Sorry

That night, maybe half a year ago, I was ordered outside by MOP in the middle of dinner. By outside, he meant stand outside and think about what I did wrong. I went outside. Mom came with me.

"Let's go for a walk," She said.

That night, I spilled the emotions I had kept from everyone (with the exception of Tim) for years. I was crying, hard. It wasn't pretty.

*** ***

I don't remember the exact thoughts and feelings that crawled through my head when I first found out about MOP's affairs, but I think it started with numbness. Disbelief. Like, it's impossible, it can't be real... HE'S MY DAD! How could this happen?

Then the anger appeared. It burnt. Of course I knew that wrath was bad for me and I should let it go (what Mom always tells me), but it wouldn't disappear. It made me want to claw anything in sight and tear up whatever belonged to HIM. HE that betrayed Mom. I hated that I had to breathe the same air as him.

There was, of course, confusion. Did Mom know? If she knew, why wasn't she trying to stop it? If she didn't, should I tell her?

Under everything was unrelenting sadness. Pain. Remember when you had to go to the dentist to pull a tooth? She gave you a painkiller thing, and feeling disappeared from your mouth; but when she pulled the tooth out, you still felt a dull kind of hurt. That was how it felt. It didn't help, of course, that the metaphorical tooth never grew back, nor did the pain recede.

*** ***

That night, I came back and slunk up to my room, hoping MOP wouldn't notice me. God knows the last thing I need is him seeing me look so weak.

He told me we had to talk anyway.

Even with all the emotions churning, refreshed, through my mind, I was sure that he'd say sorry, say it was all a mistake, and promise us it would never happen again. I thought that he'd say sorry, and everything would be all right.

Naive, as it turned out.

*** ***

He didn't say sorry to Mom, nor to me. Not the slightest allusion to sorry. If anything, according to him, we should be the ones apologizing - for getting so emotional and whiny.

I couldn't believe it. I still do, sometimes. Adultery is just plain no-excuse wrong, isn't it? I know I'm naive, but I don't think I'm naive enough to completely misinterpret moral codes.

Or maybe... he's the one with, to quote Anna Valerious, "a moral compass turned completely inside out". I reckon MOP has some serious narcissist tendencies too.

*** ***

Had another argument with him Jan 28th. We were trying to persuade him to change his style of humor - crude and cruel at best. Mom and I weren't even trying to argue, just talk over this peacefully.

But he takes every criticism personally. A few seconds into the talk, he had heated up like a marshmallow on a fire. He got extremely defensive and complained that we didn't appreciate him enough, there wasn't a second when we weren't attacking him. Funnily enough, he voiced quite a few of my thoughts. I don't think he realized that.

"I work hard, and I don't come home to be insulted."
"I do anything you demand."

Some of his comments got to me a little, though. The one that came up the most was his "dog" analogy; it also popped up later, when the subject of debate turned to his affairs.

"Even a dog," he said heatedly, "would wag its tail at me when I came home."
Mom had been predictably passive for most of the time, but now she countered his remark in her calm style. Go Mom.
"If I may say so, a dog doesn't care in the least if you have affairs."
I resisted a smile. Strangely/Luckily enough, I wasn't crying at all this time - an accomplishment that makes me proud. I used to start crying seconds into the subject of daddy's little exploits. I was quite glad I was rational.
Dad retreated into defense mode.
"Fine, I'll move out. I'll start looking for an apartment. I don't want any of the money. Happy now?"
"That's not the way to solve this problem," I said evenly. I prepared to probe deeper into his head, as it were. "May I say something?"
"NO! I don't want to listen! Just shut up, I have a spreadsheet to read." He covered himself with blankets and started to type, hard, on his laptop.
I eyed Mom. "Okay, if you have to work, don't let me bother you." I got up, after no response from him, and walked away. "We can talk some other day."

Up in my room, I thought back on what he had and hadn't said.

"He still doesn't think it's his fault, does he?" I wondered.

*** ***

To my surprise and his credit, he seemed more rational the next morning. He told me to sit down. Politely.

