Unwanted

Unwanted

The first time I felt like a trash bag, blown away drifting and stained with filth and holes was the day I watched her go. Every year the celebration of the great existence and sacrifices of mothers around the world gets gifts, love and appreciation from their daughters and sons. Nothing indents deeper than having the notion of being unwanted by their mothers. Each year the gradual residue of her absence became the shield of my pain. Many times we forget the damaged particle within us by pretending they are dead. On days where I witness little girls with their mothers wearing matching sun dresses, I’d often pretend my doll was her. For some years until twelve I truly thought she abandoned me because I was a wicked little one, and was undesired and unwanted. There were questions flying through my scattered head, but no answers. I remember moving quite some times and each time it was farther and farther from her. Soon, her face almost completely melted away from my memories. It was such an ugly thing to admit, but I was relieved to erase her face.

Weeks drifted on by as the wind swept away our tears and our mind at times, a new challenge arrived when I came face to face with my father’s new bride. Her piercing eyes crossed my brittle body that day. She bent down and forced a smile and took my hand. Time went by even at a faster pace when we started moving. Bits and pieces were what I gathered through the painful times when everything was broken. There was no room for me to question and weep about what happened to my mother, we had to get on the plane and leave.

The chills of going to a place I was a foreigner to the language and the people made the volume of fear to the maximum. I could remember the ticket said LAX, and the year of 1993 we landed in Los Angeles. My heart frantically skipped beats or at the least it felt that way. My father was too busy looking at his address book for his cousin’s number as his new wife instructs me to stay where I am and watch the luggage. My memory treads back to see all these strangers and faces and people of all different colors fast pacing the airport as they stared back at me. I must have looked like an odd egg-plant, or so it seems since my new step-mother dressed me in purple.

The first year was as confusing and frightening as me wearing a purple dinosaur jump-suit walking around in downtown L.A. From my face to the bottom of my feet must have felt like Jell-O trying to face everything thrown at her. The language barrier and hurdles was just one small speck of sand in my eye. We ended up living in a one bedroom apartment studio I remembered, and my room was aside from the living-room. I knew the only way I could survive is to keep quiet and calm as possible to avoid trouble. First day and weeks of school there was horrifying. My face was exposed to a kind of breed and new languages spitting at me and faces glaring and smirking at me.

Inside of my soul, a little girl crying out and still keeping her bearings because everyone is busy working. Every day was a challenge. I was a newcomer learning a new language in fourth grade. Recalling back to those days was simply teary, and yet I still found humor to my pain. The outfits my step-mother picked out were simply an invitation for even more teasing and bullying. Every week I remembered my outfits rotated the same. I couldn’t remember one true friend came to me when I ate my lunch alone in the bathroom to avoid the laughter. I barely spoke English well enough to be accepted let alone not laughed and teased at. My personality took a complete change, all I could see is darkness and despair at times.

One day after school as usual there was no one there, and the piles of dirty pants from the factory was one of my chores. Those days we didn’t have the luxury of machines, so I had to hand wash their clothes and mine. After that, I’d make dinner for me and one thing made me smile is fish, I love fish. If they were earning extra and I did well I could enjoy the entire fish to my-self! Ginger with soy-sauce and steamed it in a pot was the only way I knew at that time. I was happy when it came to good food.

They came home late, and my heart pounded faster as the notion of arguments. My head was buried under the blanket to pretend asleep and it didn’t work. All the lights came on and my father slams the doors and more cursing and yelling at my step-mother. I was trembling, and sweating underneath. Then, I heard it the utterly fearful sound of slapping. My nightmare was real, I walked towards them and I could remember pleading them to stop, and next thing I felt was ringing in my ears. I could look back and confused and hurt at my father.

That night of the very moment was the day I lost hope for any goodness in life or him. After that, I cried in anger and pain not all physical, but I remembered my heart felt like it dropped. It was also the first time my step-mother and I hugged. She mentioned something like my father was over-worked and he won’t do that again. Lord only knows she was so wrong, and I wish upon a star that I was never born. The already down and scared girl inside just didn’t care much anymore about life. I didn’t brush my hair, sometimes I’d just started cursing in Chinese at the kids who laughed at me, and gotten rocks thrown at me. As usual, I threw it back and they actually left me alone for a while.

