What I learned from divorcing my parents

Here is an early memory of me being a kindergartener.

My mom and I were sorting recent photos and adding them to the photo album (Photo album — Wikipedia). As she flipped through the pictures, she picked out a photo of me happily posing like a bunny in front of a fancy hotel.

She asked, and I answered. I was having dinner with daddy and a pretty lady. We had a fancy dinner after they picked me up from my piano lesson. And then we took some photos.

She sank into the sofa. Silently, tears rolled down her cheeks. I didn’t understand what happened, so I suggested a fun activity — decide where to move to, without my dad. (So wise, I was.)

Growing up, I saw my mother struggled to maintain the facade of her marriage. She sulked, pleaded, threatened for his affection. She couldn’t do anything in her free time other than clicking through channels on the sofa. At one point, I found a suicide note under her pillow listing the names of all the women my dad cheated with (Obviously, she changed her mind NOT to traumatize her awesome daughter any more than she had).

She was emotionally explosive. She yelled at everyone in the house over insignificant things (providing so many great opportunities to say something cheeky to bring her down from “RAAARRRRR” to “RAhahahahahaha”).

Even though she was crippled emotionally, she did her best to make sure we are taken care of. Everything she did was out of “love.” It’s just that “love” was tainted with the resentment she held for her marriage that it was toxic.

I know she did her best, and I no longer hold it against her. How could she understand how to love when she received so little?

On the other hand, my dad seems like a very emotionally mature person.

My dad loved me, spoiled me and did his best to mentor me. Every school day, My dad would heat the breakfast he prepared the night before, then rush me into the car with me stuffing my face. He then would pull a fast-and-furious car trick to speed me to school with me blowdrying my hair from the air vent on the way. I gave less and less of a shit about getting up on time as the semester went on because I knew I could count on my dad.

He taught me the importance of presenting yourself tidily with dignity (I follow this great advice to the letter, thank you very much). He encouraged me to foster my interests (not that kind). He guided me to be considerate of other’s feelings (ironically). He guarded me very strictly against boys (unsuccessfully).

He was my best partner in mischief, but I also became his partner in lies. “Where did you go with your dad?” “What has he been up to?” “Who did you see on your trip?” I lied and lied again for him. Even though he was the nightmare of a husband to my mother, he was a great dad to me.

A punch in my dad’s stomach I did when I met my first half-brother, the walking-talking evidence of his betrayal. When I saw them playfully chasing each other, my dad’s false identity crumbling right in front of me, I stomped up and punched him. And I hit hard. He really shouldn’t have pissed off the head of the family.

I advised my mommy to get a divorce after that. My mom and the rest of my mother’s family held an intervention. It was for me.

They told me that I didn’t understand. People should do their best to keep that marriage going. They should try and try again. And don’t give up until years later, when it’s necessary, or until one of you dies.

I tried to persuade my dad to do the right thing and just pick one. He told me that I didn’t understand what love means.

I watched as they moved to separate bedrooms. I watched as they moved to separate apartments in the same building. I watched as they moved further and further apart. It wasn’t something I could bring up. It was to be locked away like Mal’s token in the Inception. We inhaled shame and exhaled lies.

In 2019, my mommy told me she wanted a divorce—financial issues. Finally!

It was messy and hurtful, mainly for me (this is my story, so shut up). My mother disowned me twice. And I never imagined that one day, my father would lie to me, but lie to me, he did.

Like a legend, I managed to emotionally blackmail them into signing a divorce agreement that was fair enough. Then off we went to the registry office for a happy ending (you have a dirty mind).

EVERYONE was at that registry. Couples were to be married, divorced, and the ones in tears sitting in front of the counsellor, accusing each other in sharp tones, debating where they should go from there.

But all eyes were on us. It must be quite horrifying (amusing) to see the whole family there for the divorce as if attending a graduation ceremony. They saw the daughter arranging the photoshoot for her parent’s licenses-to-date-again, collecting and distributing forms, and dragging the sulking adults to sit in front of the clerical desk.

The good people definitely questioned their realities when the daddy, mommy and daughter all started chuckling during the divorce. For just a moment before, the clerk had asked the mom if she thought her spouse was in “the right state of mind” to go through this process.

We couldn’t help it. My mom couldn’t stop her chuckles, and my dad sighed with a grin, “Yes, yes, I am the lunatic.” (if you identify as one, I am sorry to offend you!) And I was very, very relieved that it’s a comedy.

The reason why my parents stayed in their miserable marriage for years, I think, was low self-esteem. They grew up poor and bullied. They married the first person who showed them any affection. It never occurred to them that they deserved so much better. Neither of them dared to speak up for themselves.