I was feeling good. A little hopeful, even. Maybe he'd say sorry, say it was all a mistake, promise it would never happen again, and voila, happily ever after.

Then MOP assumed the air of a professor getting out his chalk before the class. Which is a big flashing yield sign.

"You have to understand, nox, that monogamous marriage has been part of the social customs in China for less than a hundred years..."

Great. Just great. There go my hopes, down the drain.

"... men go out, they hunt, they - ah - take many wives; while women stay at home taking care of the kids, or gather food. This has been the way things were done since the very beginning..."

And that explains your adultery how?

"... you can also see from the biological structure of men and women. A woman releases an egg only once a month, but a man ejects hundreds of sperm each time and can practically reproduce daily, and therefore bears the responsibility of passing down his genes. You see what I mean?"

Sure, I see what you mean. What a relief. Gee, dad, thanks so much for spreading all that sperm around. I'm sure you're contributing to the gene pool.

"...That's why I told you to read that book, The Origins of Virtue. It explains how human nature really is self-serving..."

Blah, blah, blah.

"...Many people have affairs. Many even have multiple wives. At least I don't do that; at least I don't have children other than Holly and you; at least I don't bring women home..."

Right. How about the many more people who are actually faithful?

"...I had an unhappy childhood. I was insecure and self-doubting, in need of validation..."

Same here, dad. The very same. Guess that makes me an egotistical, aggressive cheater in the near future, huh?

"...I didn't hurt you actively. It was you who read the messages in my cell phone, it was you who read the email..."

So it's suddenly my fault?

Here is what I would like to tell him:

NO, THESE ARE NOT EXCUSES!!!

The "age" of marital customs, the "way things were done" in primitive society, the amount of eggs compared to sperm... are not excuses.

A selfish nature is no excuse. There are plenty of people who choose to help others and do not ask for retribution, selfish natures be damned (sorry about the swear word to anyone reading this). We should and can overcome selfishness. All the more reason to do so to not hurt your family.

A question of perspective is no excuse. Listen to yourself! "At least" this, "at least" that. Good is more - much more - than the lack of bad. While there may be many bad things other people do that you don't, you should consider how many more good things to do that you have neglected.

Hardship is no excuse. It does NOT justify one thousandth of your inexcusable behavior. There are plenty of people who walk out of hardship, changed for the better. As Anna Valerious said so wisely, "Hardships that are overcome and endured make us into better people if we consistently make choices against our naturally selfish inclinations." Ergo, the way you have changed for the worse is because of yourself. No one else. Yourself. Don't you get it? There's nothing to blame other than your own choices.

Any difference between "passive" and "active" adultery - might as well call it by its name - is no excuse. What does it come down to? Abuse. Abuse of trust and love. And what difference does it make if you did it "actively" or not? The harm's done. The truth is right there: you knew it was bad, you knew you shouldn't - don't bother denying it, you're a smart guy - and you still did it.

Look, I don't want a dad that's perfect in every aspect - an unattainable goal anyway. All I ask for is for you to admit your mistakes and stop hiding behind a wall of excuses, bouncing blame every which way. We don't demand you to have a high-salary job or buy us huge houses. If you think about it, kids don't say my dad is a really great dad 'cause he earns a lot of money. They think of wonderful parents as being compassionate and reasonable. Being financially outstanding is only a bonus point, not a factor deciding a pass or a flunk.

I only want you to say sorry. Be truly remorseful about what you did. This is something you've let us down on time after time. You've said sorry, but it was like a footnote in an encyclopedia. It was picked up, thrown away, and buried in a matter of seconds.

One piece of advice: next time you say sorry, don't drag biology in. It makes the apology feel fake. Really, really fake.

Impromptu Mood Flash

It's 9:34 PM. I'm doing nothing in particular. Holly is asleep. MOP and Mom are watching TV.