Sometime after all that living in paradise, I was told we were moving again to Guam. Once again, my hopelessness and living in fear and confusion was drowning my lungs. Guam? Where in the world is that? I had no say but to simply obey and just pack. Off we go the Guam and the more bitter-some chapters to come. I could remember my step-mother was happy to move since she knew relatives there for work. We landed and treading back my memory of dust was that it was hot, and humid and lots of big and tanned people.

The most exciting thing my heart fluttered was that we had cable, and I was learning so much just from watching television. I was happy for once to have that and also water, the pools and beaches are everywhere! My face and skin soon turned golden and I remembered there was no school, and I could go swimming for hours. The apartment was upstairs that looked like barracks for the military. My father announced he’s got a job as chef for some big, fancy restaurant . My step-mother went on to be a dealer at the casino or something. All I knew was they were seemingly happier and the beatings ceased.

That year was also the year I met Annie Luk, my first friend in a long time. Annie was the daughter of where my step-mother worked for. At first sight she seemed intimidating and sparkly. As we went on our walks and swims she and I had lots in common. She likes Chinese romance shows and she loved singing as I did. She was the one who taught me even more English and slangs and quirky and funny things teens liked. We’d stay at her father’s house for sleep-overs and I felt loved and a sense of alive again. Her parents were divorced and she displayed that she loves her mom and her dad married a younger lady just for fun. At that time, I was still traumatized from all sorts of things and couldn’t truly explain to her about my mother in China yet. Nonetheless, I was glad to have met her and away from my father. I remembered we’d sing karaoke and danced around like a bunch of kids should. Staying up under the blankets with flashlights telling each-other horror stories. My misery was painted over with her presence and as my first true friend.

Days went on by faster than the planes, and weeks slips through my very eyes and soon enough we were moving again. I heard the word "Idaho," yes we were moving to Idaho where the snow is pure and dreams of potatoes falling down the sky. Yes, as always I was disoriented and much more of hurt because I tenderly didn’t want to leave my friend Annie. My dear Annie the one who stood up for me, the one who taught me how to talk more and the one loves me for being me. The little world inside me was about to implode and no one understands my fuse and hurt. I did not wish to leave this time. The lingering was the worst when it comes to waiting for the days to count down. Her and I promised to write each other and kept in contact no matter what.

The summer and the warmth of the sun was gone, and the friend that adores me and makes me forget about pain was about to vanish. We said we’d write each other, then as always things never lasts forever and soon the letters stopped completely. Though the letters and calls ceased, the memories of her in my teenage years never stopped dreaming. I will always have a warm, comforted place for her in my heart as my first true friend that loved me. Often I day dream a lot whenever there tends to be something painful in my life. I could feel the upcoming cloudy days rises to my head. We arrived there safely and of course my existence was just about worth as a penny. I was a girl who is ungrateful because my father dragged me along moving places to places to be better. I was the girl who learned slowly, but could anyone blame me for all of the confusions I had? One thing I was happy is that English is now my habit. I was put in to fifth grade and her name was Mrs. Harper I remembered. She was bright eyed and smiled warmly towards me.

The town called Idaho Falls, population probably under twenty thousand. Meeting my aunt and her husband for the first time that I remembered. They took us in and we stayed at their place for six months or so. It seemed longer than it was; we resided in the basement and my younger cousin beamed with excitement. She was my aunt’s doll; she could never do no wrong, but she was not Annie who simply loved me. My life at that time was shameful, not only for my soul but living under someone’s roof and hearing these hushed arguments and debates.

There is a saying is that when dishes collide daily, sooner or later there will be a chip or two. My father and step-mother saved up and decided it was time to take a risk and have their own restaurant. They proclaim it was enough to work so hard and living under someone else’s roof. On we went again to another town called Rexburg Idaho population under fifteen thousand. In all honesty, I did not know how I managed not to have a mind melt down, oh yes I did! It was inside that I’ve blasted and screamed so loud on top of my lungs about all of this non sense.

Our first home I could remember was a trailer home, cold smelled like old sweaters and musty floors. I couldn’t complain though, after all I was the kid who is solely depended on them for shelter, and food. Madison was the county we lived in Rexburg. The school was quite small and surprisingly I managed to keep going a grade after. English was soon my language as well as a great cover to talk behind my father’s accents and his way of treating us. The restaurant started, I was the worker bee after school no matter what time or weather. The China King was the name of the family place, or so they proclaimed to be. I soon went to another phase of science fiction and read lots of Christopher Pike’s and R.L Stine and two Chinese romance books to escape my reality. I deeply feared and resented my reality of life at that time.

