Wednesday, July 07, 2004

I don't want to go to bed angry. So, first I have to write.

The Fourth of July
I thought that this day would be fun. Would be carefree. Would start in the morning and end in one of those I don't want it to be over yet, kinda ways. But, no.
My previous post ended at 4:54. I was angry then, but I had no idea the night was just beginning.
Stuck at home ALL day, I waited around until 7:30ish. Finally, my dad rolls around saying that he'll pick me up and we head to Thai Smile. It is the Maa Krua's (Head Chef?) wedding reception. I feel that facade come over me. With the polite smiles and all that shit that Thai people expect. It's part of the culture, and something that I'm used to. "Oh, you're so pretty." "Oh, you're so smart" BLAH BLAH BLAH. None of them know who I am or even what my name is. It is so fake I want to rip my mask off and all of their's too. I want to reveal them. Liars.
I wait. I have been calling Jenni all day. ALL DAY. Waiting and waiting. When she calls back I will be saved. I feel like its one of those war movies. Where you hear the bombing overhead.
Looks like its gonna go on forever. The night sky is lit up as explosions resound for miles around. And just when you think your last option is exhausted. After you've told the men to say their prayers. Here it comes, your deus ex machina. Salvation. A divine response. Not tonight.
I meet a little girl at Thai Smile. Her mom works there or something like that. She plays with those Monster Snaps that crack when you throw them onto the floor. She speaks broken English. And by the looks of it, she has no brothers or sisters.
Her mom buys her an overstuffed goodie-bag of fireworks. She is greedy and doesn't want to share any of them. But, throughout the night, I will befriend her.
I help her light the fireworks. And she shares her Morning Glories with me. We have become friends. She tells me about her brothers and sisters in Thailand. And her best friend Chloe at school. She's been to Disneyland, but not Universal Studios. Her mom puts mascara on her; an observation I made.
I try to paste on my happy face as we throw a 25 cent rubber ball back and forth. But, everytime I see those unfamiliar faces staring back at me and analyzing my clothes, my hair, who I am-- I want to cry. "I feel the tears pool up inside me and slosh around like a glass waiting to tip over." But I keep choking them down. I want to choke until I die.
Jenni never calls and we leave Thai Smile around 12:30. I come home. Defeated.
The next day, she'll come home. With her pig-nosed face covered in anime and indifference. She'll think nothing wrong of her inconsideration. And she will get mad at me when I ask where she was. We won't talk for a day and a half. But, I like it better at this point.

Today
I wake up and get 99 cent Chicken McNuggets at McDonald's with Johnny. He drives fast and irrationally. It reminds me of my dad. We go to Neil's after eating and the boys play State of Emergency on PS2.
I have that awkward feeling that I always do. That I am too obviously different to fit in completely. That my attempts at making a joke.. a joke like they make.. is completely useless, because I will never be "one of the guys." I feel uncomfortable and bothersome. They are all so into the game and I want to be too. But, I'm not.
I call daddy to pick me up. We need to go to the insurance place. He is cancelling Jenni's insurance and hasn't even talked to her. Again, I feel like the middle man. The peace maker. The messenger.
I will receive the anger from one side (Daddy, Jenni or Mommy) and absorb it as my own. I will filter out the unintended hurtful tones and give the other party the edited version. Its easier this way, I think. But I realize that I am left with nothing but the pain in the end.
And its not to say that what I hold back is easy to swallow information too. It hurts me to hear these things. But, I just nod understandingly and agree or say "I know." When really I want to scream and tell them to TALK TO EACH OTHER. To take a fucking minute and think about what they're saying. If they can talk to me like this, why can't they just say it to each other?!
It hurts me to hear all the negative talk they have for one another. Mommy's slander of daddy's family and their brainlessness. How they're all so stupid, how they'll never try to make anything more of themselves, how they sleep on the floor like they should. Everything so conveniently surpassed by herself, she is the best-- JUDGMENTAL. Daddy's quick temper and ill-fated attempts to tell me about compassion in the world, and how people shouldn't judge or get angry too quickly. How he's the one who is always the good guy and never does anything wrong, how he never gets angry-- HYPOCRITE.
What hurts me the most is that if I ever confronted either of them about their badmouthing of the other, they would deny it til they were dry. They would say I was the crazy one.
But they don't understand that I've listened to them. And I mean listened. I see their mannerisms. Their tones. Their actions speak volumes louder than their words.
At the mention of daddy mommy's face will go stiff and she'll get that alertness in her eyes that I've only seen when she talks about money. And when daddy even senses that mommy will be in the conversation he will automatically roll his eyes and mouth a curse word, usually it's fuck.

I hate being in the middle. I hate being the "nice one." My whole fucking life. I am the one to get along with everyone. I am the one who never gets mad. I am the... pawn. They push me around to listen to their problems, then get rid of me. They tell me everything that is bothering them so that it leaves their chest.. leaves their chest and heaves onto my heart. I feel like the sea floor receiving the anchor off a shipdeck.
And what hurts me the most is that my empathy, my sympathy, my ability to push my own self aside.. is understood as a lack of understanding, that I know nothing of the pain they are feeling. Because look at me, with the happy life, with the UCLA admittance, with the everything.
But, I don't think they know that its harder than anything in the world to hold onto things, to keep working for things that people just think come to you. They don't see you trudge. My dad said that the divorce hits my sister harder than it does me-- because she is older. My mom said that the divorce is the reason Jenni is overweight, because of her stress.
And they look at me and think I have it easy. That getting into UCLA was easy. That I don't know anything of life's pains or sufferings because I am NOT Jenni. Because I wasn't a year and a half older when mommy walked out on us.
My dad told me himself that "he thought Jenni would be the one to do better." Because, she just looked more capable. And then he just looked at me... And at that moment, I felt like... no matter what I did, I couldn't be Jenni. And there I was. Sitting with him and asking him about the history of Thailand, the new Thai gameshows he watched, how much it cost him to do his laundry... and still, he didn't see me.

