 years old. Between the rules and the hormones influencing my brain chemistry, I started becoming anxious, stressed, and confused about what was happening to my body. My mom never taught me anything about having periods and I was ill-equipped to handle it. I ended up stealing her pads because I didn’t know how to ask for help. I only knew I had my period because I’d overheard the older girls talking about their monthly cycles. It wasn’t until my mom noticed her pads going missing that I had to fess up to her and explain why I was taking them. Even afterward, I had no idea what menstrual cramps were. I just knew that my insides felt like they were going to burst, similar to the movie Alien, except it wasn’t my chest but rather my lower abdomen and pelvic region where I was having excruciating pain. To make matters worse, I had heavy periods and because I didn’t know about tampons or pads with wings, I placed four pads to my underwear to prevent leakage (two side by side, and one sideways on the top and bottom). I’d go to the bathroom nearly every hour to ensure that I wasn’t going to have an “accident”.

In 7th grade, something was bubbling up inside of me. I was acting out alright. During this time, I was busily tormenting poor Mr. Johnson and creating havoc in English writing class. It was so bad that Mr. Porter wrote on my report card that I was “too social.” I was too busy running my mouth, like I had oral diarrhea. I was talking nonsense, it had nothing to do with my personal life but more about the writing assignments that we were given. My immigrant parents didn’t know what “too social” meant, so they asked, and I told them the truth—that I talked too much during class. My parents were absolutely furious. They told me that I needed to shut up, sit down, and listen. They yelled at me in Korean for hours, that I had no business talking since I wasn’t the teacher, that nobody liked a blabber mouth, and that if I got another comment like that on my report card, I’d be in bigger trouble next time. That night, I got my ass handed to me with a bamboo stick. It was pretty bad, to the point where it broke into pieces.

From then on, I was conditioned to hide my thoughts, edit my emotions, filter whatever came out of my mouth. It’s probably why dissociating comes so naturally to me now. I can compartmentalize and hold everything in but eventually, I will need some sort of release. Blogging became that for me, hence my unhinged blogging was the byproduct. It’s easier for me to share my thoughts with complete strangers who aren’t going to judge me for it. And somewhere along the way, I found other bloggers doing the same thing—people with no one to tell their deepest thoughts or secrets to, so they wrote their hearts out into the void… the internet where people could be anonymous or not.

My parents also refused to sign the school form so that I could take sex ed class. They declined to sign the other form, where I could call my parents to come pick me up in the event I was under the influence. I was the only student whose parents refused to have them signed. They were convinced that it would somehow promote having sex and using drugs or alcohol. They sincerely expected me to stay a virgin until marriage. LOLOL! That was an utter fail.

I was 14 years old when I first got praised for being skinny. My grandmother would come visit from the motherland and tell me how long my legs looked because I was rail thin. After I hit puberty, my appearances were further scrutinized while I was in Korea. I remember hitting 44 kilos (97 pounds) at 5’6″, and family members were comparing my weight to my aunt’s. She wasn’t overweight by any means, she was 51 kilos (112 pounds) and we were about the same height. Every day, they’d have us both step on the scale to compare. I don’t know if it messed me up more or her, but that’s where my warped relationship with food and my body started—withholding food or eating small quantities of foods, binging on potatoes and tofu, body dysmorphia, and covering myself with multiple layers of clothes.

By 15 years old, I was sneaking my boyfriend into the house late at night, losing my virginity in my bed, under their roof while they had no idea what I was doing. I was also driving their car before I even had a permit, picking up friends and going to house parties while they were on holiday in Canada.

When Chris was sent back to Houston by his dad, my friends and his friends felt sorry for me. They fucking pitied me so much. I hated it. They habitually asked me how I felt, if he was going to return, if I heard from him, when I was going to see him again. I didn’t have any answers for their questions. This only made me feel worse about myself and all I really wanted was for the psychache and heartache to stop.

I didn’t verbally share my dreams or aspirations with anyone, especially with the kids at church. They used to brag with conviction about becoming doctors and lawyers, but none of then ended up as one. Watching that just confirmed for me that I shouldn’t say anything until it’s already been said and done, otherwise you are viewed as a braggart or a fool. So I kept my hopes and desires to myself… in case I failed.

When I tried to tell my parents that high school and college were difficult, they scoffed. Why would it be hard? I spoke English fluently. What possible stress could I have since they provided everything for me, according to my parents. That was the end of the conversation and I had to devise my own coping mechanism because the only lesson that was taught from this was to stop complaining. I had to figure it out and just do it.
No pain
No gain.

My parents didn’t even know when my graduation was until my professors convinced me to tell them. I wasn’t planning on walking either since I wasn’t graduating with summa cum laude. Maybe, I could have done better academically if I hadn’t spent so many weekends fucking around in Chicago, going buck wild… but I justified it telling myself that I needed a break and that I ought to treat myself instead. And to be honest, I am glad that I did. These days, nobody cares if someone graduates with honors or not. As my friends say, C’s get degrees.

Fast forward to now, my colleagues can tell you what I like to eat, where I vacation, what tunes I have on my playlist… but what they can’t tell you is what I’m thinking or feeling inside. They view me as someone who is level-headed, a patient advocate, able to anticipate peoples needs, generous, mindful, quick but thorough, and obsessed with K-pop. Other than that, they don’t really know much more than that about me and that’s by design. It, for the most part, prevents coworkers from judging me, using it against me, or talking shit about me. I am more than happy to listen to the tea, like when I was a child and file it into my short or long-term memory and offer support or advice if requested.

Outside of work and in my personal life, I still have trouble conveying my needs and wants. This undoubtedly is one of many reasons as to why most of my relationships fail, both romantic and friendships. I’m working on it though. I’m certain the root of it all has to do with how I was raised, the whole “children should be seen and not heard” along with the life events that I’ve experienced growing up—which has wired my nervous system and created how I view the world, handle conflict, and establish relationships.