It was nothing but battering the chicken after school and washing dishes and cutting onions. My life as a teen as a prison of restaurant food and chaos. They soon didn’t respond to my excitement on my grades or school functions of any kind. I fell in love with school plays and I acted for drama class. It was quite intriguing since my first crush was in that same class with me! He was a new comer at that time from Alaska or so. Time at school soon became the only play and fun time for me. I sometimes stay a bit after just so I didn’t have to go home to the restaurant and work until ten. I hated my prison of serving people and smiling even though I am crying inside. My relationship with my so called parents was no usual relationship at all. On the outside, it seems that we were doing fine because of this senseless restaurant.

People soon started to befriend my father and step-mother because they were the first ones to own a family restaurant in their town. It made news and that its popularity was mounted and more customers came and usual ones always came, and they knew me. We put on a face smiling and syrupy, corn based smile that I had to put on to attract and retain customers no matter what. Behind that restaurant was an angry, over-worked bi-polarized man who takes out his frustrations on us on a daily basis. Though, no one really cared to know the truth, because we were simply there to provide service and good food.

My whole demeanor collapsed and changed over time, I had to adapt and maneuver and new side of me to keep me sane. Music helped me dramatically as well as writing out my fantasies and creatures. My reading went on and through reading it helped my mind to elope and escape the pain I have. I visited the near cathedrals and library a lot. I would stay there until they close and I knew the librarian and she’d allow me to stay longer at times. That was a part of my medicine to escape. I didn’t want to go to that restaurant and be a fake, smiley face catering to people who obviously are too blind to see the abuse and pain.

Throughout the years at school, I often ate lunch alone like I enjoyed since no one else liked me much. Tuna and celery with my soy milk, was my favorite and for what reason of that combo? I have not the slightest clue, I still like it today I am thirty years young. School functions were a joke to me since my so called parents didn’t support me at all. I didn’t play any sports because I usually was instructed to work after school and by the time I walked home, I was tired and just wanted to sleep. I honestly do not know how I did my homework and passed all my classes.

My favorite subject was English for writing and poetry class. The person that never faded in my memory window is Ms. Lewis, she read all of my stories and spoke with me often and guided me. She did all she could as her position as a teacher in a High School. She sensed something was unbalanced and wrong from home. She knew I enjoyed poetry and often read me poems, I do not remember all of the poems but she gave me inspirations to write and find love. I am glad now looking back I listened and valued her words.

As with emotions and pain changes, so did my hair-color. I was so angry and filled with rage that I dyed my hair orange one time, and that was a huge mistake. My father was enraged and threw out all my hair things and ordered me to change it back immediately. In a way, he was half right to be raged at my behavior. I mean I am sure I looked like an Asian carrot-top or so. I would chop off my hair unevenly just to do it and it made my step-mother and father livid with disgust. The beatings went on in the back room of the restaurant whenever he felt the urge to vent on me or that I disgust him by looking like trash.

After for some times, I didn’t care anymore I simply went numb and cold through my last three years of High School. I guess pain and the rigid hard surface of our environment takes a toll of us. I wanted all black, dark lipstick, dark dresses, I dyed my hair all jet black painted my nails black. I actually for once meshed with one of the groups in our school, yes the Gothic ones. In the exception of one thing, I was the only Chinese mixed girl in there. I was entirely not at all cool for them, but they were neutral enough to let me hang out with them for a while.

The limited amount of clothes I have and the money I’ve saved up was not merely enough for me to be pretty or flashy to say the least. I have always craved and adored bell-bottoms and so I’ve learned in Home-improvement class on sewing. I felt guilty and was punished later, but it was worth it! I took the scarfs I’ve found in the old boxes of my step-mothers things. The pretty velvety translucent pattern of the material was a match for my old pants. I would cut a slash on the bottom of my pants, and then cut a piece of the material and sew that to the pants to look like cool, hip bell-bottoms. It worked, some of the girls at the school liked it.

In some ways, I have learned to adapt and recreate the things I have and make it pretty as possible with my creative side. Even in many things I found old or out of shape, I would recreate it and make it into another useful tool for me. Just because something is broken, it doesn’t always mean we have to throw it away, we make it into something else. I guess in many ways my heart was broken and my inner beauty and outer layer of my soul was shattered, so I try to fix things to cope.

