Slug's story...
Manipulation
Pulsing red and blue lights spill over the atmosphere and yelling floods throughout the house as they chase each other upstairs around on the hardwood floor, almost like a game of tag that nobody wins. I prepare myself for another long night and compose myself, thinking of what I have to say to the officer this time. This night has practically become routine, from the time she made up stories about abuse from my father, the sweetest soul in the world, just to manipulate and contort every miniscule thing possible. Or the time she threatened me over some argument with him just for manipulation leverage again, saying, “I’ll cut his fingers off and put them in a jar.” What can possibly drive a person to say these things? Then of course she would brush it off as some joke she saw in her Chinese TV show like it’s nothing. Or the time she wrenched the steering from my father’s hands on freeway, quite nearly killing us, my father, brother, and I. Or even the time from when I was a toddler, escaping the dysfunctional house with my grandmother as my mother chased my father around with the antique katana he had bought her for an anniversary in a distant universe where they still loved each other. I don’t think my mother understands what it means to be human. It is as if she judges worth by how much power and control you can have over others lives, which she must self-acclaim herself for. Ever since I was born into this family she had to have control of every little thing or there would be hell to pay. Back then it was not as major, just maybe how I played an instrument or wrote my math homework, both accompanied with a ruler for extra measure. But now it’s different.
My parents crumbling marriage inevitably came to an end during my freshman year of highschool, a pivotal point for me. My life was changing and school was getting harder and more real, especially as I made relationships that would shape who I am today. This was the only thing I could focus on, and had to focus on as my mother tore apart our family. Court cases with manipulative lies, custody battles, and restraining orders echo in the back of my mind as I do everything I can to avoid them. In Chinese tradition it is valued to do every and anything for you mother because you owe your life to her for bringing you into this world, a stance she would take often for leverage, one that I can hardly support. Though it is true, I can never escape my mother. She is always connected to me, sometimes feeling as if only a beast that I share blood with. Like a werewolf that has dragged me into its suffering with the moon out more than it should be, dragging each night along.
I am reaching adulthood now, and it is scary, but nothing has felt more freeing and relieving then parting from that house and my mother. I asked my father recently if my mother was always like that, and he replied, “There were times I loved your mother, but she has always been controlling I think. Before, you were young and just child with no commitments and she practically owned and controlled your life. But now you are an adult, and you own your own life and you make the choices that make you, which only upsets her because she has been losing and has almost lost that control.” Through all of this, I have to thank my father for understanding every situation and helping me through it, instilling values that are the most important to me. I must thank my brother for sharing the experience with me and supporting each other through the mayhem. And of course, I need to thank my friends for being there and helping me, distracting me from the chaos and pain. As much as I truly do want a meaningful and loving relationship with my mother, I do not think that is possible, at least for right now. That is why I am excited to become my own person, and walk independently forward into this world that will not control me, and will not control who I am.
Pulsing red and blue lights spill over the atmosphere and yelling floods throughout the house as they chase each other upstairs around on the hardwood floor, almost like a game of tag that nobody wins. I prepare myself for another long night and compose myself, thinking of what I have to say to the officer this time. This night has practically become routine, from the time she made up stories about abuse from my father, the sweetest soul in the world, just to manipulate and contort every miniscule thing possible. Or the time she threatened me over some argument with him just for manipulation leverage again, saying, “I’ll cut his fingers off and put them in a jar.” What can possibly drive a person to say these things? Then of course she would brush it off as some joke she saw in her Chinese TV show like it’s nothing. Or the time she wrenched the steering from my father’s hands on freeway, quite nearly killing us, my father, brother, and I. Or even the time from when I was a toddler, escaping the dysfunctional house with my grandmother as my mother chased my father around with the antique katana he had bought her for an anniversary in a distant universe where they still loved each other. I don’t think my mother understands what it means to be human. It is as if she judges worth by how much power and control you can have over others lives, which she must self-acclaim herself for. Ever since I was born into this family she had to have control of every little thing or there would be hell to pay. Back then it was not as major, just maybe how I played an instrument or wrote my math homework, both accompanied with a ruler for extra measure. But now it’s different.
My parents crumbling marriage inevitably came to an end during my freshman year of highschool, a pivotal point for me. My life was changing and school was getting harder and more real, especially as I made relationships that would shape who I am today. This was the only thing I could focus on, and had to focus on as my mother tore apart our family. Court cases with manipulative lies, custody battles, and restraining orders echo in the back of my mind as I do everything I can to avoid them. In Chinese tradition it is valued to do every and anything for you mother because you owe your life to her for bringing you into this world, a stance she would take often for leverage, one that I can hardly support. Though it is true, I can never escape my mother. She is always connected to me, sometimes feeling as if only a beast that I share blood with. Like a werewolf that has dragged me into its suffering with the moon out more than it should be, dragging each night along.
I am reaching adulthood now, and it is scary, but nothing has felt more freeing and relieving then parting from that house and my mother. I asked my father recently if my mother was always like that, and he replied, “There were times I loved your mother, but she has always been controlling I think. Before, you were young and just child with no commitments and she practically owned and controlled your life. But now you are an adult, and you own your own life and you make the choices that make you, which only upsets her because she has been losing and has almost lost that control.” Through all of this, I have to thank my father for understanding every situation and helping me through it, instilling values that are the most important to me. I must thank my brother for sharing the experience with me and supporting each other through the mayhem. And of course, I need to thank my friends for being there and helping me, distracting me from the chaos and pain. As much as I truly do want a meaningful and loving relationship with my mother, I do not think that is possible, at least for right now. That is why I am excited to become my own person, and walk independently forward into this world that will not control me, and will not control who I am.