They didn’t take up the responsibility of their own happiness and unwittingly dragged the other into misery with them. My dad’s girlfriend was never acknowledged as his spouse when she deserves it. My half-brothers were never acknowledged and were showered with so much hate from my mom simply for their existence. And everyone around my mom had to deal with her explosive misdirected anger. It wasn’t fair for everyone involved.

They don’t want me to follow in their footsteps.

My dad wants me to be free and whole, and my mom wants me to be independent and loved — because they overcompensated and raised me as a narcissistic sociopath, I am all-of-the-above.

Like all the other Asian children, I was destined to disappoint my parents — I have repeated history, locked myself away in a relationship for years, and almost got married to the wrong person.

I stayed longer and longer in bed. I could barely throw toys for my cats to fetch. I cancelled appointments every chance I got. I couldn’t care less about anyone else but myself. I did things that I am ashamed of. I learned that taking care of my own happiness was a requirement to do good to others.

Shortly after divorcing my parents, I got myself a “divorce” from my live-in boyfriend. And it wasn’t as hard as I thought.

It was heartbreaking, but I did get to keep my favourite cat (Charlie, the always hungry, the fluffiest of butts, the decision-maker in the family).

It was daunting. I had to face all the responsibilities that I neglected.

It was liberating. I was the “bad guy,” but I am no longer the villain.

It’s hard not to be nostalgic about people you cared about, especially on Valentine’s Day.

While I am grateful for the fond memories of these past encounters, there are things that I could not and would not swallow (hehehe).

I do not miss being shunned by someone who sulks because I couldn’t meet their falsely fabricated expectations of me. I do not miss the shallow questions that show disinterest in who I am, with which they are interviewing their next potential blown-up doll. I do not miss the disapproval of my values, sense of humour, or physical appearance. I do not miss the lack of physical attraction and pleasure. I do not miss the emotional neglect that triggers my fear of abandonment. And certainly NOT the absence of intellectual (clitoral) stimulation.

Once, I deemed getting a spouse as an achievement. I wore the status like a badge as if it says that I am finally worthy. I was so desperate to hold on, not because I like them, but I needed them to like me so I can hate myself less.

It’s easy to jump into relationships. The hard thing to do is to be content with oneself and accept all that there is. It’s tough, as I have seen the monster seething inside me (and y’all need to rub my chin and feed me consistently to keep me happy).

Without self-acceptance and self-validation, how can I tell whether I like this person, or am I just using them to build the identity of who I wish to be but never could?

Yeah, it sucks to be alone (especially if you are not as fun as me), but it can be a lot lonelier being misunderstood, unappreciated, and mistreated daily.

Every one of us can choose to be with someone who we truly love and truly loves us. It’s not just what we deserve but our responsibilities to ourselves and others. We can choose our companies by whom we are seen, accepted and understood. We can choose to be in relationships where it doesn’t require us to cut off parts of us like the stepsisters in Cinderella. We can choose to be bravely romantic and hold out for the right shoe for us.

Don’t settle for “limbs intertwined but souls never touched” when you can search for “we may be seated at the opposite ends in a room full of people, but it might as well be just the two of us.”

Of course, not all marriages are like my parent's marriage, and you are the expert on your situation. Maybe YOU are the sulker. Perhaps the grass isn’t greener on the other side but a different shade of diarrhea brown.

However, those who have considered all possibilities and confronted their faults still feel trapped, just like how my parents felt, how I felt. I urge you to speak the truth as precisely as you can. Have courage!

We can choose to be honest, provided that it is safe to do so. It takes a lot of energy to hold it in (farts). But the moment you let it go, it also releases its grip on you.

It’s the kinder thing, to be honest (and not just about farts). It gives a fair chance for people around you to navigate accordingly. It’s not just you, they also deserve better, and the people around you deserve better.

If you think life is too easy, by all means, spend it with the wrong people. However, do consider that a difficult journey may get easier (AND CERTAINLY FUNNIER) in the company of true friends.

If you’re sat there right now besides someone who makes you SO happy, like, they just fill you with joy every day, and you’re confident that you can make them as happy as they make you, FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART, if you have that, congratulations and fuck you. — Daniel Sloss (Jigsaw)

I am grateful for all of these shenanigans. As painful as it was, we were transcended by our sufferings.

I learned that it is not my job to “rescue” the people I love. It’s not kind to deny others’ chance of growing by doing their tasks for them.

My dad resolved his daddy issues and learned to find validation from within. He now farms potatoes and the leader of a pack of dogs in the countryside.

My mom became the master of coins. The woman made so much money day-trading that she cries diamonds. She finally grew up emotionally (I am so proud of my girl). She found love and support from her circle of snobby friends.

And even though they are wrong for each other, they justified the marriage for producing me, the fluffiest of butts.

We found a way to forgive each other, and more importantly, ourselves. We moved onto better things.