preface in an ideal world, i would have good communication with my parents. in my real world, years of trauma (both mine and theirs), created a drift in our relationship. as a queer second-generation filipinacanadian who can’t speak my parents’ language, i find it increasingly difficult to let my parents know the true me. to know me in all my authenticity and flaws. i often think about how this could be easier if we spoke the same language. these pages are filled with the many sentiments that i wish i could tell my parents.
content notes and warnings: emotional neglect, physical neglect, physical abuse, depression, anxiety, mental health, family dyamics, fat shaming, migration, trauma
alone i love you but i need my space. i understand you want to care for me and i’m really grateful to have parents who still give a shit about their kid. i get it, our culture is rooted in community and collective care. but growing up you both have been so emotionally and physically absent that i stopped learning how to need you. i grew to rely on myself. explore on my own. figure things out on my own. because i had to. i can’t depend on you two to be there. i don’t depend on you two to be there. i want to make my own mistakes. just let me be.
okay i hate it when you ask me, “are you okay?” a question that weighs more than you can bear. a question with an answer that you’re not prepared to handle. that you’re not equipped to understand and support. what happens if i say no? you’re to going to try to fix me. like i’m broken. i know i’m not. i know that sometimes i have my really off days, filled with depression, or anxiety, or an amalgamation of all kinds of emotions combating in my heart and in my head. i’m not okay and that’s okay.
stp i want dedicate my time to the liberation of our people. you came here because of the lack of systemic opportunities back home. your dreams, your ambitions, your lives were all rerouted to survival. to ensure that my brother and i thrive. for the longest time, i was perfectly okay with living a western lifestyle. but it’s too hard to ignore the fight of our people. the struggle goes on, whether in the philippines, in canada, or in the diaspora at large. i am here because of the struggle of those before me. those who fought against oppression and for the liberation of our rights, our land, and our people. this is why i visited home. this is why i’m still doing the work. my purpose is in the struggle. to serve the people.
out i’m queer. i don’t know how to tell you or if i should tell you. i’m not looking for your acceptance but i think you’ll be accepting? there’s ease in unawareness.
parenthood pt. 1 i’m not happy i don’t like my life i don’t want to live anymore please. please stop. i’m just talking anak, you assure me. but the bruises on your body say otherwise. your voice, always so cheery but your eyes reflect the years of pain you carried. you crossed oceans for the prospect of family. you navigated a foreign world for us. you built a new life with him. only to be treated like nothing. again and again and again. i empathize. i really do. but i didn’t ask for this existence. it is not my responsibility to carry this weight.. i don’t want this responsibility. i can’t fix this for you. i’m sorry.
parenthood pt. 2 i’m tired of this notion that i owe you everything because you gave up your life for me. you don’t own me. i don’t owe you emotional support. you don’t own me. i don’t have to take your shitty behaviour just because i’m your kid. you don’t own me. this relationship isn’t transactional. you don’t own me. i can’t and refuse to parent you. you don’t own me. i deserve to be treated with thought and respect. you don’t own me. you don’t own me. you don’t own me.
chosen my friends are my family too.
resentment things i resent you for: − never teaching me how to handle money − not spending your money better − treating me like the test child − having a double standard because i’m a girl − putting me under a microscope when i was a good kid − giving up on teaching me our language − buying a house thinking it would solve your problems − thinking god will be the answer to your marital problems − not being able to rely on you − telling a six-year-old me that i was fat when i was far from it − having bad boundaries − not thinking about the repercussions of talking about your problems at your kids − giving up your whole lives for me and my brother and putting that on us i know that some of this was out of your control. i’m sorry, but i’m not able to let this go. yet.
six do you miss us? you ask after every call. i lie and tell you, yes because a no would crush you. i have been out of your home for six years. there has not been a moment during any of those days where i had missed you. i love the life i created on my own away from you. i feel bad that i couldn’t answer how you wanted. i hate that i never missed you. i hate that i have nothing to miss.
unanswered what were your lives like before i was born? what did you like to do? who was your best friend? what did they like to do? what were you like when you were my age? what were you worried about? what made you sad? what made you happy? what was going through your heads when you left the philippines? what did you do on your first day in canada? were you scared? do you wish you could have done things differently? what were your parents like? your siblings? do you regret how things have turned out? why each other? do you still love each other? do you wish i was different? do you hate me? am i a regret?
between i’m trying. i don’t think you understand this burden. of being a bridge between two worlds. of carrying the weight of our ancestors and the stories of home in a foreign land. while also forging my own path. i’m learning to forgive. i’m learning to honour my true self. i’m learning to find a balance. i’m trying. thank you for being patient with me. i love you.
march 2018 @tendertita tendertita.bigcartel.com tendertita@gmail.com