Feels like they all just think I'm a little kid who followed in Jenni's footsteps. Like she paved the path thats why I had it so easy. But, me and Jenni are two different people. We didn't even have the same experiences, so how can her failures have given way to my success? I don't understand it.
Never in my life have I been given full credit for what I have done. And part of that reason is because I can never fully accept it.
In this whole fight to realize that I can only be who I am... I've lost that ability to ask for what is mine. Because I have never known that MINE existed.
I ask for little. And I want nothing from you. I feel that everything that goes wrong is, in part, my fault. I feel undeserving. I feel that maybe it was a mistake everything good happens to me. I feel pain and enjoy it because it makes me feel deserving of living. That my pain is my punishment for having such a good life.
But, with all this understanding. This comprehension, comes no acceptance.
Y pamela 1:10 AM

Sunday, July 04, 2004

Today is the Fourth of July. Independence Day. Its my Christmas and Thanksgiving, my only "holiday."
And I'm a lame duck sitting at home reading tales of a psychotic woman in The Bell Jar. I wonder if it may be possible that I am, myself, slipping into insanity.

Today I woke up at 12:30PM. I felt it early for someone like myself. Who likes to burrow in the safety of my Ikea bought comforter. Yesterday was such a good day, I was confused with the weight I felt on my chest when I staggered out of bed. Like I had just seen the calm before the storm.
Neil said he would call last night. But, he didn't. Despite the bawling I endured the night before explaining to him all of my insecurities, my faults and still, nothing.
I thought about the hours I sat faithfully by my phone. 12AM-- I just called him at 10, it'll probably be a while longer. 1AM-- Don't worry, it's still pretty early. 2AM-- He's with the guys, they're probably still out. 3AM-- Hopefully he hasn't forgotten or fallen asleep. 4AM-- I hope he's not in any sort of trouble. 5AM-- ...; I find myself in a dreary lucid dream of falling in love with a blonde haired boy like Buddy Willard. His hair is flowing and he is handsome. But I embrace him like I do Neil. He feels and smells like Neil. And my nose aligns perfectly with his chest plate, just like I do Neil. He wears a dress shirt, a t-shirt and an A-shirt. On the A-shirt, something is printed about God and Him being the only true love. I am confused, but pleased with my dream, altogether.
I wake up to Araceli's call. She's been reminding me for weeks to sign up for Bally's. I avoid her tactfully, but am now running out of schemes. I feel embarrassed. She expects me to come in today. She'll call again at 3PM. I will be excited because I think it's Neil's ringtone. But, my heart will fall to the floor when I read the fluorescent green text on the backdrop of endless black black black. I will not answer, this time I will press the button that says Ignore Call.
In the morning, I eat 2 pieces of pizza and some buffalo wings. Not bad, I think. I wait around until 1:30PM. Feeling the drone of Sunday mornings. Too late in the day to feel the fresh excitement of the weekend and too early to feel the oncomings of the Monday thru Friday workload. I am gray. And forgotten.
I immerse myself in The Bell Jar for an hour. Wait wait wait. Neil will finally call. And he says Happy 12monthiversary. I feel dry. And wonder to myself how he could just say that? I say Thank You.
Anger rushes to my face like a fire I once saw in the brush on the side of the 5 Freeway. My mom said someone probably set it on fire purposely, so they wouldn't have to pay someone to cut down the trees and weeds.
Last week Neil said he wanted to spend the 4th of July with me. I was happy; the kind of happy that I have often felt. Laced with doubt and uncertainty; what if plans fall through? And lo and behold-- 4:32PM he calls. Unapologetically. He'll be staying home with Bruno today, because you know dogs, they get so scared of the loud noises and fireworks. His voice is hollow and forgetful of the sincere words he said earlier.
I feel betrayed.
After I hang up, my dad, my Fourth of July Santa, calls and asks if I wouldn't mind if he played another 9 hold round. He's played poorly today, but this time he will beat them he says. I say, okay. And wonder about the dinner party he said he had to go to, for that cook at Thai Smile.

I hear cracking and whistling outside. I'm sure today someone is smiling that it is the
Fourth of July.

5:12PM-- My room is a dull yellowish-white. The color of an old blanket I have. The color of stained teeth. The sunlight seems to stir between the little ridges of the plastered walls and churn the tones. Thick thick thicker the walls become till I can see them oozing into pallid cheese folds like molten lava rolling down the side of a volcano.
I am fighting off the strong desire to scream and cry. Pop Pop Crack. I hear one of those sparkling fireworks that you set down in the middle of street and that are named those glorious things like "Freedom Fountain" and "The Illuminator."

But after I write, I feel a rush of calm come over me. Like when you jump into a cool backyard pool on a warm summer day. Its refreshing and easy to just let the water glide over you. And until it builds up again, I am safe from the frustrations of reality. I will just sit here, in my cold pool. Wading and wading and waiting.
Y pamela 4:54 PM