Countdown : It's 5 more days before Lana turns 1. We are having a big birthday bash for her. She is thriving. She is daddy's girl. And her daddy is a stable, calm, steady rock who has to live forever to remain the rock for all 4 of us. Because mommy isn't much of a rock.
Mommy's an egg. The one that hasn't been cooked. The one which appears hard on the outside, but as soft as jelly inside. She cracks easily. She breaks even more easily. It doesn't take much for her to break into pieces never to be put together again. The thing is, I have been broken over and over again. Yet with each 'fixing', well... humpty dumpty will never be put together again.
The Initial Journey
For the 1st time in my life, I was taken back to my life starting to when I was 5. I mean yes, we talk about our childhood and stuff whenever there are family gatherings, right? And your sisters, your mom will tell you of what they remember. But are your memories the same as theirs? Or they have somehow created those memories for you? What do YOU remember? I was 5. My baby and only brother was born. The much awaited son to carry the family name. How typical of a Chinese family. My mom's entire life was dedicated to bearing a son for my father. She recounts to us over and over again about how papa kissed her over and over and over again when my brother was born. That must have been THE happiest day in her life and she holds on to that memory of sheer joy and happiness.
What about me, mommy? Well, you were a disappointment. Yes, those were her EXACT words. "YOU WERE A DISAPPOINTMENT. We even had you at a private hospital instead of the government hospital because we thought you were finally going to be a boy. And you were the only baby girl born that day when the rest were boys! It may even be a mistake! Perhaps we had a son! But we pacified ourselves that we hadn't had a baby for a long time. So at least there you are... a baby," So there you have it... a 5 year old girl with 3 elder sisters aged 14, 15 and 16, and a baby brother whom EVERYONE was doting on.
"Whose kid is this?" that was a very common question during Chinese New Year amongst relatives and friends. Nobody knew who I was. I was a non-entity. There were the 3 daughters, and the much awaited baby boy. This 5 year old? Not sure. Who is she? Don't know. Insignificant.
Has it always been like that?
NO. I remember the days when papa fed me milk. I don't know, I must have been a baby. But I remember I didn't want mommy to feed me. She can make the milk for me while papa held me, but papa had to feed me. I actually remembered the room, the bed, the milk, the scene....
And I didn't want papa to go to work. I cried and cried till he had to take me to work. He was a school teacher. I must have been 3 or 4. He actually gave in and took me to school! I was a wilful child even from then. I remember him singing in his out of tune voice, "It followed her to school one day, school one day, school one day..."
I was daddy's girl.
From childhood to adulthood
And it all changed. I was shouted at by papa for the 1st time when mom was pregnant with baby brother and we were on our way to Taiping Zoo. She had to go to the bathroom, but I wanted to arrive at the zoo soonest possible. It may appear insignificant to you, but that was the first time papa raised his voice to me.
He raised his voice all the time you know. He and mom got into fights all the time, sometimes it became physical. My 3 sisters feared him. I laughed at him. Until that day when I learnt it wasn't funny anymore. But I learnt quickly not to upset him. I was daddy's girl. He wasn't supposed to be angry at me. So I became a good girl. I actually begged mom to let me take piano lessons at the age of 5. Mom put me in the dark, rat infested storeroom whenever I refused to practise piano, because it was a waste of money and as school teachers we didn't have a lot of money. My sisters never gave such trouble to my parents.
I remember the year my brother was born. During the 9th day of Chinese New Year that very year, we had a whole pig instead of just a small portion like other previous years. Roasted pork. Yums. There was so much of it until we had to give away to friends and relatives. All because a baby boy was born into the family.
I did well in school. There was one year when I was in Primary 4 - I won ALL the book prizes, and I was top student of the entire Primary 4. With the exception of Malay Language prize. Papa was very proud of me and went to the school and took pictures of me receiving all the prizes. Mommy commented that I didn't win the Malay Language prize. I was a disappointment again.
I looked forward to receiving my report cards all year round. That was when papa would praise me and showed me off to all his friends and relatives. I was no longer the non-entity. I could play the piano, and I was "the Clever One". And I was 8 when I wrote my 1st book! Ok, it wasn't published, but while most kids were crazy about Barbie Dolls (it was about then when the Barbie Doll was introduced) I was compiling old unused exercise books to write stories in it. Yes, baby brother may be a BOY, but I was the CLEVER ONE!
But I wasn't a boy.
I was probably 8 or 9 when baby brother started to potty train. He HAD to use the toilet downstairs. But I needed to use the toilet. I was scared to go upstairs alone. I was 8 or 9. After I was done baby brother refused to potty train anymore. Suddenly someone yanked my hair and I was smacked repeatedly for refusing to use the toilet upstairs. I couldn't believe I would be hit for the very first time over such a trivial matter. But what I do remember was, that wouldn't be the last time.
But I did well in school. We moved to Penang because papa was transferred to teach in a school in Penang. I wasn't top of the top anymore because I attended one of the best convent schools in Penang. But I remained academically good, and comparably much better than my siblings. My musical endeavours continued, I was the school pianist. I could write well. And I was blossoming to become quite a pretty girl.
And then there were boys...
I was probably 12 when I first noticed them. And they noticed me. There was a lot of joy and satisfaction in that. Being the one to receive gifts and flowers during school fairs, love letters in the school bus, tuition centres. There was no such thing as social media then - not even mobile phone! They had to call my home. And they did. They wrote letters. They fought with each other. They played chess to win my phone number. The thing about boys is... they would do anything for you. You can scream and shout at them and throw tantrums but they would come crawling back. If they didn't, there would always be another dozen waiting to take their places.
And it was like that throughout pretty much of my teenage years.
I overheard a conversation between my father and his school teacher colleague once "Why do you allow your daughter to have a boyfriend at such young age?" Papa's reply was, "She is doing very well in studies. What can I do?"
Yes, I remained a good student with excellent results. I continued to thrive musically, leading the school choir and an active member of the state choir. I continued to write, and many of my articles were published in a local newsmagazine on a weekly basis, and many were published in the local daily too. I finished my Grade 8 piano by the time I was 14. But of course, while papa was proud of me, my mom didn't think it was great coz I didn't get a distinction. I only passed. Disappointment.
Before I finished high school, I have already learnt a few things :
1) Continue to make papa proud. That is NUMBER 1 PRIORITY IN LIFE. Otherwise, you are just another baby girl. A non entity. But now you are "the Clever One" with the 'photographic memory' and intelligence.
2) Continue to achieve good results academically. Otherwise you wouldn't be allowed to date. And boys are important. They make you feel like you are the most important thing in the world, as opposed to being a disappointment. They make good punching bags too. And they never fight back. They either continue being your punching bags until you get tired of them and asked them to fxxx off, or they walked off - which means hurray time for another batch of punching bags.
3) Sometimes you get disappointed too. Like when you were not chosen as lead character in that school play. Or when that particular boy you liked cheated on you. Or didn't like you back as much as you liked him. To avoid being hurt, "EXPECT THE WORST. And hope for the best." Make that your life motto. Expect the worst all the time. Because if you have plan B, C and D, you will not be disppointed nor hurt. Later on in life, I realised that made me the pessismist I am today. I don't know how to handle disappointment. I don't know how to SELF-SOOTHE.
The next chapter of my life would be the vulnerable years of stepping into adulthood. And boy were they screwed up. The baggage I carry would anchor the Titanic. It takes a real man like my husband to be able to stay afloat, and keep us all afloat. That would another story for another day.
I had a lot of dreams last night. I expect more tonight.
