raindrops-in-a-storm - Tumblr blog

[raindrops-in-a-storm]

quick protip: if someone is crying or freaking out over something minor, eg wifi not connecting, can’t find their hat, people talking too loud, do NOT tell them how small or petty the problem is to make it better. they know. they would probably love to calm down. you are doing the furthest possible thing from helping. people don’t have to earn expressions of feelings.

[raindrops-in-a-storm]

hey.

you have staying power in people’s lives. I’ll say it again: you have staying power in people’s lives.

you exist. you have a presence in your best friend’s life. you have impacted their life. you exist to them regardless of whether or not you’re in contact with them at this very second. in the course of their day, they will see things that can (and have) reminded them of you. they think about you. they miss you when you’re not there.

you’re not a nebulous creature that has no sway in another person’s life. no, my treasure, you are a person who is full of personality, light, love and interests shared in common with the people you most care about.

I know what you feel, but I promise you.

You matter, objectively, to the people who love you. They’re not going to forget about you. You are not disposable.

[raindrops-in-a-storm]

Also old, but newer

Whew! It's been a while since I last posted. A lot has happened, namely me getting into and going to college (after reluctantly taking a gap semester, but that's a longer story. Bottom line, I started college in January, not August).

I guess my emotions have been running high with coronavirus and school and being back home. So I...wrote another journal last night. I wanted to post it without editing, because I don't want to (can't, with my family all here) touch the raw emotions right now.

(I think my policy from now on will be to put journals under the read more link)

I don't know what's wrong with me right now. I just...broke down?? I don't exactly know why or why now, but something apparently pushed me over the edge (and I didn't even know that I was on the edge) and I just...started crying? Like full on bawling. Screwing my eyes up, if I was alone in the house there would have been loud sons, stuffy nose (let's hope Didi doesn't comment on me getting a tissue at midnight in the morning), the works. And I don't know what it is? I was reading a sad fanfic right before. But no, even with that, I was reacting stronger than I would normally (as in I shed a few tears and that doesn't usually happen with me. It's happened like twice that I can remember [and both from Ron fanfics wow there is probably something there]). Is it the whole virus situation? Am I stressed? I'm definitely not motivated right now, but I wasn't worried about that 'cause it's been slowly going away and of course I would feel unmotivated when there wasn't a proper transition from spring break to school. Is it because I'm home? That seems the most likely...I mean. College has been a pretty big deal for me for...four years? At least? Even more so in the past two and a half (AKA since junior year, maybe even sophomore spring when app stuff started). And a big part of that (though it took me a while to admit it and I don't think I'll ever admit it to the fam) was getting away from home. To be independent, yes definitely, but also honestly to get away from them. I wanted to get away from my family. I still do. I loved college: those eight weeks were incredible! Everyone told me that I would miss home but I didn't. At all (or at least very little). In fact, I'm at home and I miss college. I miss my friends and I miss my clubs and I miss the freedom and...Independence and lack of condescension and how it was a fresh start and home...isn't. In any way, shape, or form. It's even worse than the fall because Didi and Bhaiya are here and that's...it's hard. It's really, really hard. And I hate that it is, because they're my siblings and I love them, but I wanted to get away from them and I still do and being near them right now isn't helping matters at all and I'm forgetting why I love them so much because they're just so frustrating and so stupidly stubborn about not seeing me for who I've become and who I've been for years and who I want to become and anything about me that isn't their silly baby sister. (Great, I’ve started crying again.) Because I'm not that person and it's even more obvious now because I've finally had the chance to embrace myself and experiment and not be held back by past versions of myself and talk through my past with someone fully and completely and have them help me and not judge me and support me (AKA I’ve started going to counseling). I've finally started to gain my confidence back, but with that I've learned who I am. And it's not who they think I am. And those glorious, amazing, not perfect but pretty damn awesome eight weeks relaxed me enough that I let my guard down and now? Now it's taking so much effort to put them back up. Partially because I don't want to! I had weeks where I could be me, truly me, and it felt so good and so freeing and I don't want to go back to who I was before (that's kind of a lie. I've accepted that I can't go back to who I was before, and I've started to become proud of who I am now). And with my family? I have to. Because I can feel my life crumbling around me and I know now that I'm going to be stuck with them for six more months, unless I get a summer internship somewhere else, but I'm also screwed because people aren't hiring freshmen, especially now (both in terms of the virus and because it's the end of March),especially in the healthcare field. If I let too much slip, if I don't get ahold of myself, then it'll be high school, it'll be the gap semester, all over again, except worse because I won't have anywhere to run and I'll be faced with the disappointment of not finding an internship (but is that really new 😞). I just...want to go back. Please. I want to be busy, like I was then, I want an excuse to stay in my room for most of the day, I want to be able to choose time with my friends over my family, I want Didi and Bhaiya (but especially Didi but also, to my sadness, Bhaiya) to go back to Cali, I want everything to turn out fine, because yeah, maybe I am stressed about the virus and what's going on with my classes and how that'll affect my future ('cause dad thinks that P/NP is not an option that med schools will like, and neither is a not-high GPA, so). I want...a lot of things. 😕 And most of them won't happen. But I have to work through them anyway. Here's to the next six months, I guess. Here's to a gap semester turning into a gap year, but hopefully nothing more than that. Here's to becoming a kid again. (I’m gonna have a headache tomorrow morning...)