And I suddenly get this insane urge to storm down there and throw something at daddy dearest. I want to scream. I want to grab his collar and demand to know why on earth he committed adultery, how he could do this to us, and if he had the slightest idea how much it hurts. I want him to know how it feels - the confusion, the pain. I want him to beg and plead and say he's sorry - something he's never done.

I want him to stop controlling us. Stop shifting the blame. Stop the sick attempts at humor. Stop being the center of attention. Stop acting benevolent. Stop lying. Stop refusing "no"s.

I can't wait till I'm free. I plan. I write my poems and stories and songs. I sketch floor plans for apartments and imagine myself walking into a room. I think about cities I love: San Diego, Hong Kong, Taipei. I picture myself leaving, taking only a backpack.

But the time isn't right yet. So I take deep breaths and tell myself to calm down. I tuck myself in and wish myself sweet dreams.

Fear Itself

The only thing we have to fear is fear itself

-- Franklin D. Roosevelt

My father is an expert at using fear. He terrorizes Holly and me; his actions say: "My word is law. Obey it or else." We were to show no sign of disobedience, or he would do anything from taunting us with sarcasm, to making us kneel on the cold bathroom tile for a day, and to (relatively plain) shouting and spanking. Once, the look on his face said he would combine all these if he had the time, to punish the offense of turning a power switch off; another time, he threw a large metal crutch across the room, striking Holly on the head, and - this really boils my blood - didn't spare so much as a glance at her. (I'll write about those incidents later.)

He also blows up at Mom over tiny things. He gets mad at her if she calls him, emails him, or texts him.

There is a sentence from this post in the blog Narcissists Suck: "Good parents do not rule their children with terror." Did I mention that MOP always prides himself on being a model father? Oh, if he could read this. Then again, it wouldn't do much good to improve his behavior. He never admits to mistakes. To quote a classmate (with tongue-in-cheek): "You're always right. You're right even if you're wrong, which obviously never happens."

*** ***

The scary thing about MOP is how he can how he can snap from dear ol' dad to demonic in seconds. One minute, he's joking and laughing - then the very air freezes, and he growls "what - did - you - say?" The next thing you know, he's unleashing his fury. Once, an item of silverware struck me on the forehead at this stage of the proceedings. His outbursts - as often as not - are utterly unexpected.

Sure, he always "asks nicely" first. The catch is... his "questions" are purely rhetorical. A question mark is for decoration purposes only; it does not imply the existence of a choice. Take this dialogue as an example:

MOP: Want to go for a walk around the neighborhood after dinner?
nox: No thanks, I have homework to do.
MOP: So who do you think you are, huh? You're too good for me, are you?
(Silence)
MOP: GET OUT!! I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOUR FACE EVER AGAIN!!
I got out.

*** ***

Now that school's out for Holly and me, MOP is "suggesting" we travel. It wouldn't be that objectionable to me, if his style of traveling didn't include:

- catching any vehicle at the last possible moment
- rushing into and out of as many cities as possible, and as fast as possible
- doing everything his way
and
- his snoring.

In fact, my ideal vacation would be weeks of vegetating at home and occasionally hanging out with friends. I don't want to go anywhere. Besides, this year I have Very Important Exams That Decide My Future High School (in China, high school starts in 10th grade, not 9th; I consider myself a freshman, anyway). I do take them seriously.

Holly and Mom don't want to go anywhere either. Mom did some web searches, and found that the airfare to MOP's destination of choice alone costs the equivalent of $1500. We can't afford to spend so much.

I do my best to hint at my exams and the cost. He grunts and mutters something, a volcano ready to blow. Holly kicks me under the table, and Mom shoots a warning look at me.

I decide to keep my mouth shut, so I won't trigger an eruption.

*** ***

MOP had purposely programmed Holly, Mom, and me to fear him. It's certainly working; there have been at least two instances of me jumping at his voice. He seems to find amusement in the fact.

Yeesh.

The ideal method of dealing w/ MOP seems to be a "no contact" policy, but it's impossible to maintain. Therefore, the strategy I am employing right now is do not acknowledge his existence unless absolutely necessary. Hopefully it'll be good enough, for now.

