As much as I think it’s an accomplishment, I was wrong. I thought coming back here to Myanmar kinda desensitize myself to become more neutral in the never ending inconsistent relationship with my grandparents on a very unintentional level. Each and everyday has been showing me signals all along the path of my life. It hit me hard tonight and as I sit down tonight crying my ass off over spilt milk, which is half spoilt anyways, if there’s one big regret that I’m facing right now, it’s the fact that I have been wrong about my grandparents.
I was born 2kg from a young couple who believed in love. I was adopted by a woman and a man, who also believe in love but worry over their children too much; just too much that it’s caused my mom pain. Being a daughter in law must be tough and my dad dying didn’t help me to see my grandparents, who are the in laws to my mom, as angelic figures. Of course, there has always been a certain level of love and respect any good grandson could give. But I do admit that my love for them is never sufficient enough compared to theirs for me.
On a very natural scale, adopting a child has its limits. First of all, it is NOT your child and no matter how much you love him/her, it’s hard to expect it back from him and it’s always dangerous to have an existing ‘actual’ maternal figure, the mom of course, around… even worse when she’s actually the daughter in law. I did a pretty good job as a kid but as anyone who fears competitors, my grandparents could get pretty overprotected over me.
I started to get pretty comfortable in the pamper zone and luckily enough, I was the duck who hatches golden eggs; it’s pretty funky my grand-dad got promoted to good jobs since they started adopting me. At a dangerous age where ego, rage and greed were at their best, my grandparents were capable and strong. Like any other humans, they’ve done a lot of bad things in life but so do all other human beings. The only thing that they should never be guilty of was the fact that the both did it out of love for me.
Being in an empty house for this week, I had to sleep in my grandparents’ room. As I was walking to the toilet, I saw this piece of paper cellotaped to their closet. It’s got my name on top and a list of things I told them to prepare for to accommodate my silly diet plans.
Egg, tuna and bread for breakfast and lunch
Pear or pamelo only for fruits
Oatmeal cookies for snacks
Tuna again for dinner
My grandma has diabetes and the whole oatmeal cookies originated from her snack box. It’s her safety vest in case she has hypothermia at night and would require a bit of sugar to calm her down. They’re in their sevenies and they are living happily but when you have me whingeing over going over to my brother-in-law for my sister after work as an additional extra stress, I feel way too shameful to have two people in their late seventies who both still have time to cellotape my silly diet plan on their wardrobe.
They have invested so much for me. My first Muppet Babies drumset, my first bongo, my first keyboard lessons, my first golf set, my first gymnastic lesson, my first Reebok Pump shoes (actually they bought me the Regulator model which I had a huge sulkfest on and then they later bought me the actual Reebok pump shoes), my education, my college, my uni (which I did a five years course for a three years where one year was wasted because I was lazy to find out I was ACTUALLY exempted for a year), my four albums and an upcoming one, my phonecalls to BooMan (which I kept promising them that I would pay back) and the list goes on.
My family was never a billionaire types and we would always donate and give things to other whenever we can, both mom and dad and both my grandparents. However, if I would ever calculated the amount of investment on me, I wouldn’t be able to find out if I could ever find that much amount in my lifetime.
So, what did I give them back? Self sympathy. My suicide attempts. The night I came home drunk and puke everywhere and my mom and grand-dad had to carry me upstairs while I was in my boxers. My rebellious silent treatments.
I thought I’ve been doing a great deal of things that would change them for the good too. But I guess that’s not the point. Like, I’ve been trying to fit the jigsaw pieces between my mom and grandma for ages and I think it’s finally working. Both, two women of great ego and intellect, it’s only fair that it’s taken me 29 years of my life to slowly get them to appreciate each other or just know that there’s just so much competition that you can have to just have to ignore that element one day in life. I told them that I would not go to the monastery every 11th of every month to honor my dad’s day of death, since Buddhism has taught us not to dwell on the past. It’s funny how the fact that I’ve been doing that is actually making them sad. Buddhism says the present matters and if I handle that righteously, I shouldn’t even give a fuck about following them to the monastery and it’s always ourselves we should try to fix.. not others. Age has fucked up a lot of things and it’s only fair that it’s taken me this long to finally get used to their ageing. I sometimes had to repeat things twice. Still, grandma would always have a list in her purse to get me gel, facial foam and other toiletries, my reason being ‘busy in the office’ or ‘busy socializing’.