[raindrops-in-a-storm]

This has been sitting in my drafts for a while.

To be honest, I don't like it when Didi visits.

I do love her. I adore her, I grew up looking up to her—but I don't really like being with her for long periods of time anymore. Everything positive I can get from phone or video calls: inside jokes, because she still knows me the best (but that doesn't mean she knows me that well, anymore); laughs, because she's always been able to make me laugh; someone to listen to my nonsense (although Bhaiya has been listening more and more recently). Bottom line, I don't need her here, with me, and I don't need her for long.

Because when she's here I get all the negatives. Sure, she knows me better than probably anyone in the world except for me, but that doesn't really mean much. You're so proud that you have the title that you stopped understanding me. You stopped listening—although I honestly can't remember you ever listening—because you're so convinced that you're right. And when I try to protest, all you do is condescendingly nod along—as if you know me better than me. When I complain about dad not hearing me, you patronizingly coo at me—and then turn around and ignore me half the time. You lecture me on one thing and then snap at me when I point out you doing the same. You absolutely refuse to take any criticism, especially from me; but then again, what could I know? I'm just your tiny, adorable, silly baby sister. You claim that you see me as a "real person," and you claim that you see me as an adult (since I am almost 19), but do you? Really? Oh yes, you believe me more and trust me more than you used to, but that isn't...saying much. Yeah you don't treat me like I'm five and going to rip your books and spill your drinks and tell your secrets to the world. Yeah you explain concepts more often, instead of brushing me off and continuing the conversation. Yeah you listen to me more. And yeah, I'm hella glad.

But you still talk to me in a baby voice 50% of the time. You still coo at me, and patronizingly squeeze my cheeks. You still ignore or (worse) brush off what I say, and (unknowingly, sure) push me out of conversations. You tease me and drag out my mistakes; you don't listen when I explain things or (perish the thought!) question your wisdom and lectures. You look down on me—and it's really, really obvious. You still turn everything into a competition where you have to win. If you know me so well, how can you misunderstand me so often? How can you do so many things that hurt me, and then act like I'm irrational, and prideful? You admit that your ego is your biggest vice—and yet? You tell me to stop saying sorry so much, and to only say it when I absolutely mean it, and to not roll over for anyone—yet you snapped at me when I protested everything was my fault?

Backing up a little. So this was prompted by an event that occurred a few HOURS ago. My family and I were climbing around some rocks on the edge of a road. Both my sister and I had gotten down: I was standing at the foot of the rocks (off of the road) and helping my dad down, while she was behind me on the road. I couldn't see her, and was mostly focused on my dad. Perhaps a car came; perhaps someone else said something, I don't remember, but my sister moved off the road to stand right behind me (there was not much room off of the road, so she must have been right behind me). I did not notice; I could not see her. My dad was about to step down from the rocks, so, to give him room, I stepped back.