Until I can fly solo in the world, though... I still fear him.

It's Not That Easy

Correction of the last post: I did tell my mom, maybe a year ago, what I found out.

I'm not sure what I expected her reaction to be, but it certainly wasn't a "forgive-and-forget" talk.

Mom told me that she sympathized (she did) and understood my feelings (she didn't). She said if I kept up this vendetta, "our family would fall apart" (like it hasn't already). She told me that I should just forgive him.

"WHAT??" Just like that, with the capitals and the double marks of disbelief.

*** ***

Yes, I appreciate my mom.

Yes, I love her.

Yes, I understand why she wants me to forgive.

No, I won't do it.

No, I don't know why - except that I hate him.

*** ***

"I HOPE YOU CAN READ MINDS," I wrote on my school desk, "SO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I HATE YOU."

*** ***

I hate him as I have never hated - and will never hate - anyone in my life.

A whole class that picked on me for a year?
Didn't like them, but they passed out of my mind once I moved away.

A classmate who harassed my best friend?
I poked his back (hard) with the pointy end of a pen. He screamed, and fell to the floor squirming. Start of laughter; end of harassment.

A classmate who harassed me?
Anger, but not full-fledged hate.

The only one I hate is him.

*** ***

2nd Correction of last post: I did confront my other parent with what I found out. I asked him if he cared about us at all, and if he had ever thought about what he had done to our lives. I was crying - I couldn't help it.

He said: "So the fact that I cheat means I don't care about you?"

I would've said duh, but I was crying too hard. I hate myself.

He went on to say that he was a good dad, since he didn't do drugs, drink, smoke, or gamble. "That makes me a good dad, doesn't it?"

Right. What a great dad he is. Even considering that he:
throws tantrums for ridiculous reasons
uses sarcasm on a daily basis
makes crude jokes about his wife & daughters' bodies
makes crude remarks at other ladies' bodies
bullies us into doing his will
and is an egocentric workaholic who wouldn't be able to live without full-time servants, cooks, and butlers.

Deserves an award, doesn't he?

I'm not exaggerating. Consider these scenarios.

*** ***

Take One - At Home

The sound of showering halts. "We're out of shampoo!" My other parent shouts from bathroom #1.
"Whoops," my sister "Holly" mutters. She runs to bathroom #2 to get it, and promptly delivers the bottle to MOP.
Minutes later, the showering stops again. MOP, done washing, stomps out, looking as well as sounding furious.
"Why isn't there any shampoo?" Who moved my cheese?
"You just finished using the bottle in this bathroom [#1]," Mom explains. "Holly, noxpennatus, and I all use the other one [#2]. We didn't know there wasn't any here [in #1]."
"Are we that poor? Can't we afford another bottle?"
"I just..." Mom's voice trails off.
"I've given you servants [actually, a lady who helps w/ housework. --nox] , money, a car, and you don't buy more bottles of shampoo?" MOP shrieks. "Tomorrow - go buy ten bottles!" (I am not making this up.)
He leaves, snarling, while the three of us look at each other in disbelief.
Holly and I start giggling.

*** ***

Take Two - In a Hotel Room

"Start dressing up, everyone," Mom says. "We leave for the wedding twenty minutes later."
Holly grabs her outfit and beats me to the (only) bathroom. "Change in the closet!" Holly shouts.
"Okay, okay." I open the closet door (which is mirrored on the inside), slip in, remove my hoodie, t-shirt, and jeans, toss them outside, then realize my outfit isn't with me.
"Mom?" I open the door a crack. "Can you hand me my dress and undergarment? I can't come out."
"Aiee!" MOP screams. "I can see your - " He stops deliberately for effect, then cracks up. "You know why I screamed?"
I fume. "Right, how amazing fatherly love is. I'm so touched, I'm going to faint."
Mom gives me the required items and silences me with a look.

*** ***

The list goes on, fragments and memories. I can't remember all of them in detail now. However, be assured that I do not chastise MOP without good reason.

My mother asked me to forgive him.

If only it was that easy.

