Where is There Hope on a Golden Mountain?
My very first love of my life was Sean. High school. God, I loved him. It was a crazy sort of love that was very experimental on so many levels, chiefly sexually. In a word: torrid. We saw each other for a year and a half. Then he went off to Ireland. Then I fucked someone else. I don't know why. Sean asked me to marry him. I think I thought about being 18 years old, finding The One and never being with anyone else again. This thought depressed me into an action. This action I regretted for 10 years.
When he badgered me enough to tell him, we were at a friend's cottage. At the time I was anti-drug, yet alcohol positive. I suspect it was a legalities issue. Not sure. After I told him and he reacted, a mix of utter disgust and outrage, I did my first and last attempt at hot knives. I didn't care anymore. I wanted oblivion.
I was absolutely devastated. I don't remember how I got home from the cottage. He'd already left. Hitchhiked. He left me. I remember waking up in my own bed. It was a single. Sunny room. Summertime. Air conditioner whirring in the background. Comfort. Cozy. I'd convinced myself I was dreaming the whole thing. It was just a bad dream. I really hadn't had sex with someone who meant nothing to me. I really hadn't betrayed Sean. He really didn't leave me for doing something that warranted abandon.
Nothing was wrong. Everything was fine.
Everything was wrong. Nothing was fine.
I had to leave Toronto to go somewhere else. It didn't matter where. I chose Vancouver. I figured had family there I could stay with.
My Uncle Al and his family chose Vancouver as their home after he and his wife emigrated to Canada. I don't know why. I don't know why my father chose Toronto while his close brother chose a city 4 rather large provinces away. I don't know. I was never told. I never asked because I was never encouraged to ask questions.
What do you mean you don't know? What are you stupid?
Uncle Al has 4 kids too. Just like our family.
Stock broker (male, favourite cousin): Ken
Anesthesiologist (male, once groped me): Glenn
Nurse (female, seems lost): Lisa
Government worker (male, sychophant): Kelly
Kelly needed a school book returned. Kelly's parents were far more generous with their time and their devotion to their kids than my father was with his. My Uncle Al and my Aunt Leung offered to return this book for him. Kelly seemed so busy in his studies. To run an errand seemed too frivolous of his time.
It was nighttime. Uncle Al was driving unfamiliar territory. A sudden decision was made at the last minute. On a lovely spring evening, Uncle Al drove up an offramp heading straight into oncoming traffic on a Vancouver highway.
Bright lights
Horns sounding
The screech of veering treads
The grill of a Peterbilt the last image seen
A sickening crunch
Blackness
An error in judgment
Uncle Al was fine, save a few scrapes.
Aunt Leung was not so lucky.
Aunt Leung was admittedly one of my least favourite relatives. She barked a lot. She didn't smile very often. I don't remember ever hearing her laugh. She did buy me a outfit that still to this day is my favourite. I was 8 years old with a red plaid polyester pantsuit, 2 tone beige and chocolate platform shoes. I lived and breathed the Bay City Rollers when I was 8 years old. I was in S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y night uniform.
Aunt Leung, like my parents, came to Canada in her early 20's. They came for the same reasons that all emigrés come: the metaphoric Golden Mountain.
Golden streams... running down my knees...
Money.
She worked tirelessly her whole life with the dream and philosophy that she would enjoy the fruits of her labour when it came time for retirement. She would have amassed quite a sizable nest egg by that time. Mother Hen.
Something people don't really consider: A person's life can be erased in a nanosecond.
The survivor can exist quite comfortably on the aforementioned nest egg and the quite sizable insurance policy once held in her name.
He bought cologne for the first time in his life.
He travelled extensively.
He had female suitors wanting to take care of him. They cooked and cleaned and ironed his shirts.
At one time he actually had 3 different women living with him, all vying for his attention (money).
One of these women actually threatened another houseguest with a kitchen knife. My brother was there at the time. He didn't go back to visit after that.
Her death was a valuable lesson to a 16 year old girl. My mother, whom I've said is always right, yet I fight her thought processes a lot, and in this case I think she's wrong, always wants me to "Save for the Future".
Why Mom? So I can die an early death and have my husband do the Charleston on my grave while he's entertaining a harem under the roof I'd sweat my proverbial bag off for?
Nope.
I'm alone. I fully realised how alone I am today.
I met most of my family today for lunch to celebrate my mother's birthday. Ack, the ex-husband/ best friend was invited and attended. My father actually doesn't know we're not married anymore. He's the only one who doesn't know. I'd been retiscent in telling him for these reasons:
1. He's never really made any real overtures in wanting to know about my life.
2. I don't have that kind of relationship with him.
3. He would judge me and call me a slut.
Bringing Ack was not a front. He is my best friend. He also really likes Dim Sum. Any chance he can get it, he takes that chance. He also really likes my mother a lot. My mother is incredibly wise, but not intelligent by society's eyes. She is not common people. She is not the common denominator. She is common sense. I love my mother very much.