I feel like I haven’t done enough for them. Now, I owe them 400 dollars while trying to pay off my mom’s debt. I blame them sometimes because especially my grandma would keep repeating. I’ve failed my ‘saving plan’ on my career; using friends to help you in the industry, not using good cameramen and other stuffs. It’s a shot of my own poison when I found out no one is reliable unless there’s money or sufficient amount of love one has for you. Yet, my grand-dad encouraged me to carry on and use what’s needed to get a good product out of this album making.
Days like today remind me of the time I hugged my grand-dad and cried when I was refused onshore PR in Sydney because I was too busy directing a revue to check out the deadlines, the time I talked to my grandmom about BooMan only pretending that BooMan is a girl though both knowing I’m a homosexual in a Burmese Buddhist family (it was just a favor for my grandma to avoid repeating that I am in love with a man but somehow the conversation was funny and grandma contributed on staying true to your loved ones), the time I came home upset last week over the fact that only nine friends showed up at my video shoot when my grand-dad came to my room and patted me on my shoulder and as usual, the list goes on.
My colleagues were telling me how my grandparents can’t really stop writing about how much they love me. I guess I see it today after reading that diet list. I don’t know if I could do a good job with my kids. I don’t know if that burden is sustainable in the future with my sensitivity. I don’t know how much time I have left to give them back what they’ve lost (my grandmom’s jewellery box).
All I know is I’ll never keep trying to better myself to show them the love I’ve always had in me for them, but somehow got lost along the way, until the day they would have to bid me farewell.
I love you, grandma and grandpa, and god I need a tissue box.
Oh, you know what? It would be awesome to have them on my wedding day with BooMan…. One can wish, can’t he?
I was born 2kg from a young couple who believed in love. I was adopted by a woman and a man, who also believe in love but worry over their children too much; just too much that it’s caused my mom pain. Being a daughter in law must be tough and my dad dying didn’t help me to see my grandparents, who are the in laws to my mom, as angelic figures. Of course, there has always been a certain level of love and respect any good grandson could give. But I do admit that my love for them is never sufficient enough compared to theirs for me.
On a very natural scale, adopting a child has its limits. First of all, it is NOT your child and no matter how much you love him/her, it’s hard to expect it back from him and it’s always dangerous to have an existing ‘actual’ maternal figure, the mom of course, around… even worse when she’s actually the daughter in law. I did a pretty good job as a kid but as anyone who fears competitors, my grandparents could get pretty overprotected over me.
I started to get pretty comfortable in the pamper zone and luckily enough, I was the duck who hatches golden eggs; it’s pretty funky my grand-dad got promoted to good jobs since they started adopting me. At a dangerous age where ego, rage and greed were at their best, my grandparents were capable and strong. Like any other humans, they’ve done a lot of bad things in life but so do all other human beings. The only thing that they should never be guilty of was the fact that the both did it out of love for me.
Being in an empty house for this week, I had to sleep in my grandparents’ room. As I was walking to the toilet, I saw this piece of paper cellotaped to their closet. It’s got my name on top and a list of things I told them to prepare for to accommodate my silly diet plans.
Egg, tuna and bread for breakfast and lunch
Pear or pamelo only for fruits
Oatmeal cookies for snacks
Tuna again for dinner
My grandma has diabetes and the whole oatmeal cookies originated from her snack box. It’s her safety vest in case she has hypothermia at night and would require a bit of sugar to calm her down. They’re in their sevenies and they are living happily but when you have me whingeing over going over to my brother-in-law for my sister after work as an additional extra stress, I feel way too shameful to have two people in their late seventies who both still have time to cellotape my silly diet plan on their wardrobe.
