#considering how things have gone this year overall mainly re: my ex and what he tells people I just feel like it’d be on brand at this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wrongspelling · 7 years

Text

15th October 2017.

I’ve always considered myself a fairly strong person. Physically, though I am female* and not the most muscular type, I always chose to bear the weight(of my choice) myself rather than be helped. I am able to lift 25kg of flour sack without breaking my back, albeit I’d be moaning a wee bit. I would carry a rucksack full of stuff, that weighed 22kg or more, and travel from a country to another. Mentally, I don’t know what’s strong and what’s weak. Who’s to judge? Everyone has different opinions about what ‘strength’ means to them.

To me, being a strong individual means that you take the responsibility of yours, try not to blame others, and are understanding of others’ needs as well as yours. To make it clear, though, I am not talking about someone who has the perfect(est?!) personality where nobody can find one single flaw. No one is perfect. Period. ...well, a period is never a perfect thing, it’s messy, bloody, and painful...I must not digress. Having the strength means, to me, that you are able to cope with criticism, but also allow yourself to make mistakes and understand that that’s okay. It’s about being independent, but also can ask for help when you need it - to do this, you should listen to yourself and know the limits.

I used to be the typical ‘strong female’ character. I never asked for help because I considered asking for anything was showing weakness. If I found myself not being able to further a project, I would give it up altogether. I never talked to anyone about my feelings, what’s going on inside of my mind, because talking about feelings is only those ‘girly’*, extremely feminine princess types* would do. Crying in front of other people? Hell no. Every time I cried in front of others than myself, I felt great shame for showing such weakness. I had the most stereotypical ‘heroine’ characteristics without having the glamourous body type, but it was mainly for my own survival, a part of armour, my war paints, the sword I would show to threaten others who wanted to grind me down.

It wasn’t really something I would call ‘strength’. I would try to be someone who doesn’t need anybody, because I was alone.

At schools and college, I barely had any friends. My social skills were almost non existent. I didn’t know how to make friends, let alone how to communicate with others. As a young child I would rather be reading books, or go outside playing in the stream and field alone. And, my relationship with my family was rather sad, especially with my mum. I don’t remember feeling much connected to her. She took a great care of me especially for my education, but perhaps a bit too much for a wee child whose best interest was probably having a good ol’ fun time outside, catching dragonflies, crickets, and praying mantis, getting blood sucked by leeches in the stream, and mistakenly taking them to a school class where you were supposed to bring some planaria.

She would rarely compliment me for anything other than high test/exam scores. Often, she would tell me off for picking clothes that were too ‘boy-ish’, or would be tutting at my rather bulky body shape. She wanted me to study hard, get accepted by a well known university, get a good job, all the while being a beautiful ‘feminine’ girl/woman so I can marry a nice man, start a family and be happy. I never picked skirts or blouses and this was mostly because of the music I had listened to - Wu Tang Clan, Cypress Hills, TLC, Marilyn Manson, Rage Against the Machine, Nine Inch Nails. She had a lot of expectations on me, and I found it very hard to please her.

And, when you aren’t used to receiving compliments, it’s hard not only to accept them, but give to others. I always felt awkward receiving compliments, although I was convinced I did a great job in whatever I did. I also did not known much about ‘listening’ to others especially when they told me their troubling minds. I lacked compassion, because I didn’t know how to be compassionate of others’ feelings. When a friend of mine told me her problem/issue, I would offer her solutions, without giving her words that could be of an equivalent to a hug. And of course, it didn’t occur to me that what they wanted was a hug, not a solution. I believed in logics and no emotions, because I considered having feelings, being overwhelmed by feelings, was a sign of weakness.

I don’t recall my mum asking if I was okay with anything. It was either a compliment(usually about my test/exam results) or deep disappointment. Overall I consider I had a good childhood, but being an older sister and having been told to be a ‘good girl’, responsible, nice, understanding, and to study hard to become a doctor, lawyer, and god forbid I take an interest in comic books and become an artist, which just means a for ever lost, unemployed, refusing to grow up, financially suffering loser.

But, how good my memories are any ways? Perhaps I am missing something - maybe my mum wasn’t as bad as I have described here. No, I am not blaming my own flaws on mum. She did what she thought was the best. I only know that both she and I had such hard times while I was growing up, and this is not either her or my fault. However, it did affect me greatly, in my early twenties and beyond. It took me nearly 30 years to realise who I am.

As suggested, memories are entirely subjective. I am not good with memories in general, but those I remember, I remember with great details. How truthful my memories are isn’t so important. As far as I understand - your memories are of the past, and most likely the people involved in your memories either are long gone, or become distant for whatever reasons. And even if your memories are most likely sprinkled with confettis, covered in buttercream and chocolate swirls - why does it matter so much that your memories are 100% accurate, if their sole purpose of existence is only to be remembered by you, being told to a selective group of people who would have nothing to do with the memories themselves at all? And then, there are people who are trapped in their own memories, glorifying their own past, telling everyone grand stories and how much they had achieved in their lives....that is another story. And, I keep digressing here.

I still remember the moment I made my ex(my first boyfriend) weep - he had told me that he would never want to be apart from me. I told him, “Well, you should be a good partner.”, almost in a teasing manner. He began shedding tears and I couldn’t understand why, but gave him a hug and comforted him - I may have lacked compassion, but I was not an emotionless monster. My armour worked well.

But, sometimes, you want to be freed of the armour you put on yourself. I kept myself distant with people, mainly because I didn’t know how to socialise. When I became deeply engaged with someone, I decided to show my weakness, too, because I trusted the person. Being able to do so brought in both relief and fear - relieved that I don’t have to always wear an armour, and feared of ‘disappointing’ the other person for showing that....I have my flaws. It was liberating, and scary at the same time. I have to admit I did not do a good job handling this.

Having feelings, being loved by someone, being entirely open to the person, all this was a lot for me. I often didn’t know the limits. All I cared for until something tender, love, came along, was being strong, creating ‘arts’, and fighting for the justice**. I was open enough to accept someone in my life, but at the same time, I feared of the worst, because someone liking, loving me for ‘who I am’ was something that never happened to me. I had two boyfriends in my life, they had both told me the same things - that they love me for being strong, independent, and ‘not so girly’. All the men, women, girls, boys, ‘humans’, who showed their interests in becoming closer to me - which means, more than just friends in my own words - told me the similar story. I was never really flattered hearing these. I was scared if these positive aspects of mine they tell me are only lies.

What if I wasn’t strong enough? What if they realised that my strength was only an illusion, and leave me when I had really fallen for them? Fear is something that can prevent you to appreciate great things that are present.

To this date, 15th of October in 2017, I struggle with this. I struggle a lot less now, which is a progress, I guess. I came to terms with my own gender issue, and I have re educated myself that being female, having feminine characteristics do not equal being weak and dependent. And that I can be dependent, needy, flawed, sometimes, and I cannot always hold the same strength. And that I do not need to be perfect. And that knowing my own limits, and giving myself some time to rest both my mind and body is important. And the main focus should be how I progress, grow, be happy, but also process the sadness when it comes.

I am not the strongest of all. And I am learning to be okay with it.

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* I mean these adjectives in the most stereotypical manner, which were the norm of how people described femininity in my childhood/youth. Which still stays true to many in South Korea to this day, unfortunately.

** My sense of justice, the perfect justice where nobody is judged especially for their appearance, stems from my experiences being a ‘misfit’. Until recently, I had a rather rigid set of morals which were mainly black and/or white.

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