yesterday I was incredibly irritable, moody. My dad had to bring up, yet again, how he hates everything that I’m doing: hates that I’m not sitting at a pool over the summer like normal college kids, hates the way I dress, the way I speak, hates that I’m an english major, hates that I’m a dancer. broken fucking record.
And I’m feeling useless and naive as I usually do when he speaks to me and then he said something that got to me, something new: “you’ve always been different and it’s been really difficult for me.”
A couple years ago, maybe even a couple months ago, I would pick that apart and rant about how terrible my father is. How he should accept me for who I am and learn to let go and let me do my own thing. But really, I do understand now. He is from a third world country and a religious family. That’s not an excuse, but it’s not as simple as just getting with the times or western ways; my older sister is a bio med student at the University of Wisconsin living in a high rise and working at a hospital. I completely understand how, for my father, me as an english major with mental disorders and passion for arts and an urban lifestyle is completely mystical and, in fact, difficult.
I am different and I am difficult and I am so damn grateful to my parents for letting me go to university, for co-signing my loans, for giving me the foundation that I need to be independent and responsible. I may not be where I want to be right now and I may feel a little held back by my father, but he’s an amazing man who has given me what I need.
I am at peace, even if it is difficult, I salute the moon and I am at peace.