Right onto my sister's flip flopped foot.

We were walking in dirt, so my shoes were dirty, and so her foot and flip flop also got dirty. Yes, I should have been more aware of my surroundings, or at least have remembered that she was nearby and reasoned that she would have moved off of the road. But shouldn't she have let me know that she was behind me? Or at least realized that the blame wasn't fully on my shoulders? As soon as I realized what had happened, I apologized, and I know this because I remember making sure that I first apologized before doing or saying anything else (because I did just make her foot and flip flop dirty and it was a mistake). Yet I also remember forcing myself not to just accept all of the blame, especially since this was the sister who had lectured me on doing just that many times in the past. So yes, after a few seconds I said "but" and pointed out that she should have told me that she was right behind me. And I don't know how to explain what happened next except by saying that my sister began lecturing me (literally talking over me, and what happened to that early morning lecture to the whole family about trying not to interrupt each other?) about how I stepped back "three steps" (I literally did not have that much room, unless I was to step into the road, or unless your "step" means a tiny shuffle step), and snapping each time I tried to protest. I'm sorry I stepped on you and your foot and flip flop got dirty. But does that mean that you gripe at me the whole time you clean it and until we start driving again? Does that mean that you say a haughty "that's what I wanted" when I finally just give up and say "I'm sorry" full stop? Or that you make a statement five minutes later that heavily implies that I purposely stepped on you (she said something like "wow you really have it out for your siblings," I don't remember the exact wording)? Like yes I know I'm clumsy, but can you please stop treating me like a wobbly, ignorant, haphazard child who can't do anything right?! Why does something like this happen twice or thrice every time you come back for the holidays? Why do you still talk about and treat me like a kid who will spill your chai, when I haven't in years? Why do you give me that condescending look and "uh huh right" when I say that I have actually been working on my computer for the past few hours? Or literally check up on me (by sitting where she can see my screen) when I'm on my computer for a long time? Mom and dad don't do that. Also like, what the hell? You snap at me when I glance at your screen, and then look disapproving when I don't let you see mine. And why don't you trust me when I say what I've been doing? When I was studying for finals and had headphones in, why did you assume that I was listening to music (when you've seen me listening to lectures before, and have lectured me on listening to music while working)? Why are you always so surprised when I say something substantial in a discussion or have a smart idea or know more about something than you do?

[raindrops-in-a-storm]

Yay, another one

Whoopee, another late night tear fest! Not as late night, I suppose, since this was more of an evening storm. But I journaled about it again :) I rather enjoy this journaling thing—it’s a good way to get my feelings out. Even if I’m not consistent about it, I kinda like having my most emotional days chronicled somewhere.

This note is a whole lot longer than the last one, and sort of turned into a letter to my dad near the end. I’ll post it under a keep reading, but be warned—it’s emotional.

