And so we return to the land of the rising sun.
Fitting, as when we got on the plane in Dublin the sun was setting. Call me a loon, but I think it's a positive sign. Coming back to the land of the Rising Sun. A new day. This place and these people are my new life. Being back with my family has made me realise how very little they mean to me anymore. Some may find that shocking or saddening, and maybe it is, but that's just the way it's become.
The truth of the matter is that I'm the black sheep of the family. It's just something I grew up with. The first "mixed" one. Funny, because I'm 100% caucasion, aren't I? But neither of my sides of the family thought that my mother or father should have ever married "outside the race." What a bloody shame it can be, and they've come to accept it, but they still hold this feeling of contempt, be it subconscious or conscious, for me. My siblings were much more lucky in that they were born after this whole family crap went down.
What I never understood is what the hell is the difference?
Well, this trip "home" really opened my eyes even moreso to the complete arrogance of BOTH sides of my family. Since both were gathered...not much of a happy family gathering either. I suppose I should explain myself, leaving the country so suddenly and dragging poor Yamcha along with me. My sister died.
Well actually, more of a "my sister killed herself."
I loved her so much, I really did. I was often like a mother to her because she was so much younger than I was. When she was born she was like my very own baby doll, I was older...but not by that much.
It's a long story...she married some jackass about two years ago, and surprisingly everything was going fine (though she was often ignored, he never cheated on her, I'll give him that much). Anyway, she had a son, Colin, back in late June and since then just went downhill. When he was born she wouldn't touch him for a week. She was afraid of him. She was always very distant from poor little Colin and my mother has been taking care of him for some time. Post-partum depression, severely. Since he was born she's called me twice telling me how ashamed she was that she wasn't a good mother and how she's neglected him. I just didn't know what to tell her...how do you advise anything like that? I've never been through it, I bonded with Dillon instantly...I don't know what it's like to falter from that position.
But it went undiagnosed, her husband even told her she was "a crazy bitch" and was a horrible mother to Colin, I guess the last time he laid into her was the last that she could take, so she left him with my mother and that night she chased a fairly large count of vicodin with an entire bottle of a high-proof vodka. My mother was the one to find her by the next afternoon because her husband had never even returned home that night...he was out getting pissed with his buddies and he slept over at a friends house that was in walking distance from the pub.
How fucking terrible for Mama to find something like that. It's terrible just knowing that she outlived her own daughter. She was in hysterics half the time I was there, the other half just quiet and off in a completely different world. My father was devastated...just as he would be, because no matter how any of us ever fucked up, we're still his children and the most important in his eyes.
There were several things that completely just pissed me off about the whole thing though.
There was the fact that this happened in the first place, she just turned 22...she had a son...
There was the fact that that bastard of a husband of hers showed NO remorse whatsoever, and doesn't seem to be fazed at all by her death. He even said, "I think we all saw it coming."
My father kicked his ass. At the wake. He took him aside to have "a talk" with him and just beat him til he layed on the ground in defeat and my uncles pulled Da back. Jesus Christ I hate that man. She went to her grave hating that man and I'll share that with her. He also wants nothing more to do with Colin, has since relinquished complete custody to my mother and refuses to pay a punt in child support. My family can take care of him, but its...it just hurts. That boy is going to grow up without a mother, without a father, and he'll eventually know why, which I'm sure will hurt even more.
And then there's the fact that the entire Italian side of my family (minus Auntie Lotta, but even including Mama) said that no matter how much they loved her or what a good girl she was that since she was Catholic and she committed suicide, she's gone straight to Hell. Well if that's true and she has, she'd be much happier there than the "Heaven" that was offered. They can all eat a big steaming pile of shit.
While my family was at passing around foot-in-mouth disease, they also made sure to know how disgusting and disgraceful it is that I'm now engaged to marry an Asian man. Some of my family is accepting of him, mostly the younger generations, but the "aged ones" (I just edited some very nasty language from that...) made sure to pass around words like "dirty Jap," "heathen" and "pagan scum."
One of my Italian uncles made a comment at one point, "There's a reason the Americans nuked them..." While he was standing right next to Yamcha at that. I think he assumed since we were speaking nothing but Japanese to each other that he didn't understand a word of English.