The years went on quicker and soon I’ve found my-self a little summer job at the Madison Memorial Hospital as a snack bar aid. Every week I’d work there and get paid, how great is that? Instead of working for my father, I choose to work for someone else and actually get paid. There I met some people who imprinted my mind yet once again. Each weekend I’d wake up at four-thirty to walk for twenty minutes to the Hospital. I find the walk in the cold air and the snow mesmerizing. I listen to my little cheap walk-man and replay the songs over and over again. I love and still love Enya “ Only Time,” it will always bring me to that place of icy ponds. Le Ann Womack' “ I Hope You Dance”— this song made me continue to keep going. It is such a wretched thing to admit, but walking in the cold air and under the snow made me feel just a bit free and unbound. I thought about lots of things each week with that walk. My shift was often with Wesley Egbert, the boy who was in our school until he moved to St. Anthony half an hour away from where I lived. His darkish blonde hair was glistening and he always smiled and yet his eyes were a hidden sad place. I found my attachment to him and I were the song “It Must Have Been Love” by Roxette. During first hour of our shift he’d play that song and I soon found it stuck in my head. He lost his girlfriend at the time, and I knew nothing about dating or breaking ups, I was an alien to that subject, but I listened and time went by that much quicker.

Empty spots in my head after a while, until the closest edge of our graduation from high school. Everyone was so excited and planning their stories and who’s the queen or whatever it is. I have not the slightest clue, all I know is that I am that much closer to leaving this town and my father’s dungeon. To ultimate surprise and jittery butterflies, I did enlist to the Marines without questioning anything and jumped forward. I knew I was not smart to not bargain or ask for anything. In my heart, I just want to leave and never come back. Some of the people knew I was going, and some laughed and said I wouldn’t make it a week, and some just looked funny at my proposition. In the end, I didn’t care I had NOTHING to lose.

My father said it was a thoughtless and craziest thing he’s ever heard and I am a girl and I am not strong and to be truthful, I was weak, I mean I never ran a day in my life. But, careless did I ever wanted to jump into something and never feeling locked up again. I was a nervous wreck to begin with, and I truly had no clue how I managed to pass the psy-exam. I knew in soul at that time I was nothing, and when you are nothing you fear less of what to lose. I have nothing to lose and I had no boyfriend or husband or anyone to miss me, so why shouldn’t I go?

Glancing back to that day and moment, all of my pain and child-hood agonized trauma and nightmare was a sum of who I became. I was a load of mess after the military. Broken relationships and homelessness and realization of my anger and denial stood escalating to the highest tower of my pain. I know in my life I have taken chances, many risky chances and some are disclosed and others are still hidden. I enjoyed taking risks and not knowing what will be next door to the chamber. In sum of my life I have seen so much and yet it all goes back to my misplaced of child-hood and the feelings of abandonment. Rejections and fear of that have turned me into a monster at some point in my life. I wandered and lusts for love after high school, and found the opposite. I learned to love my self and to accept my- self before I found love again. Beauty is within all of us, the most beautiful people are the ones gone through the most dreadful events and experiences in their lives. I never thought I was beautiful, I thought ugly was eating me from the outside because of mother’s denial and my past from the beatings and the verbal abuses. It has taken me thirty years to figure out the U-turn in my life.

I am much more humble and believe in second chances in people who suffered and endured a life- long cycle of pain. We are a product of our environment, if we choose to change and never become the monster, then we must escape and break free the chains. I may have taking a complete U-Turn in my life and started over, but I know I am realizing my inner self. I realize through pain I have cherished so much to laugh and be happy. I have learned that through madness, my dignity and desires came alive. Through all of the ugly experiences I have had it made me purified and I sought out the true beauty in me. I am me because I am not afraid to lay out my insides and let it all expose and picked on. I am a flower that has to be weathered and blown away from home.

The sea made my emotions rises and falls and through that I have learned to be still at times. I am the backstage curtain only goes up when the show goes on and it disappear when the show is over. I am the little girl with high hopes and little fear in death. The wind drifts me wherever and I am the paper bag that is drenched with bile and survived. I am the woman that has been torn apart and somehow hope finds me and pieces back my heart. I have learned and unlearned so much these past ten years and have slowly summed up my life. In the end, I am me because of everything and everyone in the past of mine. Never judge by the book that is seemingly open, because if we don’t learn to read and understand the words in the book, what good does it do for us to judge the open book if we can’t seep through the meaning of their words.

To be painfully continued…..