I want to just leave. Is that too much to ask? I just want to…I want to get out of this house. I want not really independence, but independence from my family. My parents. Dad, mostly, but also mom. I want to be away from Didi’s phone calls (to have an excuse even if she calls). I want…space? Or…not…exactly space, because mom and dad go to work and I’m alone a lot, but…it’s never enough. Is that selfish? Greedy? Me rationalizing wasting my life? (Just dramatic.) But I am wasting my life. It’s not even…I don’t see the judgement in other people’s eyes anymore, but is that because it’s not there or because I don’t care anymore (I have enough of my own)? The words are almost rehearsed: I’m taking a few classes, mostly relaxing, enjoying. While [new college friend] gets certified, while others do internships, while the juniors apply to college (and I want them to get into good schools, I do, I just don’t want to deal with the…judgements? Thoughts of my own? The attention, again, on how I failed). That again. I failed, but also…people didn’t expect it. I’ve always done so well at acting like another gifted child. I’ve always done so well at hiding bad grades and sadness behind a smile and a veneer of cheerfulness. Everyone…everyone thinks I’m smart. That I have top grades, that it’s easy. Even now, when I’ve so obviously failed—the juniors (mostly) take it as the college process being hard, or me not displaying myself perfectly, or something else, but there isn’t a doubt about my stats (are they doubting now, though? My honesty has started to shine though, I’ve stopped holding myself back so much—are they starting to see the cracks?). In the chem class for goodness sake! Ainjell thinks I’m so smart, and so do some of the others (even if they haven’t said it, I recognize those looks. …that’s funny…). I’m not though. Dad is hoping again and I hate it because I’m going to fail again and he’s going to be disappointed again and and and I want to leave already. I want to just go to college. I’ve been waiting for this since middle school, since everything started falling apart and didi and bhaiya came home with stories of how wonderful college was. Since I was alone in 6th grade and making mistakes in 7th grade, and distraught at the beginning of 8th grade (remember that party? Remember [old best friend K]’s almost angry look, remember how hurt I was when none of them showed up, remember how much I missed [old town]?). Since [high school classmate J] and [high school classmate H] became besties and I was left on the side, since I looked around and realized that the day students had their own little cliche—and that I wasn’t in it. Since I joined the “Breakfast Club” but was never really part of it (and why is that haunting me, even now? Especially now, why is that what I turn to for the sad dreams, the catalyst for pity and loneliness?). And then, realizing that [high school] wasn’t a new chapter, but a continuation of the same old story, when I started pulling away from my family and letting go around friends and joining Discord and giving up. And then junior year and work and dying inside but also being offered hope again because I could start over in college. Because by then I didn’t want to make things work with mom and dad. Because I had given up on them understanding me (and yeah, I hoped later. I tried. Maybe not as hard as I should have, but can you blame me? Maybe it’s me rationalizing again, too many days and nights of imagining and twisting, but something inside me holds onto the thought that you never gave me reason to trust you. You never proved that you would support me, would understand, would even try to understand. Because had you, in the past? Had you actually tried to understand? Or was it the same questions, over and over again—what happened?—with the same stupidly condescending and disappointed and superior and infuriating but so, so hurtful tone? The number of days I came home to the tired wave-off, the “stop asking useless questions,” the barely answering about your day until I only did it as habit or to delay you asking me about mine, the snide remarks about sitting down all the time when I goddamn walked more than you did at my freaking boarding school that’s constantly compared to a college campus and then returned home after freaking dark so you can just shut the hell up). Because by junior year, I was more than ready to leave. Because if my spark was reignited at all that year (and the next), it was because I found friends (not best friends, but good friends) that I trusted and let my guard down around, and because I could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. Because I could almost reach it—because I had a countdown, and maybe I didn’t acknowledge it right away, but a large part of that countdown was getting away from you. Because I’m not didi and bhaiya, and they still got space growing up. Because maybe I’m more broken (and what does it say that I’m okay admitting that? That I believe that without a doubt?), but I needed validation and support and friends who I could trust (because I goddamn couldn’t trust all of you with the truth, not without a hell of a lot more heartbreak and tears. And maybe it was weak of me to give up. But I did, and nothing can change that). And say what you want about my “evil” high school—wax poetic about how it changed me and hurt me and whatever else—but I found friends there. I might have also found Bs and Cs and even Ds, and left a much less confident person, but for the first time in my whole life, I found people that I could just be with. I found space to grow (maybe in the wrong direction) and space to keep secrets (maybe from you) and space to try things (and maybe fail miserably) but I never had that before. And maybe you think of it as mostly negatives. Maybe you see my more frequent tears and more frequent