Fragments, 1

“At some point, on our way to a new consciousness, we will have to leave the opposite bank, the split between the two mortal combatants somehow healed so that we are on both shores at once and, at once, see through serpent and eagle eyes. Or perhaps we will decide to disengage from the dominant culture, write it off altogether as a lost cause, and cross the border into a wholly new and separate territory. Or we might go another route. The possibilities are numerous once we decide to act and not react.” -Gloria Anzaldua, Borderlands: La Frontera

My dad was a yeller. He seemed to always be in some kind of mood. There were some times when he was content. He even smiled when he played cards with mom. I remember us playing as a family, too, not all of us but some of us would play cards with mom and dad. It did not matter for me who was winning. I liked seeing my parents enjoying each other’s presence. I especially liked seeing my dad content. He would be relaxed and in a good mood. At that time though, I did not know why I enjoyed those moments.

My dad yelled at me though not as often as he did to my siblings. My brothers and both of my sisters got more yelled at than me. I was not rebellious. I also was one to not speak much. I might have been least yelled at as a kid but it set me up for being disowned the most as an adult by my dad.

Our defaults were our faults. It was a Hmong way to learn through observation. You watch and you learn by practicing. Either dad was not a very good teacher or we were not good students because we were all disappointments to him. At one point, dad told mom that if us girls did not turn out right, it was her fault. Like we were being baked in an oven, if we didn’t come out fluffy enough or moist enough or rich enough or pretty enough, our imperfections were not his fault. The boys’ imperfections would be his fault. My father took pride in his boys. Both of my parents treated them better than they treated us girls. When mom and dad died, us girls received no inheritance.

~~~

*Below is an excerpt from my MA theses:

At age 16, I was the last to get home but the first to clean. She’s pregnant, you’re

not, you do it.

Weekday mornings, at 4 AM I made breakfast, packed lunches and finished

homework to be at school by 7:30. After school, I tutored children for 1.5 hours. The

dishes, pots and pans, counters and floors, they usually waited for me. Once-in-a-while

maggot-rice were swept off the floor, too. Weekend mornings I reported to work at 5

AM, helped to open a restaurant for minimum wage.

One day, I tried voicing an opinion. We ended inside our bedroom, the smaller of

the two in that apartment. You do as you are told. He’d already broken the lamp; there

was nothing else to break because he needed the alarm. He swung at me.

Stupid or not, I cleaned.

The next time, he hit me in public, in a parking lot. We had been looking for our

missing nephew at our local New Year festival. Two children were with me from the split

for the search, one at each side. I held their hands, a boy and a girl. Or was it two girls?

The missing nephew found, the search called off, the two children and I reached

the car. Where have you been? Showing off your cunt? His arm was quicker than his

questioning. The two children, in awe at his rage did not hesitate to get into the back seat

of the car. People saw, people including his brother, sister-in-law and the two children. It

didn’t matter.

~~~

*You can find my complete theses on the CSU Sacramento online library in the public portal domain titled AUB LUB NTUJ (DOG’S WORLD).

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