I have transferred my nomadic lifestyle to the Bay Area. Photo gallery of my indoor camping experience coming soon.
When I’m not doing anything, I simply reflect back on how many people I’ve had the chance to know. I will literally feel my heart fill with warmth and gratitude, letting the temporary ennui naturally ebb away.
Its been a while since anyone has hurt my heart. Two days ago when she shouted at me and called me selfish from behind the shut door, pain flushed throughout my body and I felt so much flowing sadness. I know she harbors huge sorrow and heartache. For years she has basked in despair and self-pity. Because she completely succumbs to blind rage, she re-appropriates its origin to me. Since being back home, I thought I had done everything I can to express my love and compassion. I have long made peace with her somber disposition. I do what most twentysomething child does not: I share at least one meal with her everyday, I share all that I think she would deem amusing, I take her out of the seclusion of suburbia, I work around her painted hauntings of the world, I make mindful decisions with her loneliness in mind.
Yet, she had the audacity to call me selfish. I reached out to my friends and communicated how much this one world insult pains me. They gave me responsible responses - that I am a child of immigrant parents and there will always be a disparity in understandings. That I must continue being a dutiful daughter and not say things I will regret. I am thankful for these necessary reminders.
Because reception utterly sucks at home, I drove to the nearby park and talked to a friend about this pain. How what I have done for her feels so meaningless if all is regarded as ‘selfish.’ What the fuck do I have to do to express my love?
What else is there to love, I realized today, than sharing all that I can?
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