stubbornness and huffs and sarcastic one-liners and blame [high school] and yearn for the little girl I once was. But I don’t care. Well. I mean, I do care, because I want a time machine too, but I don’t care as much as I used to. And okay, maybe that’s because failure is like an old friend to me and my heart hurts a little less every time I see it, but maybe it’s because I’ve learned that failure isn’t…life-ending. Maybe I’m not didi or bhaiya or you or mom. Maybe I haven’t skipped grades or gotten in the newspaper at 13 or gotten into Harvard. Maybe I’m not a genius. Maybe I’m not as smart as you (as we) thought. But I am smart. I am doing better than some people. I’m not at the bottom. I’m getting 90s and 100s. I skipped a whole semester because of APs (I got actual awards because I did well on my APs). I’m going to a good college, even if it isn’t an Ivy. I’ve found stable ground (even if it shakes sometimes)—and the fact that you guys aren’t automatically part of it anymore? The fact that your pride and genuine interest in my rambles are extra instead of expected? Well, maybe you think that’s a negative. But me? My heart, my sense of self, my slowly-rebuilding confidence? I think it’s a positive. I think there’s no question about it. Because I know you care. I know you love me, I know you expect the world because you honestly believe I can do it, I know that you wouldn’t care at the end of the day if I become a doctor or a dropout. And yeah, maybe that is part of my foundation because I don’t question it. But the fact is, I’m a teenage girl. I’m a teenage girl who has two, shining older siblings and parents who did amazing for themselves. I’m a teenage girl who went to five different schools in five years—maybe the most important five years of her life—and was expected to stay afloat while also skipping ahead in math almost every year and doing extracurriculars. I’m a teenage girl who has always had a tight friend group and has always seen her family have tight friend groups and who expected a lot from middle and high school but never expected that she would struggle to make friends. I’m a teenage girl who never dealt with proper failure until it slammed me in the face and then came back to kick my butt once I could see clearly again—and then did it again, and again, and again. And I’m a teenage girl who yeah, didn’t reach out for help in the perfect way, who was scared of disappointment and hid her mistakes until it was too late, but you’re the dad that didn’t realize what was happening. You’re the dad that was so excited with his new job(s) that he didn’t pay attention to home. Who relaxed after sending his oldest kids to the top college in the country and assumed that his part was mostly done. You’re the dad that casually expected but barely questioned, that worked hard during the day and came back exhausted, that didn’t realize (and hardly does now) that his kids weren’t mirror images of himself, that relied on luck when he should have known better. And maybe I used to have that potential. Maybe, if things had gone perfectly, I would also be going to Harvard—or maybe I would have gotten into one of the BS/MD programs. Maybe I would be the queen bee of my school, and already be acing my classes, and would be hella confident and kind and cheerful and pretty and thin and the perfect daughter. The best of didi and bhaiya, of mom and you. But that’s not me anymore. That cloud has drifted away—and you need to accept that. I have (or, I’m trying at least). You need to stop hoping. You need to stop mentioning how smart I am in that wistful voice. You need to stop expecting me to suddenly become this straight-A daughter who tells you everything because that’s not me anymore. That’s not going to happen anymore, and definitely not with the ease you seem to expect. Sure, I’m gonna (try to) work my butt off in college because I do want to be a doctor. Sure, I’m gonna try to be more open and honest with you guys. But I’ve also learned how to keep secrets. I’ve learned how to hide my tears. I’ve learned that trusting non-family members doesn’t always end in betrayal and heartbreak (although it sometimes does, and I’ve learned that lesson too). I’ve learned that you aren’t Superman, and you can’t fix every hurt, and you aren’t going to be the most kind or sensitive or even caring enough all of the time. I’ve learned that you’ve grown old and weary, and don’t always want to tangle with my emotions and problems all the time. And that’s okay; really, it is. Because now I don’t expect it. There might be times when I look at how you treated didi and bhaiya with bitterness—I’m not perfect, and I know that I’ll resent them many more times in the future—but now there’s a part of me that’s said goodbye to that version of you. This version of you leaves before I wake up (or is on the computer until he leaves) and returns in the evening, only to be on the phone with his boss or puttering with his fascinating Tesla. This version of you eats dinner (with a computer or phone most of the time) and lively chat, but then goes to his spot on the couch and stays on his chosen device for a while before he inevitably falls asleep. Or watches a movie. But this version of you barely has time to talk unless it’s urgent (and even then is sleepy or grumpy half the time) or we’re in the car (and he’s driving). This version of you complains at prodding and snaps at stubbornness and scoffs at “useless” curiosity. This version of you refuses to change. (Okay, maybe I’ve accepted it, but it clearly still bothers me. A lot. And maybe I should have known that, since that is what prompted this whole…mind dump in the first place. But hey, a girl can dream.) But anyway. You wanted me to journal my excitement for college didi? Well here it is. My true motivations for wanting to go to college. Too bad none of you will ever read it.

