As most of you who have met me recently know, life’s not so hot right now. A relationship ended, my Uncle Tim died, my job has an expiration date (less than 2 months) and I’m having no luck finding something else. They say that when things look really bad that it’s a sign things are gonna get really good. I think those are just words but they’re comforting nonetheless.
I chose to come home to my parents house this weekend. I set some ground rules with my mom: we will NOT talk about my break up and we will NOT talk about my job. So obviously we talked about both at length. I can’t believe I had to have this discussion with my parents but it happened. I, a 26 year old, needs to find a husband.
“We just want you to be settling down now, you’re turning 27.”
“Yeah same but my soul mate left me so whaddya gon do?”
I think I made my point crystal clear. I’m not going to get marry any ol dude. I believe in multiple soulmates and I will find another forever boy. But that’s not in this week’s schedule so check back later.
I made a really really big move this weekend though. While trying to go for a no-drama weekend sometimes you have to steer into a curve and let it ruin your damn life. I told dad everything. Everything I want out of life. Everything I hope to achieve. He asked me for long term goals and I said
- Make art.
- Start a family.
- Be happy.
Everything else is fluid. I told him I love art, all art. I’m good at most art forms I pick up. I’m not exactly sure where I want to project these talents. Obviously my main way is YouTube for film arts. He asked to see it. I showed him what I’m proud of. He said he hates the swearing and I told him if you click on a video about voting and all you care about is the swearing, you did not listen to a word I said that wasn’t “fuck.” He took it really well. Surprisingly well. He tried to lay down some Dad™ negativity and I blew them all out of the park with my reckless optimism (thank you Harto!)
He said yes those people make good videos but they also have talent.
I said, yeah and I have talent coming out of my butthole, I’m an extremely talented artist.
He asked why anyone would care about what I have to say?
I said, because what I have to say is important. And even when it’s not, they get to spend time with a goof they like.
I think that in itself says how much I’ve grown. I think it says that this is what I’m confident in and what I’m passionate about and you – will – not – fuck – with – me.
In all honestly it’s so weird to be here in my room at my parents house where so much shit has done down I think the aura has seeped into the walls. I think it knows how much sadness and heartache has happened in this room. And all of the emotional blog posts. I blogged a lot when I was undergoing teenage turmoil and my dad peppered in some casual emotional abuse and manipulation. I used to write about it a lot. My old LiveJournal could probably be used as legal evidence against him. But I did write about him, very harshly. And one day I left LiveJournal open and he read it. He read everything I’ve ever said about him. And it was a pivotal moment in our relationship. A breaking moment. He forgave me with his words but not with his heart. And at that time, I didn’t care. He abused me and I needed an outlet. LiveJournal is the only reason I learned that that behaviour is called “abuse.”
I’m 26 now (what an old maid!) and I’m seeing him through different eyes. I think our relationship will always be complicated, but now at least I am confident that there will always be a relationship, and it will be on my terms.
When he watched me sobbing “you’re kicking me out!” he stood and watched. He told me to find a new place to live by the end of the month. I had a new place by that night but my doctor (who I talk to about emotional trauma for mental health reasons) suggested I go away for a weekend and think about it. I did, and the notion of not living with my dad anymore gave the knot in my stomach a rest. When the move to Kimberli’s house became official I wasn’t sure what sort of relationship we would have, if any at all. I only ever spoke to my mom for a long time. I slowly found empathy for my dad, which is something I will admit I had trouble affording him. He was just so horrible, I never wanted to feel sorry for him but selective compassion is not compassion. But as I grew up and began to see him complexly, as a man raised in a strict patriarchal society trying to raise good kids in a world that doesn’t understand him. It must have been hard coming to America and I had it so easy because of him. That is not worth nothing. And knowing he has anxiety now makes me relate to him better and understand the way he thinks.
I think there is something to be rekindled if he could just drop his old world misogynistic attitudes. Like don’t follow up a nice conversation with “When did you get so big? You used to be a skinny little thing.” I can deal with these things in small doses. The small doses are manageable, and I still get to have a dad.
But sometimes a small dose becomes a big dose like this weekend when you hope to spend a relaxing few days with the ‘rents and you end up with bigger under-eye bags than when you came.
In classic tradition my mom doesn’t let me go home without a few extra things. Here’s some swag:
Some St. Ives scrubbies, an adult colouring book ($12 holy shit Costco!), Marc Anthony argan oil (mom doesn’t use it), and some knee-high socks! Go mom, thanks for the swag!
Tomorrow is home day. I will get my friends and the cat pack and my lovely bedroom and I guarantee nobody will tell me I’ve put on some weight (because NO you’re not actually telling me what people say behind my back you’re actually just an asshole). I hope you all had lovely weekends! xo