Her powerful and provocative artistry fails to capture the hearts of those who don't quite understand her message. Often overlooked in the art world, Beyoncé has struggled for years to gain the respect of her peers. That all changes when she meets A...
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now playing: "You" by Janet Jackson
You've been told a lie.
A big, fat one, with juicy details and all. The first time you heard it, you believed every word of it. Days, months, and even years passed by, and you still believed it, even though the evidence had been piling up for some time that what you were told was not true.
The lie was so good, and your trust in the source of the information was so solid, that the truth never penetrated your consciousness. It couldn't. If you'd recognized the lie, you would have been forced to face the consequences of what it meant about the world you lived in. You would have had to question how much of the rest of your life would have been built on falsehoods, and how you'd been exploited and misled into believing them.
It was blind obedience.
Filial piety. Or Xiao, as one of my old flatmates in Hoxton would've called it. She explained it to me once over a bowl of jjajangmyeon noodles and a bottle of soju in a Korean joint just over in South Bank.
I didn't fully understand her, given the drunken nature of the explanation, but I remembered her words. 'My dad's a piece of shit,' she said. 'A fucking wanker. My mum's the same, a real bitch. But when the old bastards come round, I'll be nice and smile and offer them tea. Because that's what we do. We pretend and do as they say just to make them shut up and stay happy.'
That's what I had done my whole life.
But there was no tea.
Just good grades, several degrees, and the promise that I would then make something of myself. I had played the role mapped out for me by my parents, having been told it was the only way I could have a good, worthy, meaningful life.
I would make the family look good and pretend to be someone they could be proud of. I would be the first to make it to the top, the first of all the cousins. That would impress the uncles and aunts. My neighbors. Even the random woman at the supermarket whose only concern was which pack of strawberries wouldn't spoil before the end of the week.
And, if I were really lucky, I would marry a man who was as well connected as he was wealthy. A man who could take my family out of Third Ward, Houston, a man who could give my father and mother the kind of life they dreamed about but never thought they'd have.
Because I was a good daughter, and I was brought up to make the right choices.
It's not like I was given the freedom to do so. My parents weren't staunch Confucianists, but the core tenet of Xiao still applied. The family was paramount. The individual was secondary at best.
It never registered in my brain until much, much later that the lack of a choice was not normal. I needed to prioritize my personal desires and carve my own path.
Of course, not everyone had the means to do exactly that. Some were trapped. Physically. Financially. Mentally. They were too scared or too indebted to leave, or their situation was simply not sustainable and they didn't know how to make the leap from the comfort of what they had, to the discomfort and risk of the unknown.