[raindrops-in-a-storm]

So I've heard conflicting pieces and advice.

Should one let the tears fall, so as to not bottle up the emotions and kind of let out the sadness? Or should one hold them in—because tears aren't usually the right response, and one should try to fight that impulse instead of indulging in a bad habit?

[raindrops-in-a-storm]

Well isn't this a telling beginning.

I cried last night (in bed) because I was pitying myself.

I wrote about it in a note. I...you know what. I created this blog so I could be honest. So that I would stop hiding and be honest with someone, even if it is the whole world. And yeah, maybe part of it is because I want validation and other people's pity. I'm not gonna start this blog by lying (although I am censoring some things because I'm still afraid that someone will connect this to real life me).

So. sigh Here we go.

I don't want to be me.

I'm...a failure. Even if not completely, I don't succeed. Enough? I don't know. From...schools? From [high school] which was good but not the best, pre-calc where I did horrible, algebra but he was in geometry and [girl E] was younger (and cuter, and better liked), geometry and algebra 2 but [girl A] was better and younger (my own siblings loved her. Sometimes I think they were more impressed with her in comparison to me), [female cousin K] who wrote and published her poems, [potential college] where I had to go to Greece, [current college] where I'm spring admit, [high school] where I was honors but not high honors, couldn't skip 50, friends but nobody's best friend, not included in the day student group, DEFINITELY not included with the boarders. Thirds for two years, one as the oldest (good enough to bench for JV, but so were [younger girl A] and [younger girl N] and not good enough), JV not varsity crew and always one of the last boats, lowest groups for dance, not picked for choirs, barely picked for theater (even worse, honestly) (even over freshmen when wasn't seniority always important? Just an excuse then? Same with racism—just an excuse).

No. I want to be Hermione. Perfect, almost. Bossy but accepted. Oh-so-smart consistently. Good at...almost everything, and she learned as she grew. Had amazing friends (and okay. Harry and Ron were closer. There is that). Almost before she cares about beauty, Krum (the celebrity, ya know) asked her out. And then Ron was there (she got the lovable, complimentary soulmate. And yeah they have kinks in their relationship. But not only does he support her most always, she helps him too!). Lauded by everyone around her (and if not, had the support and confidence to push through). CONFIDENT. Or, if not, she had friends! Teachers! Perhaps even family! Supporting her. Pretty—not that it mattered when she didn't try, and she was beautiful when she did.

And I'm...not. Any of that. Not pretty (or average) (pretty eyes wasted on me). Smart but only enough for everyone to be disappointed (for me to be disappointed). Not confident (that's funny). I don't have close friends like that (obviously not before [state], and I lost [old best friend K], and I was never a very good friend of [closest friend E]'s). I don't have...anything to call my own. I'm not a singer nor an instrumentalist. Not smart or athletic or pretty or popular. Not cheerfulness and bubbly and cute and whatever like I was when I was younger—but snappy and emotional and unmotivated and constantly a failure and a mess. Not confident nor even depressed.

Not even average. Just slightly above or below. Just missing everyone's expectations. Overweight even when I exercise (and shamed for it, even if it's subtle).

And nobody notices. And I'm not even brave enough to say it.

[raindrops-in-a-storm]

Hey everyone.

This blog is a response to my life being...messy. And full of too many low points. And basically, I’ve been crying more often than I ever have before and I’m honestly a little worried because I can’t stop.

Sooo I thought it would help to write about it. Every time I cry in sadness—no matter how small or big—I will post on here. Maybe the posts won’t be long; they might just list a location or time of day and the fact that I cried. Sometimes I’ll go into detail: why I cried, what happened, how my family or whoever was around me reacted to it. Other feelings I might have had.

I’m not doing this for followers, although I, of course, won’t turn you away :) This is a public blog, but that’s mostly because I hope it might help others out there in my shoes to talk about your feelings. Maybe your family or friends don’t understand (I know mine don’t), but there are others out there <3

Without further ado...welcome :)