Forgiveness cannot find a place in my heart for him. My feelings toward him are stuffed full of anger and hate. Forgiveness and love cannot enter. Perhaps I have been so used to hating him, I automatically reject forgiveness.

Maybe one day I will love him and forgive him for what he has done, or forget all about him and move on in my life; but, for now, it feels like that day will never come.

The Other Side of the Mirror

There's a metaphor a friend of mine came up with. "Life," she philosophized, "Is a cup of spilled hot chocolate that no one would even care to clean up." I can almost imagine a small sad smile that accompanies the sentence.

The image I form for myself is: trapped on the other side of a mirror. Like Alice, I went through the looking glass and into another world. Unlike Alice, I can't get back. My reflection took my place, and I only flash into consciousness - awaken - once in a while. I "wake" in the middle of a sentence, thinking where am I? What am I doing here? A fraction of a second later, I'm on the other side.

(I wonder if anyone knows what I'm talking about.)

One thing I'm pretty sure of: I don't have a split personality. It's depression. (That is, I think it is... more about this later.) I'm always me, it's just that sometimes... I'm not.

(I'm not making any sense, darnnit.)

Perhaps I should start with some background information.

*** ***

From the beginning, they all said I was bright. I seemed to understand more than peers, and act more mature and responsible. I was reading classic poems at three (if my parents' memories are to be believed). However, I was naive, trusting - as children are.

This combination directly lead to the shattering of the world, as I knew it.

I was eight when I first found out about my other parent (my dad)'s affair, via a "I'm sorry, but I'm married" break-up email. It was cc'd to my mom, and also accidentally to me.

(Not the first affair nor the last, as it turned out.)

Let me explain the enormity of the situation, as it occurred to my 3rd-grade self. I was (mentally) old enough to know adultery meant "an extra-marital romantic relationship", and (emotionally) young enough to feel adultery meant "a complete betrayal of love and trust, and a shattering of the world, which I had always thought was perfect".You see, young kids really do believe happily-ever-after always happens in real life. Not maybe happens. Always happens. They believe it with the whole of their hearts.

I don't remember much, but I know I didn't mention any of this to either parent. I kept it inside, but it was getting harder and harder to pretend nothing had happened nor changed. It was harder and harder to give dad a hug after he came home from work. It was harder and harder to trust.

I guess you could say I started to go out of my body. Not literally, of course. What I mean is, I started to put my body on autopilot mode, making it look bubbly and laugh at jokes. I locked my emotions - me - inside, and made myself stay. I could go through a day and (almost) kid myself there was nothing wrong - and fool everyone else, too.

Soon, however, it started to go wrong. My body was stuck on autopilot. I lost the key I locked myself with. I couldn't show what I was truly thinking deep down inside, because I had suppressed it for too long. I was a victim of my own facade.

Oh, the irony.

That's what I mean by the other-side-of-the-mirror image.

That's why I decided to start this blog: maybe, by writing down what I feel, with no one immediately on the receiving end, I could stop pretending in real life.

*** ***

I reread what I wrote above, and (to me) I make myself sound like a self-pitying, whining, spoiled wanna-be victim. I really hope I don't come across that way to you.

*** ***

I started to suspect depression about six months ago.

I didn't have interest in anything, and what I used to like didn't seem fun anymore. I felt utterly alone, guilty, scared, and hopeless. I was fatigued. I wan seriously contemplating suicide. These signs had been around for a few years, but half a year ago they started to escalate, and I began to see some meaning in them.

I looked up depression on the net. I found books in the school library. The more I read, the more it made sense. Finally, I summoned enough courage to talk to my mom.

"Mom... do you think... I might have... depression?" I squeezed out the words.
She looked surprised. "Of course not! You don't have depression."
I shrugged.
End of discussion.

*** ***

So I'm not entirely definite that I have depression. Nevertheless, I'm pretty darn sure.

I'm scared of writing this, scared of what other people might think or say about me. However, I must try to speak my mind here and not care too much. That's the only way to return through the mirror.