Sunday, September 19, 2004
I am intensely sore from lifting the 160 pounds that Joephet thinks I shouldn't lift. Ok, so it was more like 135, but I refuse to bench more than my own weight.
I'm also intensely hung over from drinking with Galwang last night. Most people are a lot of fun to be around when they are drunk. On the other hand, I turn belligerent when inebriated around others, and tend to cry uncontrollably when I'm drunk alone. Last night, I had a chance to do both.
I've recently come to realize just how shattered my family is. Not that I remember a time when we were very close knit, but these days it seems that there is simply no connection between the children and the parents. And of course, my brother has it the worst, as having grown up in America he has no common ground or shared culture on which he can understand my parents, or vice versa. I blame the distance between my parents and my brother solely upon my parents, because although they insisted on raising him in this society, they made no discernible effort to become acquainted with the culture in which their younger son grew up. Nor did they make any effort to learn his language, or speak a language that he could understand in the home. I think that if our family had existed within a broader Korean American community, there may have been a chance for my parents and brother to come to more of an understanding. Unfortunately, my parents decided to isolate our family in an all white, small suburban town in Ohio. Having grown up so alienated from the rest of us, it is not very surprising that now that he is in college, my brother wants nothing further to do with his family.
On the other hand, I am to blame for the distance that has grown between my parents and myself. After spending elementary school in America being made fun of, beat up, and generally abused by American children for being yellow, I was very glad when my parents moved back to Korea. It was while attending middle school in Korea where I formulated a sense of self, as anything more than "just a foreigner", and the way in which I view myself and my place in this world hasn't changed fundamentally since then. I was afraid when in high school my parents expressed a desire to immigrate back to America, as I wasn't very confident of my parents' understanding of the true nature of American society, and as I foresaw the distance that would grow between my brother and the rest of the family. I never forgave my parents for overruling my concerns and dragging me kicking and screaming back to this country, and since then I've drifted farther and farther from them.
I think about what my parents are doing at this moment. My father most likely came back from his job in research science late again, and after dinner he'll have a few drinks while watching TV and go to bed early. Sometimes, it seems like my parents can go an entire evening while saying nothing to each other. My mother tends to go to sleep much later. She is most likely spending the evening wondering why my brother is so resentful of his parents... it is sad that she'll never understand what went wrong, because of her mental inflexibility. Perhaps she will call me again tonight to ask me why. "But all the other Asian American children are so normal and happy," she says to me. I snicker a little bit, but there is something to what she is saying. There are personality types that are more suited for life in a foreign country, and there are types that are not. She is simply unwilling to acknowledge the possibility that her children fall into the latter category.
Because of her inability to understand her own sons, I never feel quite as cold and lonely as I do when I'm talking to my mother. My parents effectively discarded their children when they made the decision to move to America, though that was not their intention, and though they will never understand that. It is strange to think how four people that lived for two decades with each other could end up so distant from each other.
I'm also intensely hung over from drinking with Galwang last night. Most people are a lot of fun to be around when they are drunk. On the other hand, I turn belligerent when inebriated around others, and tend to cry uncontrollably when I'm drunk alone. Last night, I had a chance to do both.
I've recently come to realize just how shattered my family is. Not that I remember a time when we were very close knit, but these days it seems that there is simply no connection between the children and the parents. And of course, my brother has it the worst, as having grown up in America he has no common ground or shared culture on which he can understand my parents, or vice versa. I blame the distance between my parents and my brother solely upon my parents, because although they insisted on raising him in this society, they made no discernible effort to become acquainted with the culture in which their younger son grew up. Nor did they make any effort to learn his language, or speak a language that he could understand in the home. I think that if our family had existed within a broader Korean American community, there may have been a chance for my parents and brother to come to more of an understanding. Unfortunately, my parents decided to isolate our family in an all white, small suburban town in Ohio. Having grown up so alienated from the rest of us, it is not very surprising that now that he is in college, my brother wants nothing further to do with his family.
On the other hand, I am to blame for the distance that has grown between my parents and myself. After spending elementary school in America being made fun of, beat up, and generally abused by American children for being yellow, I was very glad when my parents moved back to Korea. It was while attending middle school in Korea where I formulated a sense of self, as anything more than "just a foreigner", and the way in which I view myself and my place in this world hasn't changed fundamentally since then. I was afraid when in high school my parents expressed a desire to immigrate back to America, as I wasn't very confident of my parents' understanding of the true nature of American society, and as I foresaw the distance that would grow between my brother and the rest of the family. I never forgave my parents for overruling my concerns and dragging me kicking and screaming back to this country, and since then I've drifted farther and farther from them.
I think about what my parents are doing at this moment. My father most likely came back from his job in research science late again, and after dinner he'll have a few drinks while watching TV and go to bed early. Sometimes, it seems like my parents can go an entire evening while saying nothing to each other. My mother tends to go to sleep much later. She is most likely spending the evening wondering why my brother is so resentful of his parents... it is sad that she'll never understand what went wrong, because of her mental inflexibility. Perhaps she will call me again tonight to ask me why. "But all the other Asian American children are so normal and happy," she says to me. I snicker a little bit, but there is something to what she is saying. There are personality types that are more suited for life in a foreign country, and there are types that are not. She is simply unwilling to acknowledge the possibility that her children fall into the latter category.
Because of her inability to understand her own sons, I never feel quite as cold and lonely as I do when I'm talking to my mother. My parents effectively discarded their children when they made the decision to move to America, though that was not their intention, and though they will never understand that. It is strange to think how four people that lived for two decades with each other could end up so distant from each other.