In attendance were my sister, her twin adopted girls, both my parents, Ack, my brother Vince and myself.
Food is picked apart by the twins, unwanted parts flung right and left. My sister looks tired and overbooked. My brother is keen. He is still on the clock. He is in workmode. He is selling. He, in a second, becomes like my cousin Kelly. A sychophant.
Vince: I've been reading up on Chinese history.
Biological father: Yeah, so you got that link I sent you?
Vince: Yes. And I've been doing my own research.
Biological father: Well, all you really need to know is there. Don't listen to those other guys! Anything they say against Mao is wrong! You know, Tiananmen Square protesters?... They were all hired by the CIA.
I have just dug all the fingernails I have on my right hand into Ack's thigh.
At least a 1,000 dead from a protest of students and workers alike.
All facing the same fate. Repression.
All wanting the idea of democracy; the ideal.
Freedom.
In the Year 2005, with advanced technology, the Chinese government is systematically removing instant messaging chat-room discussions in an instant. Reading November's issue of Harper's magazine, I discovered that in China there are a list of blocked words that hackers had come across. In no way shape or form can any of the People write out:
betray the nation, brainwash, children of high officials, commie dogs, create turmoil, credit crisis, democracy, dictatorship, foreign affairs and the general plan, freedom, hold different political views, human rights, literary inquisition, mass movement, massacre, multi-party, old men's politics, public funds, public opinion is against the system, reading prohibited, real poeple and real events, real sentiments of the people, real situation, revolution, self-immolation, single-party, student unrest, tyranny, whitewashed peace and tranquillity, will of the people
There are people that I have met that look at the configuration of my face. My eyes. My bone structure. They ask, "So, have you been back to China?"
My voice is not heard. I haven't a trace of a Chinese accent simply because I was born in Toronto.
Given the conditions, I have very little reason to go back.
I am sitting at a table of strangers. There is a woman in her early 40's who is tending to her children. Her children are voraciously eating cupcake icing. There is an old man who is spouting off about a fantasised homeland who represses their people and he not only condones it, but is an advocator. Across from him is a salt and peppered man, who the old man addresses as his son. Together they bond over a bastardised version of history. History always being written by the victors.
My mother is my only true family. She and I sit in silence. The differences between us are age and the fact that my mouth is fully agape. I throw down a $50 bill and leave, fully disgusted.
No thanks required. It is a small sum for a larger piece of freedom. I want nothing to do with any of them.
I am not heard.
At any point of the luncheon, pick one:
Did you have enough to eat?
Where did you get the cupcakes?
How did the little one get the shiner?
Are you alright?
We're going to go.
We're going to go.
We're going to go.
Fuck you.
Not one thing was heard.
I posted a comment in a new friend's comment stream the other day. There was a thoughtful fellow who was repulsed by a woman who laughed too hard, was too loud, was too cheerful. It really bugged his ass. I responded.
I am the last child of 4 children. I was not heard. Everyone needs to feel present. We do it in the only way we know how. Look at me. Pay attention to me. But, the funny thing about attention, for me anyway, is once I get it, I want nothing to do with it.
Please avert thine eyes. They cause me great discomfort.
I love a boy who wants to marry me. I am surrounded by examples of how that construct cannot possibly work. Too much of self is taken away. There has existed too much repression in my life. I don't know if I can do it again. I don't trust myself with staying faithful.
At the age of 21, still broken hearted over Sean, I had married Stupid. He was 11 years my senior.
Rural
Alcoholic
Would lose his bearings during sleep and often piss in the hamper thinking it was the toilet
Drug abuser
Emotionally abusive
When frustrated, would punch holes into drywall
The day after a real bender he would come at me with a dozen long stemmed red roses
I can't look at red roses anymore
I don't know where I stand on the whole issue. Guiseppe? I know you're in Abruzzo right now. You promised to come to my next wedding to stand at the appropriate time. When the minister asks, "Is there anyone here who objects to this union," you promised to object.
As much as I revere love in all its denominations, I have only experienced the degradation of love. It's so fucking finite. It's so fleeting and impermanent. I want so much to believe that true love exists. But I can't say it does.
I haven't seen it.
But belief, true belief isn't like that, is it? One has to believe. To trust.
Trust.
I'll try to learn again.
When he badgered me enough to tell him, we were at a friend's cottage. At the time I was anti-drug, yet alcohol positive. I suspect it was a legalities issue. Not sure. After I told him and he reacted, a mix of utter disgust and outrage, I did my first and last attempt at hot knives. I didn't care anymore. I wanted oblivion.
