We tried to fall back on our usual routine of talking about each other’s days. He still rattled off excitedly or frustratedly about things that were happening at the office, barely pausing to take a breath. My answer to his question of, “What did you do today?” became reduced to one word–”Nothing.”
It seems like every woman you know of child-bearing age is suddenly pregnant. The women in your life who are on child two or three keep mentioning that when you are expecting, they have a whole garage full of baby supplies that they can offload on you. It feels like every conversation at lunch is centered around stories of spit up, sleep training, daycare, and scraped knees. The baby-making universe becomes a plague forcing you to catch baby fever.
Being diagnosed with Bipolar-II Disorder at age 29 is something I didn’t expect, but I would be lying if I said it was a surprise. I had lived with a previous diagnosis of generalized anxiety disorder and depression all my life, and it wasn’t until I received my Bipolar diagnosis that everything finally felt like it made sense and fell into place. That is, except for the area of family planning.
*Originally written and published in 2018* “I believe in knowing who you are but without limiting yourself to your own expectation of who you are.” -Charlotte Erikkson Have you ever seen a movie where a character finds out some earth-shattering news and there is a moment when they fall apart and dramatically say, “My wholeContinue reading “In Search of Myself”
“I can’t do it!” I cried to my fiancé. “What am I going to tell people? What will they think? Then, the real panic hit. “How am I going to plan for ten days of sub plans? We are in the middle of a giant writing unit. What am I going to do if I can’t grade or look at the kids’ work?” I was inconsolable.
But why did I, an Asian-American Korean adoptee, not find out that there was a month designated to represent my people until I was 30 years old? And even moreso, why could I not remember learning about one single influential Asian-American in school?
Seeing myself wearing this fabric mask makes it impossible for me to maintain that distance and has created a complex, complicated inner-conversation. On the one had, I am still assimilating by wearing a mask just like everyone else in America. On the other, by doing so, I embody a stereotype of Asians that so many in the world despise.
At this time in my life, kids were also cruel and my eyes became the butt of a lot of jokes. They’d often tell me to “open my eyes” or ask if I could see the same amount as everyone else. Sometimes I would beat them to the punch and say things like, “Oh, I didn’t see that. It must be because my eyes don’t open haha.” Other times, I would be annoyed and snootily respond, “I don’t know if I see less. Why don’t I pop your eyeballs out of their sockets so we can trade and find out?”
But going back to this idea of choice–I was chosen. In fact, if one thinks about it on a cruder level–I was an investment.
When I sat down to write about my experiences growing up as one of the only Asians in nearly every setting of my life, I found that the best way was to write a series of letters…