They have invested so much for me. My first Muppet Babies drumset, my first bongo, my first keyboard lessons, my first golf set, my first gymnastic lesson, my first Reebok Pump shoes (actually they bought me the Regulator model which I had a huge sulkfest on and then they later bought me the actual Reebok pump shoes), my education, my college, my uni (which I did a five years course for a three years where one year was wasted because I was lazy to find out I was ACTUALLY exempted for a year), my four albums and an upcoming one, my phonecalls to BooMan (which I kept promising them that I would pay back) and the list goes on.
My family was never a billionaire types and we would always donate and give things to other whenever we can, both mom and dad and both my grandparents. However, if I would ever calculated the amount of investment on me, I wouldn’t be able to find out if I could ever find that much amount in my lifetime.
So, what did I give them back? Self sympathy. My suicide attempts. The night I came home drunk and puke everywhere and my mom and grand-dad had to carry me upstairs while I was in my boxers. My rebellious silent treatments.
I thought I’ve been doing a great deal of things that would change them for the good too. But I guess that’s not the point. Like, I’ve been trying to fit the jigsaw pieces between my mom and grandma for ages and I think it’s finally working. Both, two women of great ego and intellect, it’s only fair that it’s taken me 29 years of my life to slowly get them to appreciate each other or just know that there’s just so much competition that you can have to just have to ignore that element one day in life. I told them that I would not go to the monastery every 11th of every month to honor my dad’s day of death, since Buddhism has taught us not to dwell on the past. It’s funny how the fact that I’ve been doing that is actually making them sad. Buddhism says the present matters and if I handle that righteously, I shouldn’t even give a fuck about following them to the monastery and it’s always ourselves we should try to fix.. not others. Age has fucked up a lot of things and it’s only fair that it’s taken me this long to finally get used to their ageing. I sometimes had to repeat things twice. Still, grandma would always have a list in her purse to get me gel, facial foam and other toiletries, my reason being ‘busy in the office’ or ‘busy socializing’.
I feel like I haven’t done enough for them. Now, I owe them 400 dollars while trying to pay off my mom’s debt. I blame them sometimes because especially my grandma would keep repeating. I’ve failed my ‘saving plan’ on my career; using friends to help you in the industry, not using good cameramen and other stuffs. It’s a shot of my own poison when I found out no one is reliable unless there’s money or sufficient amount of love one has for you. Yet, my grand-dad encouraged me to carry on and use what’s needed to get a good product out of this album making.
Days like today remind me of the time I hugged my grand-dad and cried when I was refused onshore PR in Sydney because I was too busy directing a revue to check out the deadlines, the time I talked to my grandmom about BooMan only pretending that BooMan is a girl though both knowing I’m a homosexual in a Burmese Buddhist family (it was just a favor for my grandma to avoid repeating that I am in love with a man but somehow the conversation was funny and grandma contributed on staying true to your loved ones), the time I came home upset last week over the fact that only nine friends showed up at my video shoot when my grand-dad came to my room and patted me on my shoulder and as usual, the list goes on.
My colleagues were telling me how my grandparents can’t really stop writing about how much they love me. I guess I see it today after reading that diet list. I don’t know if I could do a good job with my kids. I don’t know if that burden is sustainable in the future with my sensitivity. I don’t know how much time I have left to give them back what they’ve lost (my grandmom’s jewellery box).
All I know is I’ll never keep trying to better myself to show them the love I’ve always had in me for them, but somehow got lost along the way, until the day they would have to bid me farewell.
I love you, grandma and grandpa, and god I need a tissue box.
Oh, you know what? It would be awesome to have them on my wedding day with BooMan…. One can wish, can’t he?
Listening to: Amy Winehouse - Back in black
No comments:
Post a Comment