I was absolutely devastated. I don't remember how I got home from the cottage. He'd already left. Hitchhiked. He left me. I remember waking up in my own bed. It was a single. Sunny room. Summertime. Air conditioner whirring in the background. Comfort. Cozy. I'd convinced myself I was dreaming the whole thing. It was just a bad dream. I really hadn't had sex with someone who meant nothing to me. I really hadn't betrayed Sean. He really didn't leave me for doing something that warranted abandon.
Nothing was wrong. Everything was fine.
Everything was wrong. Nothing was fine.
I had to leave Toronto to go somewhere else. It didn't matter where. I chose Vancouver. I figured had family there I could stay with.
My Uncle Al and his family chose Vancouver as their home after he and his wife emigrated to Canada. I don't know why. I don't know why my father chose Toronto while his close brother chose a city 4 rather large provinces away. I don't know. I was never told. I never asked because I was never encouraged to ask questions.
What do you mean you don't know? What are you stupid?
Uncle Al has 4 kids too. Just like our family.
Stock broker (male, favourite cousin): Ken
Anesthesiologist (male, once groped me): Glenn
Nurse (female, seems lost): Lisa
Government worker (male, sychophant): Kelly
Kelly needed a school book returned. Kelly's parents were far more generous with their time and their devotion to their kids than my father was with his. My Uncle Al and my Aunt Leung offered to return this book for him. Kelly seemed so busy in his studies. To run an errand seemed too frivolous of his time.
It was nighttime. Uncle Al was driving unfamiliar territory. A sudden decision was made at the last minute. On a lovely spring evening, Uncle Al drove up an offramp heading straight into oncoming traffic on a Vancouver highway.
Bright lights
Horns sounding
The screech of veering treads
The grill of a Peterbilt the last image seen
A sickening crunch
Blackness
An error in judgment
Uncle Al was fine, save a few scrapes.
Aunt Leung was not so lucky.
Aunt Leung was admittedly one of my least favourite relatives. She barked a lot. She didn't smile very often. I don't remember ever hearing her laugh. She did buy me a outfit that still to this day is my favourite. I was 8 years old with a red plaid polyester pantsuit, 2 tone beige and chocolate platform shoes. I lived and breathed the Bay City Rollers when I was 8 years old. I was in S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y night uniform.
Aunt Leung, like my parents, came to Canada in her early 20's. They came for the same reasons that all emigrés come: the metaphoric Golden Mountain.
Golden streams... running down my knees...
Money.
She worked tirelessly her whole life with the dream and philosophy that she would enjoy the fruits of her labour when it came time for retirement. She would have amassed quite a sizable nest egg by that time. Mother Hen.
Something people don't really consider: A person's life can be erased in a nanosecond.
The survivor can exist quite comfortably on the aforementioned nest egg and the quite sizable insurance policy once held in her name.
He bought cologne for the first time in his life.
He travelled extensively.
He had female suitors wanting to take care of him. They cooked and cleaned and ironed his shirts.
At one time he actually had 3 different women living with him, all vying for his attention (money).
One of these women actually threatened another houseguest with a kitchen knife. My brother was there at the time. He didn't go back to visit after that.
Her death was a valuable lesson to a 16 year old girl. My mother, whom I've said is always right, yet I fight her thought processes a lot, and in this case I think she's wrong, always wants me to "Save for the Future".
Why Mom? So I can die an early death and have my husband do the Charleston on my grave while he's entertaining a harem under the roof I'd sweat my proverbial bag off for?
Nope.
I'm alone. I fully realised how alone I am today.
I met most of my family today for lunch to celebrate my mother's birthday. Ack, the ex-husband/ best friend was invited and attended. My father actually doesn't know we're not married anymore. He's the only one who doesn't know. I'd been retiscent in telling him for these reasons:
1. He's never really made any real overtures in wanting to know about my life.
2. I don't have that kind of relationship with him.
3. He would judge me and call me a slut.
Bringing Ack was not a front. He is my best friend. He also really likes Dim Sum. Any chance he can get it, he takes that chance. He also really likes my mother a lot. My mother is incredibly wise, but not intelligent by society's eyes. She is not common people. She is not the common denominator. She is common sense. I love my mother very much.
In attendance were my sister, her twin adopted girls, both my parents, Ack, my brother Vince and myself.
Food is picked apart by the twins, unwanted parts flung right and left. My sister looks tired and overbooked. My brother is keen. He is still on the clock. He is in workmode. He is selling. He, in a second, becomes like my cousin Kelly. A sychophant.
Vince: I've been reading up on Chinese history.
Biological father: Yeah, so you got that link I sent you?
