#myupbringing

Be the perfect Asian daughter.

Raising a child is HARD.

...

My pant is damp. My neck hurts from bowing down for 30 minutes because I was not having the courage to look into my mother’s eyes. My jaw and eyebrows muscles are strained because I was trying to restrain those burning tears. But it was helpless. It was the same high-pitched voice, which broke a few times into a rather fragile one, as she was crying as well. It was pretty much the same talk, pretty much of the same thing, especially lately. 

My grandfather was born as the 9th child of the family. Not being of much interaction with him, tho living in the same roof him for years throughout my childhood and now, 200meters away, I shall assume he was not getting that much attention being in such a huge family. He was quiet, not in debates, but in showing care within family. So quiet even after his larynx surgery which hinders him speaking, I barely feel any difference. He used to call, rarely tho, but not now. I used to see his bright smile every time we come by for a visit, rarely now, or maybe I was too blind or caught up to notice. Have to say, I hardly find a more quiet and awkward family meeting/ dinner than mine, let alone with grandpa. Like yesterday, which was some kind of traditional day and we (which means my mom, me and sis - dad was ALWAYS busy) came by for a dinner hangover. It was something like a custom, something we do for our respect, for family bloodline. Mom and Grandpa barely talks. There were long, awkward periods of intervals. And me and my sis are usually excluded. There were updates on us, yes, but rather, reports. 

There were a certain amount of changes happen within my family over these few years. The most noticeable is my dad. Damn I miss the old him. I miss his savage jokes and teasings. He was so fun, playful and caring. I used to adore him so much. I took up sports because he inspired me - he used to take me to tennis courts on the weekends, and i would pick up the tennis balls, watching his happy face. I remembered how much I loved him. Those good old days. Then shit happens. And he was gone. Probably because of me and the fucking college tuition. My dad was replaced by a middle-aged, depressed man. At times, I spotted him buried his face in his hands. Sometimes, my sis and I used to hide in our rooms to avoid parent fight and heated arguments. I was and am still a slow eater. Now, at dinners, I try to eat as fast as I could to avoid the tension, avoid any awkward interaction between us. I know, mom and dad do not have, even the slightest, connection anymore. I miss them being in deep love together. It is hard to catch them laughing or talking about anything. The only remnants are left in photos. Memories soon fade. I soon lost faith in marriage and eternal love. The only thing for them to hold onto this marriage would be us.

My mom was also quiet, not in critics, but in showing care within the family. She has a lot of things as taboos. She doesnt talk about SexEd, she cannot even spell “boyfriend”. My dad was an over protective, traditional man. And henceforth, there are rarely anything I want to share them about. Oftentimes, sharing sessions (there are not many) would turn into critics. If there is anything to share, I receive either unenthusiastic response from them or dull life lessons. When I and my sis does jokes and laugh about something for too long. Mom would say that we are too emotional and tell off my sis for not finishing her hw. I do not feel any motivation to share anything to this family. Henceforth, I put on my earphone everytime I do housework or walk outside of my room, unless it is for dinners. I figured, we do not share or talk anyway. Actually, i do not know why I do that, to avoid contact with them? Yes, I have been ignorant. All of the experience I have, all of the reflections, my ambitious longing values, I was neglecting my family. Lately, I would have weekly talks with mom which often ends with us both crying. There is no surprise in that now. She told me it was my responsibility to share everything to them, to have family over friends, those, unfortunately, indeed includes the one i entrust above my parents. But I resist. It feels not right. Everytime I try to speak or answer their questions, I feel something weighing tons, was dragging my throat down. I try to force sound out of my mouth. I feel obliged. It was like she was asking me to be fake. She always has something to criticize me. Like me, she has ego of a galaxy. Vice versa, I know little about my parents. I did not know my family was broke once, but apparently, they hid it from us. I do recognize the importance of family. I am not lack of empathy. Do not assume that. It hurts. But I do neglect, and it is hard to say it aloud, to look into their eyes and say “i love you’’.

All throughout my elementary schooling experience, my charter school would join together as a collective to sing this harmonious chant. For years, the lyrics to this song would flow past my lips without me knowing the significance of the story behind it. 

As heinous as the mining industry is in South Africa, as well as other parts of Africa, there are cries of hope that ring through generations with this song. With the ongoing race wars that continue to permeate within South Africa, the video above simply enables one to believe that the way Africa is now will not be how it is going to stay. By simply watching the video filled with boys of different races, I can not help but to think about Martin Luther's King's famous repetitive line, "Let freedom ring!"

A paper assignment on my schooling experience challenged me to explore the depths of my upbringing. I failed to understand several parts of my experience because all I knew was the simple fact that I needed to be better than my parents, who are first generation immigrants from Haiti. They did not have much, but what they did have they would give to me and my seven other siblings. As daunting as this paper assignment may be, I continue to believe that exploring where you came from is an act of empowerment. 

Even though I made it further than my parents in respect to their schooling experience, I believe that I am doing better than them because I have been educated beyond the walls of a classroom. I want to take my talents of inspiring others abroad and make step by step change for large populations who require a voice, an advocate, an ally. 

... for the foreseeable future:

The early years of my life, wherein I was raised as Christian child, and before I began questioning any aspects thereof. Approx. from my birth through all the years of elementary school.

Scatter-shot memories of my Christian upbringing, with an emphasis on some of the events, conversations, sermons, books, and bible readings that created the foundation for my eventual deconversion. My deconversion didn't happen overnight, or even over the span of a few years. I can trace the tendrils of my dissatisfaction with the answers that Christianity - and then later deism - put forth back to at least sixth grade, when I was twelve.

My later middle school and high school years, during which I repeatedly struggled and fought with myself to maintain a grasp on my faith, with great ups and downs in what I considered at that time to be my "spiritual" life.

Later, I want to go back and reread some of the books that I read in these earlier time periods that planted seeds of dissidence and doubt in my mind regarding elements of Christianity I had previously taken for granted.

The year or two that lead up to me fully rejecting the god hypothesis. I was in my second and third years of college at this time. Amazingly, at no point until I was almost right on top of this revelation did I actually lend it any credence whatsoever; despite my ever-questioning nature, I still took it as a given thatsomething, gosh darn it, justhadto exist out there.

My life as it has been for the past three years or so after having finally come to the conclusion that there almost certainly is/are no deity/ies. More specifically, my initial reaction of both intense relief and agonizing grief over this loss of sorts, and the grieving process that I went through. Following came a perhaps yearlong period in which I came to terms with what this meant for me and my worldview - still in mourning somewhat over my loss of feeling cared for and "special" to an all-good, all-knowing parental figure - a rewriting of my personal philosophies on life.

And finally, my life as it is now: fully accepting and comfortable with my conclusions and living my life as a semi-outed atheist, and all that that entails.