"Mother says there are locked rooms inside all women;
kitchen of lust, bedroom of grief, bathroom of apathy...
Sometimes the men - they come with keys,
and sometimes, the men - they come with hammers."
- Warsan Shire: The House
CW/TW: family, mentions of domestic/sexual violence, mental health,
mentions of substance-use and suicidal ideation
I embrace emotions too much, often only here, where I feel the constant need to keep pushing for emotions/reactions/something/anything... An outburst at mother's day dinner: perhaps triggered by mentions of someone joining the military, perhaps continued by last night's drunk in solitude while crying/puking in the backyards of rural suburbia, or perhaps just the accumulated suicidal-grey with silenced memories in a home/house/room I don't know how to feel/stay safe at... How does one feel so lost but stuck at the same time ? It all happened so fast, I remember screaming/asking for answers: teach me how to survive, and tell me how you have really supported my survival ? I asked my family over take-out food getting colder by the minute, that if they would even know why/what happened if/when I die ? An ungrateful child of disgrace, I hate how selfish I become at home: triggering a broken inner-child desperate for love and care, drowning in the years spent/loved in conflict, fighting for freedom, acceptance, sympathy/empathy, and solidarity...
I apologized, left into the rain for fresh air, and came back still crying as if it was another family fight from years ago. I apologized again and again, begging my mom to stop the dishes and for my brother to stay in the space. I explained of how unstable my mental health has been, and just how hurtful it is to stay in a home with memories of alcoholism, domestic violence, as well as the years of uncertainty/self-hate/harm during exploring/becoming... I apologized for my selfishness, and how I've been in desperate need of emotional support and allyship, things never practiced in such closed and cold household. I talked of how I can not keep on living in a home without conversations and minimal interactions, and how gathering for mother's day becomes so performative without substantial care for each other's wellbeing... I explained how for me and my love languages: moving furniture and taking out the trash is not caring conversations or substantial support but transactional duties of care. I apologized again for my affects on the environment and said that it is also not my place to push for such changes after all that we have been through. I offered to leave in the next few days instead of waiting to find a place, for my own sanity/safety and theirs...
My brother then finally opened up, admitting that he often doesn't know how to help/support me, especially when encountering socio-political/sexual/physical injustices. I appreciated that and thanked him, with my mother still weeping in silence, I asked her: has anyone ever told you while growing up that whatever you're feeling/thinking is valid, that you are allowed/freed to let it out ? My mother shook her head in silence, sobbing, and thats when I had to hold her hand tight, to feel the mothers/sisters that have came before, and survived... even in silence.
I can feel the lineage of womanhood and femininity where submission becomes survival, and to be silent and serve is to be a good woman/mother/wife/daughter... I apologized and explained to my family of how I never see/accept them as violent allies of the oppressors, and I know we have not had an easy journey either; however, I am afraid/angry of ways we don't challenge our systematic beliefs and practices, thus letting us rot comfortably with privilege. I feel the same ways when I felt fighting them to see/accept/(re/un)learn my woman/femmehood as I feel now fighting them to be aware of systematic violence and the ways we become complicit. Perhaps all for the ego too as I am no saint, how selfish of me to project such journey of awakening to those around me, pushing pain for enlightenment, it is almost scary of how cynicism becomes you... I then started to realize that I also have tendencies to isolate and somehow cope with how much I hate myself by using self-loath to push for reflection/change, for satisfaction, thus often needing a lot of emotional affirmations. I feel that it is possible I project energies of inner-shame/guilt into spaces during mental breakdowns and instabilities, especially easily to people I'm most comfortable with: my family. And though in the right spirit of awareness and at least I demand for self-elevation and collective change... but is it even real if such is not birthed through love ?
Making my mother cry wasn't the mother's day we've hoped/planned for, and I am trying hard to forgive myself, as I was only searching for love and healing, even if the desperate/unstable outburst is an embarrassment to my grace, at least it was with family who embraced my ugliest moments. Yet I also have learned, through forgiving myself and while writing/reflecting, that I must do better. Not to be perfect or excellent by recognition/validation, but to do/be better through love/light, to grow softer/stronger for myself and those around me, then maybe someday beyond... A storyteller trying to share stories of hurting/healing while often only hurting, who have been carrying herself in pieces trying to love and be loved but she forgets that she deserves to feel whole first, to love in full and be loved fully. Thus I realized that if we're going to heal, it must be glorious, and my inclusion/push of my family must be rooted in compassion... I asked for hugs and of how we can/will do better for each other and ourselves, that I know how much we all try and we should be proud of our journeys, no matter for survival or beyond, that we are still here, together. I thought the night would end there but I'm glad we spent the next few hours til midnight chatting/discussing on feminism from/in East Asia in honour of mother's day: with my brother sharing historic knowledges on ancient societies and structures, with me mentioning theoretical analysis of survival, representation, and power as well as revolutionary examples/possibilities, also with my mother who only listened at first but then started to contribute her ideas/thoughts in nothing but grace... not stories yet but if you listened closely, you'd hear her experiences softly through her ideologies/principals.
"At parties I point to my body and say
This is where love comes to die.
Welcome, come in, make yourself at home.
Everyone laughs, they think I’m joking..."
- Warsan Shire: The House
I remember 20 years ago my mother birthed my body
I remember 5 years ago I then started birthing my essence
I remember birthing myself again and again,
After searching/loving/hurting/breaking/rotting/(re/un)learning
Are we then not mothers of our survival/becoming ?
A flower surrendering to mother earth; saying home is where water flows, but
Isn't fluidity part of our existence and being ?
I must heal, through loving my home within, first
Letting a garden grow, so I don't give my floral petals away trying to blossom...
"At the end of the day,
it isn't where I came from,
maybe home is somewhere
I'm going and never have been before."
- Warsan Shire
No comments:
Post a Comment