I've been home with a stomach flu
for the past few days and that means throwing up, which I have to say is
one of my all time least favorite things to do. God! I hate
that feeling of sweaty dizziness and being out of control. Just thinking
about it makes me feel like throwing up.
Anyway, since I've been sick my
mom has been super nice. She really can be so sweet when she wants to. Bringing
me trays of all of my favorite teas with neat little slices of toasted bread
on pretty china plates. And she gives me two choices of jam (strawberry
or blackberry) and apricot nectar in a blue glass (which always reminds
me of sitting on the floor with my rice cakes and juice and watching Sesame
Street when I was 5). And she folds the napkin in this special way that
makes a pocket then she slips the silverware right into it. And there is
always a fresh flower in a little crystal vase. You know, at times like
this, when she comes into my room carrying the tray smiling and singing
and asking how I'm feeling, I love her so much it's worth being sick.
Unfortunately, most of the time
I don't feel like I love her. Okay I love her, but I definitely don't like her
very much. Most of the time I get the feeling she's so concerned about what
everyone thinks about the way she behaves that she forgets that it's okay
to smile and relax. But while I've been sick there was no one around to
judge her and that's when I like being with her, the best.
When she and I are alone together
she tells me stories about growing up in Hong Kong and what that was like
for her. How her father was a fisherman and what she remembers of the small
house they lived in right by the water. And how she would get up very early
very morning to help him with breakfast and to pack a lunch for him. How
she longed to sail away with him on his junk (a type of Chinese
boat). If she had been a boy, she would have been able to do just that,
but as a girl, she was not allowed. She said that her father let her help
repair the nets when they needed it, or to untangle them if they were put
away in a rush because of a sudden change in the weather. She was very proud
to tell me how fast and true her fingers were at untangling those nets.
"This was not a job that ordinary daughters were asked to do,"
she said proudly. "But because my father had no sons and I was his
eldest daughter, he trusted me with this very important task."
I like to hear my mother talk about
her own accomplishments with pride. It makes me feel proud of her, or proud
of the young girl she once was. She only talks about the old days when my
father isn't around. As if she is not really allowed to have any source
of pride when he's there. I don't understand it. How can anybody live like
that? With one person in the relationship getting all of the power and responsibility
and attention, while the other one just quietly stays in the background
like a scared little shadow. I don't know, maybe I shouldn't be talking
this way. After all, they are my parents and they've been together
for over 20 years... 23 to be exact. They don't scream at each other or
act in any abusive ways. I know for sure they would never get a divorce.
So maybe I shouldn't be judging their relationship. I mean, how do I really
know what it is like for them to be married to each other? Just because
it looks one-sided to me and the kind of relationship I would never get
myself into, that doesn't necessarily mean that it doesn't work for them.
It obviously does work for them. Interesting how that is.
I haven't been at school for two
days and I'm feeling really isolated from everybody I know. I was hoping
the Chaz would call. But he hasn't. My mother said that JoAnn is the only
one who called.
The nice thing is that I have gotten
two really long emails from Elvin, the guy from London and I've written
back twice. I've also met him on line at The InSite chat twice. I still
haven't mentioned anything about him to Chaz.
Do you think I should
tell Chaz?
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