Our Feathers Hold Together Only as Strongly as the Wax on Icarus’ Wings
she wants to see what he sees
in the way that makes the light shine
that shines in the way Icarus flies towards the sun,
unafraid of the distance or the gloss of the surface
of the mirror that waits to shatter
as he falls
through the wisps of white pillows
of the brine that parts and scatter
up towards your home,
as the winds pick up in your soul
taking flight out of your lungs
past your lips
to He who your light shines for.
as Icarus drowns a fool
we’ll go on like the farmer and his mule.
Those benches were replaced so silently.
It’s terrible how much I check Facebook on a daily basis even though I often leave either angry, upset or discouraged. I fully understand why it is important for exes to “de-friend” each other because honestly, no matter how happy your life is, a status update, a picture tag or a check-in from him can really just ruin your day. (But I actually became Facebook friends with him after we broke up so.. where does that leave us.) For years, I protested against the pull of this unbelievably mind-numbing public display of human ignorance and stupidity but alas, it has become routine to check the social media whore at least once a day.
I am “friends” with a number of girls from a sorority type club that I almost joined and often I see their updates of you know, generic sorority-girls-type posts and updates. And uh, sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I had joined them. Clearly, my personality as a introverted hermit gamer is not befitting of such an environment but I still wonder every time I see (sorta real-life) friends of mine go though some kind of sorority experience.
I know that a lot of people never do end up joining sororities or fraternities, especially the types of people in an Honors College like mine because we are often just too busy to dedicate quite a decently large part of our life to mandated social events. But sometimes I wonder if I’m missing out on that American college experience that I once expected, based on the knowledge I have accumulated from movies and TV shows. Am I missing out?
Am I really? I mean, I did not go to prom either which I sometimes regret just for not being able to say I have that experience but at the time, I just felt like there was nothing there for me and no one I really wanted to see at all, so there was no point in going. I still feel the same now.
There are just some things that I have inevitably tied to as being part of the American experience but I find that I have never really hit any of what’s considered monumental things or events.
Do each person have a specific value? Does it increase or decrease based on your actions? Your decisions? Your merit? Is there an unwritten system of rules and regulations that we must follow or else we might endanger our value? I guess that’s called culture.
I’m all for culture and tradition but I don’t think my value as a person should be deemed diminishable by doing the things that make me happy even if it doesn’t seem “appropriate” by my culture’s standards. I wasn’t born in America but I was raised here. New York City, that is relatively open-minded and tolerant. Shouldn’t there be a little bit of leniency to count for my American-ness? I don’t think it’s our duty as offsprings to follow our parent’s culture to the point. Then again, when we’re young, we’re so dependent on them that we feel a certain obligation to do so.
But there should be a limit. I should not be told that my value will decrease as a woman for interacting freely with a male before marriage. I should not be told that my value will decrease if the neighbors see me doing said interactions. I should not be told that my value will decrease if I stay out past 11 pm. I should not be told that my value will decrease for wearing short skirts and tank tops in the summer.
My value or anyone else’s value can not and should not be quantified, at all. Does being an educated middle class citizen make me any more valuable as a human than being an illegal immigrant working to help sustain her family? We can’t weigh our merits and compare them as if there’s a standard unit to measure by.
The problem with being an Asian daughter.
So I get that inter-generational gaps can become a bit of an issue in terms of communication within a family but it seems that that issue is blown out of proportion within an immigrant family. Then, it’s actually more disastrous within an Asian immigrant family.
Wait.. AND you’re the daughter?
Forget it. You’re screwed for life.
Now you might think I’m being a little dramatic but if you are a female and you have an Asian mother, you know what I’m talking about. In an Asian family, the dynamics of the tumultuous mother-daughter relationship become so tightly wound and compressed that if you try to disturb it, it will without a doubt, combust, if you’re lucky, or if the black crows (or pigeons, to be indiscriminate) frown upon you, it will implode and create a black hole that seeks to destroy everything up, down and all around.
What was I saying about being dramatic?
The title of this post would probably better suit the title of this blog because everything I do or write about will most likely stem from this “influence,” to put it lightly, and it’s just something I am never going to be able to escape. Not that I really do (that’s a lie), don’t get me wrong. I love my mother and I appreciate everything she has done for me, everything she has sacrificed that I’m not even aware of. Part of everything I’ve done and will do will always be attributable to my mother and the gratitude I feel.
But sometimes.. ARGHHH sometimes I just want to reach the closest thing to me and throw it on the floor stomp smash sledgehammer drag it on a rope behind a horse carriage to the furthest bridge set it on fire chuck it over midair shoot it trigger happy dual pistols laugh maniacally bazooka into smithereens.
So I guess this will be an adequate introduction to myself, my life, and my insanity.