Love

Too often do I have some tiny epiphany which I mull around in my head, planning how I would write it down and remember it. Too often do I write it late, which results in something like watery eggs, or not at all, which is a disappointment when it happens (or rather, doesn't happen).  But this one may actually be something significant.

I've noticed today that I tend to hit rock bottom before bouncing back up. In these dark couple of hours, my mind clouds up and I become stubborn, with no sense of what's fair, what's right, what's myself.  I feel chaotic, helpless, weak.  Unworthy.  It usually lasts no more than a day, this wallowing in confusion and vulnerability.  I become so sensitive to anything that happens, that I feel like I'd fling a lizard if someone even looks at me.  Today, I isolated myself in a corner of the house.  I despised what I was doing to myself, this cycle of helplessness and disgust.  I didn't know why I did it to myself, only that I was left feeling guilty afterwards, wondering what had come over me.

But something was different.  Somehow, out of all days, today I asked myself, Why do you do this to yourself?  It's like you don't even respect yourself or realize your worth.  It's almost like...like you don't even love yourself.

I must provide some context for these thoughts.  I had just finished reading the fourth Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants book today, and loving yourself was something that had come up a few times.  Also, my wonderful boyfriend told me today just how amazing he thought I was, something that I rarely agree with, if ever, and usually attribute to his being in love with me.  I didn't realize until now that he knew me first.

Anyway, that question struck pretty close to home.  I realized that all my life, I've been told that I was loved, and told others that I loved them, but never had anyone asked me if I loved myself, at least not quite so urgently.  It's really not that obvious.  I've suffered low self-esteem since when I was a kid because I have never considered that question and its importance.  And as a Christian, I am constantly told and believe that God loves me, but somehow, that wasn't enough, because how could I believe I deserved all this good love if I didn't love myself?  This whole time through high school and college I've been trying to find my self worth and separate that from grades and expectations and how many people liked me.  This whole time I've looked enviously at models in magazines or catalogues, wishing that I were their size.  This whole time I've coveted other people's talents because mine never seemed impressive enough.  What happened was that I started feeling like I didn't deserve some things, like I was just an average person with nothing special to offer others.  I doubted myself, was hard on myself, put myself down.

I almost panicked, frantically hoping that I'm not usually like this.  When was the last time I did love myself?  My thoughts didn't have to go back too far.  Last summer, at Virginia Tech.  I could clearly tell, and so could the others.  It has probably never manifested so brightly and clearly.  I was carefree, bouncy, always with a smile, social, had no worries, had no doubts about what I deserved, but most importantly, I gave it my all and let others see me for who I could be.  I did not have to think twice about what I was doing.  In the midst of it all, I managed to catch my boyfriend's eye and made some really good friends that I still talk to today.  I must have done something right.

I need to learn to love myself, and then I'll be able to love others I want to.  I wish there was more to say, like a witty ending to this whole ordeal, but reality is that I just got started, and I'm feeling pretty good about it so far.

Who am I?

I feel quite lost, like a little girl being pulled in two different directions in a forest, both paths independent of each other. I wanted to spend the summer at home (while still doing professional stuff) so that I could spend time with my family, catch up on life, and update them on how I was doing. I wanted them to know me and accept me, see what college and friends have molded me into. I was quite proud of it, if anything at all. It was like buying someone a nice sweater, hoping they will like it and that it will keep them sufficiently warm throughout winter.

All I've managed to do so far was stare at the dinner table, pretending to be interested in something that I can't even focus on. All that I hear are seeped through my soul, accepted by my cultural upbringing, but rejected or challenged by my logical, rational side, which understands the values of Chinese culture, but fights for the side of free-thinking, open-minded views. I so desperately want to have a normal conversation, one that is not ridden by criticism, hasty assumptions, the past, or faulty jokes. But in trying to prepare to say something, the atmosphere is broken by spikes and shards that render it impossible for me to zone in, which results in me building glass walls around myself. I answer dully. Scathingly would be too strong of a word. Sometimes, I laugh authentically, but not nearly enough.

My culture isn't the only area that I feel divided. This doesn't get brought up often, but my hearing is another where I don't feel like I belong anywhere. To the normal-hearing, I am hearing-impaired, but to the hearing-impaired and deaf, I am normal. Where does that place me? It's not a big deal now; I've grown up with it my whole life and I'm used to it. I consider myself normal-hearing, for the most part, but it doesn't really matter. However, I am considered to be so "white" in Chinese culture that it's not even funny, but to everyone else, I look like just another Asian face with an Asian upbringing and Asian parents who push you to your limits. What does that make me? Chinese-American? But I wasn't born here. I almost refuse to be Chinese-American. Nevertheless, I am not yet an American citizen (not until next month, anyway). I've tried to put it off. I liked being Chinese. What did that mean? I know I wanted to hold on to that piece of my history and culture, but how can I feel like I deserve the title when I am being told left and right that I have been so Americanized that I cannot possibly understand or appreciate the complexities and hardships of a traditional Chinese upbringing? Why should my ethnicity be determined by how I act and what I believe and not where I was born? I feel like an alien being American. In many ways, I'd rather be a Chinese person with an American upbringing, but still stay Chinese and not American. Is that even possible? It doesn't mean that I dislike Americans, but there should be nothing wrong with wanting to stick to my roots, no matter how different I act culturally. I feel like the Chinese-American title is thrust upon me as the only explanation for my values and beliefs. In that sense, I feel thrown back and forth between the two - not quite Chinese, but not quite American. I also don't want my chosen ethnicity to solely reflect the color of my skin. I sympathize with my American friends when they say Asian parents can be harsh on their kids. I envy them when their parents let them do whatever they like or support ideas and beliefs they hold. I am able to comfort an Asian friend whose parents are too tough on her, but at the same time, I cannot stand it when a proud Asian parent smugly brags about their accomplished child.

I don't feel deserving of being Chinese. I feel like my parents are always sighing that it's too bad I don't do this or think that in Chinese. I know they are proud of me and of what I have become, but I always feel that a part of them are always saying "it's just too bad..." And it's not that I don't want to become an American citizen. When I swear in that oath, I will feel as if I have abandoned my Chinese identity, that I am now a mix of ethnicities called "American," which isn't quite exactly what I want to be. I shouldn't have to feel that the two are mutually exclusive. My American friends will probably never understand this dilemma that I am going through, and my Asian friends and family will always have some of those characteristic beliefs of Asians. I am somewhere in between, not able to reconcile with myself. I suppose I will have the rest of my life to figure out what being Chinese-American, or I guess, more politically correct, what being just plain American means. It is easy for me to be married to an American, to live the American dream and think open-mindedly and be free in all that I do, but I know that every time I go home, I will be met with my cultural background, my roots, something that I am so proud of being, yet can never seem to quite rightfully own or live up to. Maybe it's a good thing. Maybe home will remind me that I am human, what I am worth, what I am capable of being, what my potentials are. Maybe becoming an American citizen from an immigrant is all about finding the strengths of who I am, my original identity, and use that to create a whole new "me" that I never thought would be possible had I stayed in my home country. Perhaps, it's about using precisely that to set yourself apart from other Americans, and then collectively working together to create a better place to live, and to bring into this world something to live for. That's what I hope, and that's what I will strive for. As for one day saying that I am proud to be an American? Well, that might take a bit of work and more soul-searching to do, but who's waiting?