Journal Entry 32: floods

I write and rewrite the same things over and over again. I delete paragraphs, lines, sentences, just to try and find the right words to convey my emotions. The tears bubbling up inside. Loneliness. Pain. Fear.

Do all parents love their children simply because they are their children? I think so. I loved someone who was an undefined being. Irrespective, I think parents love their children even if they have been ‘disappointments’ in their eyes. I think it is the potential for change, for growth, or perhaps parents just see reflections of themselves in their children. I am naïve. I can’t yet fathom the thought of wanting to die for someone else like parents so often say they would die for their children. I can’t quite grasp how parents can love their children so unconditionally. I cannot understand that kind of love. A love which is immovable, irreplaceable, undying.

I contemplate starting over. I don’t know how I’d do it but, sometimes, I just want to leave. I don’t want to be here in this city. I could start over and not know a single person. I could go to Argentina, Mexico, maybe Thailand. Starting over isn’t easy but a part of me wants to just leave. Not in a year from now, not in three, but now. No matter how unrealistic it is, I enjoy entertaining these thoughts.

It’s strange to say I now have a piece of paper to my name. I have a degree and saying that is wild to me. I never thought I’d actually be here. So many years of pain, stress, anxiety all culminating to this point. I don’t know how to feel.

It’s been flooding in the state I live in. There’s just so much rain it all feels endless. For every day we have warm weather, the world retaliates by providing us with 3 days of heavy rain. The months are all blurring into one, making the winter feel much longer and much more dreary. Spring has not yet truly arrived.

I can feel the tears bubbling up inside. I frequently cry in short bursts. These bursts happen everywhere. In my bed, on the bus, walking home or whilst at an appointment. My mind, my thoughts, my very being coming undone.

I have morals, values, rules I live by. Or at least I thought I did. I left my previous workplace for a variety of reasons, one of the most prominent reasons was because it challenged my morals and values. I felt like I wasn’t doing something right by working in that role. I was sad. I am still very sad.

I enjoyed staying by the fireplace. I’d sleep on the couch in the farthest room from everyone else in the house. No noise, only silence apart from the occasional crackle of the wood in the fire. I sometimes miss that house. I know if I go back it will slowly erode my fond memories of the farm. I cling onto the images seared into my brain.

It’s hard to see photos of my dad now that he’s older. Every time I see a picture, I almost want to avert my eyes. I try so hard to look away from the screen whilst simultaneously being pulled back in because of curiosity. Pain and love mixed into one until the only emotion left is anger. I guess that’s what he taught me, how to be angry.

I think kids were naturally repelled by me for a lot of reasons when I was younger. Not only did I look alien, but I was alien.

I got a lot of those chinky eye slurs, but I think they all could sense I just had a dark cloud hovering over my head. Everyone else was normal. They looked normal, normal being white that is, and I guess were normal. I struggled in school, was socially awkward and isolated, and I had a lot of family drama unfolding in the background. I guess I should just embrace the alien now I’m older.

My mum was and still is, a rather pessimistic person. Both of my parents, like almost all immigrant parents, just wanted the best for me. However, coming to a new country and starting a family isn’t easy. Along with all the hardship and racism they experienced, they developed hard exteriors, almost impenetrable walls built so high up it removed them from the reality they created for us. One which was unpleasant, an environment that was emotionally and physically hostile. Thinking about all the years we’ve lost makes me want to weep. There is no starting over.


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