Between Life

Chapter 2: Navigating the Threads of Destiny

When I was born healthy and thriving, my father seemed to carry a sense of guilt due to the circumstances I described in the previous chapter. He prioritized me over everything, always indulging and getting me whatever I wanted. We weren't born into a wealthy family; we were just middle-class, but my father worked tirelessly to provide for us. Sometimes, I even wondered if he had some sort of supernatural assistance because it was strange how he had so much money despite being the chief treasurer at a local school in our hometown. Or maybe...? Ah, no! Dear readers, despite that, my father is an honest and trustworthy man. Anyway, I grew up as a chubby girl who was closer to my father than my mother, while my sister formed a strong bond with both parents. I once read that it's because the first child shares a close connection with both parents. Perhaps that's the reason.

Even though my father spoiled me, it didn't mean he neglected his firstborn daughter. Both my sister and I were equally pampered by our father. It could be said that the phrase 'a daughter's first love is her father' applied to both my sister and me. My father never got angry or raised a hand to us. He was always kind, humorous, and sociable – a complete contrast to my mother, who was firm, disciplined, and strict. In fact, when my mother came home, one of the three of us would shout 'alert level 1' so that we could all be ready, fearing my mother's sternness.

With my father around, our family felt warm, filled with light-hearted laughter from his cheesy jokes. My father loved giving hugs, but I never enjoyed them because his body temperature was always warm:') Maybe some of you, dear readers, have been in a similar situation? Nevertheless, despite my father's presence, the shadow of my strict mother and successful sister loomed over me.

Every day, my mother would tell me how I could be so different from my sister, questioning why I seemed so clueless. She'd ask why I couldn't do things when my sister could, accusing me of being lazy and stupid. I don't know about other Asian parents, but it often feels like Asian parents don't consider the unique potential or strengths and weaknesses of each child. I usually see how my friend's parents tend to view their children like horses or robots that must conform to their desires, constantly pushing for more and more until it feels like there's no limit to their satisfaction.

Hmm, but sometimes I wonder, what could be the reasons behind their actions? I mean, parents. Why do they always impose something that is sometimes beyond the capacity of their children? Is it just to appear cooler in the eyes of other parents? Seeking validation? Or perhaps it's because there are unfulfilled dreams they couldn't achieve, so they want someone to carry on those dreams? Sometimes, I think they must be hurting too. They must have gone through many difficult times before we were born, or maybe they experienced an even worse environment than I have now.

But the more I think about it, it's true what they say, ''Forgive your parents because they are becoming parents for the first time, just like you are becoming a child for the first time.''

However, that's not entirely true. They must have gone through a process before becoming parents, right? The process of how a child grows into an adult... wouldn't that be considered experience? Even though they are becoming parents for the first time, they've been children before... it kinda sounds egoist for me.

I often find myself in a situation where my mother physically hurts me and says hurtful things to me every day. Even though my father doesn't engage in such actions and often tries to bring happiness into my life, it always feels uneasy. I constantly carry guilt from the words my mother hurls at me. My sister, on the other hand, can't do much because, perhaps, my mother is mostly right about me. I care for my sister, but the way she describes me to others seems to align with our mother's perspective. This continuous cycle leaves me restless as intrusive thoughts begin to take hold. Is it true? Am I really like that? It turns out I'm that terrible, and many other thoughts that only seem to worsen my self-perception.

Day by day, as I grew, my love for my father continued, but my resentment towards my mother escalated. I even began to harbor bitterness towards my sister, contemplating how I could outshine her. I started seeing her as a rival rather than my own blood, my own sister. The thought had taken root, and with no one to intervene, it continued to consume me over time.

Until one day, I stumbled upon a message on my father's phone about another woman. Innocently, I shared this information with my mother. Having watched soap operas since I was a child, where marriages crumbled due to infidelity, I felt the need to inform my mother. And it turned out to be true – my father was having an affair, and I had no idea who this woman was or for how long it had been happening.

My father, the one I trusted so much, the one I loved dearly, the one who always listened to my stories. Why? The question echoed in my heart and mind – why would my father do this? Ah, it seems a long-lasting marriage, older even than the house I currently reside in, doesn't guarantee someone's loyalty. My mother fell ill. My sister and I were no different. As a family, we tried to conceal this issue, pretending our family was like the perfect family in a TV show, with no visible cracks.

The situation in my family worsened after that. My mom became even more sensitive than usual, and I couldn't make the slightest mistake in her eyes. Any fault she received from others, she would unleash on me. My sister, caught up in her work, was advised by my mom not to dwell too much on this issue and was told to stay calm because it's a matter between parents.

One thing they forgot – am I not a child too?

I am the one who spends more time at home. I witnessed how my mom urged my dad to divorce her and how she insisted he grant her custody of the children and the house. I saw her telling my dad that he could go back to his parents' home. My sister is unaware of this issue, of course. They're afraid she might get stressed and so on. But not once did they think about me, using the excuse that I'm just an apathetic child who will remain silent about this. It took some time for my dad to apologize to my mom, and eventually, she forgave him. The situation returned to normal, but my mom remained sensitive towards me.

The situation returned to normal; my dad reverted to his previous self, much like my mom. I remained unchanged; nothing had shifted. However, maybe after a few months or half a year, my dad fell seriously ill. His condition deteriorated to the point where he had to lie down, unable to move, resembling someone who had suffered a stroke. This forced my dad into early retirement, and my mom, now the head of the household, took over his role.

My mom never wanted to appear weak and always imposed her authority in every situation. With my dad's illness and my mom's request for him to be cared for at home, my mom and I selflessly had to take care of him. We took turns watching over him and attending to his needs.

My sister was undoubtedly concerned about the situation, but every time she considered staying longer at our home, my mom repeatedly insisted that she shouldn't stress about this. It was as if she only had one child. After two years of tending to my father, he finally took his last breath. My dad was no longer in pain, and perhaps he had found happiness in heaven. An odd occurrence during the funeral process was that I didn't cry. I cried only when my friends arrived because they surrounded me, truly encircling me like a circle, and it was then that I wept. Otherwise, for some reason, my tears hesitated to flow, unlike others who freely cried while mourning my father.