The Nuances of Leaving

“Who are you?”

“Umm, just me I guess?”

“What do you do?”

“Well, I try to do the things that make me feel happy and alive.”

“No, I mean, like how old are you, what is your job, where do you live, are you seeing anyone now? Like, what are you doing with your life?”

“I just told you. I’m trying to do the things that make me feel alive.”

My mother is a nervous and insecure woman. Perhaps with a lot of hurt, anger, and disappointment from the past. I’m not sure. She rarely talks about herself. But from the pieces that I gathered, she could have gone to a university. She could have gotten herself a better job but there was no money and then there was marriage.

The insecurity of my mother turned her into a dominated and opinionated woman, who struggled to regulate her emotions sometimes. I used to have a lot of issues with her on that. I don’t always agree with her and there was no room to discuss. I talked back. I used words to hurt her the way she used them to hurt me. I turned away. I closed myself up. Throughout the years, I have always thought about how she has influenced me. I thought I’m soft-spoken today because of her, carefully trimming my words as I know how much power words can hold. I want to speak from a place of love and connection, instead of orders and blaming. I used to hold a lot of grudge against her, for she has never let me experience a loving and caring mother, for being her daughter means I need to take care of myself, be the best of myself, be less of a worry, less of a burden, less of a fuss, just do what everyone else is doing and life would be okay.

As a grown-ass woman today, I thought about how she has influenced me as a woman.

My father, on the other hand, due to having a dominated and opinionated woman became a quiet man. He is always physically present. He would come home every day on time like a Swiss clock from work and lift me up for a hug. That continued for years until he couldn’t lift me up anymore. I remember holding his hand while going out on family trips. I don’t remember holding my mother’s hand. He’s a stable and reliable man, who delivered his responsibility as a breadwinner but he wasn’t emotionally available. I used to hold a lot of grudge against him, for he never fully supported me dancing, even if that made me happy, even if that felt like the only important thing in my life. He said hurtful things like, “I really regret letting you dance.” For me that sent a message of “We would rather you fit into the boxes than to be happy” and that was the message received. As a grown-ass woman today, I thought about how he has influenced me as a woman. Gosh, there is so much literature on psychology about a dominated mother and absent father, isn’t it? None of them were emotionally available or supportive so I needed to find something else to process myself. Don’t get me wrong. They still provided. They cared. But that is not love.

That is not love because I see them struggling to love themselves.

I turned away as the world was my oyster. What else is there to lose anyway? My first “real trip” began as a lie. I couldn't even wait for the semester to end and I departed with a classmate of mine to hitchhike around Taiwan. I haven’t even turned 18. It took us more than 30 cars and I felt invincible. I told them I was taking trains to travel but they couldn’t stop me anyway. From then on, there was no turning back. I’ve tasted the freedom and I didn’t want to give that up.

When I was 19, I wrote down in my journal: “I want to see how far I can go before I want to cry and crawl back home.” And that never seems to be happening until this day. I went further and longer. Perhaps there was never enough for me to want to go back. Enough of what? I don’t know. On that solo trip, I was harassed, perhaps very close to being raped. From then on, there was no turning back. I’ve tasted the injustice and I want to fuck it up.

After being away from home for more than 10 years, I wonder what I make of them. Perhaps that’s the beauty of being a grown-ass woman. I stop holding grudges against them because I no longer need to.

And going away means something else now.