Vince: Yes. And I've been doing my own research.
Biological father: Well, all you really need to know is there. Don't listen to those other guys! Anything they say against Mao is wrong! You know, Tiananmen Square protesters?... They were all hired by the CIA.
I have just dug all the fingernails I have on my right hand into Ack's thigh.
At least a 1,000 dead from a protest of students and workers alike.
All facing the same fate. Repression.
All wanting the idea of democracy; the ideal.
Freedom.
In the Year 2005, with advanced technology, the Chinese government is systematically removing instant messaging chat-room discussions in an instant. Reading November's issue of Harper's magazine, I discovered that in China there are a list of blocked words that hackers had come across. In no way shape or form can any of the People write out:
betray the nation, brainwash, children of high officials, commie dogs, create turmoil, credit crisis, democracy, dictatorship, foreign affairs and the general plan, freedom, hold different political views, human rights, literary inquisition, mass movement, massacre, multi-party, old men's politics, public funds, public opinion is against the system, reading prohibited, real poeple and real events, real sentiments of the people, real situation, revolution, self-immolation, single-party, student unrest, tyranny, whitewashed peace and tranquillity, will of the people
There are people that I have met that look at the configuration of my face. My eyes. My bone structure. They ask, "So, have you been back to China?"
My voice is not heard. I haven't a trace of a Chinese accent simply because I was born in Toronto.
Given the conditions, I have very little reason to go back.
I am sitting at a table of strangers. There is a woman in her early 40's who is tending to her children. Her children are voraciously eating cupcake icing. There is an old man who is spouting off about a fantasised homeland who represses their people and he not only condones it, but is an advocator. Across from him is a salt and peppered man, who the old man addresses as his son. Together they bond over a bastardised version of history. History always being written by the victors.
My mother is my only true family. She and I sit in silence. The differences between us are age and the fact that my mouth is fully agape. I throw down a $50 bill and leave, fully disgusted.
No thanks required. It is a small sum for a larger piece of freedom. I want nothing to do with any of them.
I am not heard.
At any point of the luncheon, pick one:
Did you have enough to eat?
Where did you get the cupcakes?
How did the little one get the shiner?
Are you alright?
We're going to go.
We're going to go.
We're going to go.
Fuck you.
Not one thing was heard.
I posted a comment in a new friend's comment stream the other day. There was a thoughtful fellow who was repulsed by a woman who laughed too hard, was too loud, was too cheerful. It really bugged his ass. I responded.
I am the last child of 4 children. I was not heard. Everyone needs to feel present. We do it in the only way we know how. Look at me. Pay attention to me. But, the funny thing about attention, for me anyway, is once I get it, I want nothing to do with it.
Please avert thine eyes. They cause me great discomfort.
I love a boy who wants to marry me. I am surrounded by examples of how that construct cannot possibly work. Too much of self is taken away. There has existed too much repression in my life. I don't know if I can do it again. I don't trust myself with staying faithful.
At the age of 21, still broken hearted over Sean, I had married Stupid. He was 11 years my senior.
Rural
Alcoholic
Would lose his bearings during sleep and often piss in the hamper thinking it was the toilet
Drug abuser
Emotionally abusive
When frustrated, would punch holes into drywall
The day after a real bender he would come at me with a dozen long stemmed red roses
I can't look at red roses anymore
I don't know where I stand on the whole issue. Guiseppe? I know you're in Abruzzo right now. You promised to come to my next wedding to stand at the appropriate time. When the minister asks, "Is there anyone here who objects to this union," you promised to object.
As much as I revere love in all its denominations, I have only experienced the degradation of love. It's so fucking finite. It's so fleeting and impermanent. I want so much to believe that true love exists. But I can't say it does.
I haven't seen it.
But belief, true belief isn't like that, is it? One has to believe. To trust.
Trust.
I'll try to learn again.
posted by Comrade Chicken at
6:28 p.m.
3 Comments:
the recurring question, "is it okay to be alone?"
maybe only once you reach that trust you speak of, and fully believe it, the definitive answer to the above question will be a resounding "yes," then you will see what is on the other side. on the other side, it may be just the comrade. it may be so much more.
By
whatever, at 7:35 p.m.
and people like the comrade are never alone. there's gold in them thar hills, all around you.
f :)
By
Anonymous, at 12:54 a.m.
First... thank you for using the word "voracious" to modify some word other than "reader." I'm quite tired of that cliche and I'm determined to break those two words up for good.
Second...funny, that whole dynamic - not feeling heard, in your family - or in the world probably. And you clearly have the self-awareness to understand it...but insight is rarely enough. What would it take to free you from needing people to react to you differently?
Peace and Love...
By
Anonymous, at 10:33 p.m.
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