Of my stupid father

Staying home is a big challenge well predicted from the past. I do get home-sick, and the idea of being “home away from home” again is entirely a burden on my shoulders everytime the thought comes to mind. However, I suppose it’s the joy in coming home that settles me down; settling down at home is the least to be desired.

In a nut shell, I really dislike the tender issue of living with my father – well perhaps just my parents in general. I am reminded of my age difference, and how I am treated much like a rebellious high school child rather than the adult who is struggling to be independent. I struggle mostly with how I will align my future objectives accordingly without anybody’s help, and this is something with which I’ve yet to come to terms. But no, I don’t get that moral support, and that convenient segway to adulthood when I’m here at home.

More specifically, I really dislike how I go out for a night of fun with people who actually get me and I get chewed out for illogical reasons. Here’s how I returned home after absorbing the drama queen bullshit from my mom:

Dad: What did you do to your mother?
Me: Nothing, she just treated me badly because I went to hangout with a family relative.
Dad: How come you don’t tell us where you’re going? You didn’t come home until late, and you never answered our calls.
Me: Why does it matter?
Dad: Why does it matter?! You’re supposed to tell us where you’re going! You don’t care about anyone here.
Me: No. I didn’t tell you what I did before, and it didn’t matter back then. I’m safe now so it doesn’t matter.
Dad: I don’t care if you’re safe. You don’t tell anyone where your going. You’re a bad daughter.
Me: You don’t care if I’m safe?
Dad: No, you do nothing for us.

WHAT THE FUCK? That’s okay; I’ve come to terms when my dad acts like an idiot when he’s mad. However, I can barely sit content at the repository of careless bullshit he manages to spew out of madness. Statements in the past like “I don’t care what you do with yourself,” the “I don’t care if you’re safe,” the “You don’t care about anyone in this family,” the “I don’t care about you [period]” nonsense are a little hard to shrug away.

I know to some people it’s not difficult to disregard childish statements from their parents; I know that some Asian-American kids can easily bite the bullet and move on; but something about caring too much about this family prevents me from acting on my best instincts. And to have somebody who never felt inclined to go to any of my Open House events in grade school, who never knew when exactly I’ll be graduating from college – or the date of my graduation ceremony, and who could apparently care less if I hurt myself as long as I told him where I was going so his pride in “King of the House” isn’t battered… I don’t know. I can’t get over how I can’t say my response to either of my parents. If they only knew what they were missing out on.

And frankly, I don’t have the pride and strength to bite the bullet. I take all of this with great pain, and I don’t know how to regard my father. I never did for many years, but he never seems to redeem himself – so I guess that’s how he leaves his mark in my life.

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