Yamcha replied with, "And there's a reason they hanged Mussolini as well. He was guilty of war crimes. The ones who died at Hiroshima and Nagasaki were innocents."
That shut my Uncle up very quickly. I laughed my ass off. Dillon asked who Mussolini was.
But the best part about the trip was the bitch fight. Between my mother and myself. The woman was nuts for half the time, like I said. Dillon's been raised in a completely un-Catholic environment, and I don't force it on him, so he's been exposed to much more Shinto. At the burial he did something that even I wasn't expecting, he clapped his hands twice and bowed.
Nearly everyone there immediately made the sign of the cross.
Quite frightening at how ignorant of other religions they are.
Afterwards my mother walked up to him and asked him what the hell he was doing. He told her that it was how his Shinto friends taught him to pay respects to the dead. And the crazy bitch smacked him. As if, how dare you bring anything NOT Catholic into this. Of course he didn't understand what was wrong with it, but I up and smacked her across the face as she had done to him and asked her exactly what the hell she was doing. Then I spent a while cursing at her in Italian, hopefully words Dillon doesn't know. Or at least didn't.
And so that ends the last shred of compassion I have for my family. I can live with the fact that I'm filth, I'm marrying filth and I'll never go to Heaven. But don't ever raise your hand to MY son.
And so we return (a bit early...), all a little bit wiser, myself sad that my sister is gone but happy that I've finally come to some sort of peace about the rifts in my family. I can now honestly say what they say no longer hurts me.
I stopped by Jen's yesterday afternoon to get those books on Aromatherapy from her. I haven't had a chance to look over them yet, but I'm sure they'll be interesting reading. We had a nice chat over caramel mochachinos (a newfound addiction, I think), avoiding most of my trip and me spending more time telling her horror stories of nursing. She was genuinely interested and found it a little amusing that I can talk about such things as if they were like going to pick up the mail or going grocery shopping.
I also got to gush a little over my engagement *beams.* Honestly, for a long time I thought I'd be alone and Dillon would be without a father forever. I guess I was proven wrong. And what a man to do the deed. Oh hell, I'm so bloody happy I could puke right now. But I think I'll keep that to myself.
Ahh well, Dillon's up and about and I'm off to get him ready for school and myself ready for work (bah). I'll see you all at Trunks' birthday party tonight! Have a great day!
The truth of the matter is that I'm the black sheep of the family. It's just something I grew up with. The first "mixed" one. Funny, because I'm 100% caucasion, aren't I? But neither of my sides of the family thought that my mother or father should have ever married "outside the race." What a bloody shame it can be, and they've come to accept it, but they still hold this feeling of contempt, be it subconscious or conscious, for me. My siblings were much more lucky in that they were born after this whole family crap went down.
What I never understood is what the hell is the difference?
Well, this trip "home" really opened my eyes even moreso to the complete arrogance of BOTH sides of my family. Since both were gathered...not much of a happy family gathering either. I suppose I should explain myself, leaving the country so suddenly and dragging poor Yamcha along with me. My sister died.
Well actually, more of a "my sister killed herself."
I loved her so much, I really did. I was often like a mother to her because she was so much younger than I was. When she was born she was like my very own baby doll, I was older...but not by that much.
It's a long story...she married some jackass about two years ago, and surprisingly everything was going fine (though she was often ignored, he never cheated on her, I'll give him that much). Anyway, she had a son, Colin, back in late June and since then just went downhill. When he was born she wouldn't touch him for a week. She was afraid of him. She was always very distant from poor little Colin and my mother has been taking care of him for some time. Post-partum depression, severely. Since he was born she's called me twice telling me how ashamed she was that she wasn't a good mother and how she's neglected him. I just didn't know what to tell her...how do you advise anything like that? I've never been through it, I bonded with Dillon instantly...I don't know what it's like to falter from that position.
But it went undiagnosed, her husband even told her she was "a crazy bitch" and was a horrible mother to Colin, I guess the last time he laid into her was the last that she could take, so she left him with my mother and that night she chased a fairly large count of vicodin with an entire bottle of a high-proof vodka. My mother was the one to find her by the next afternoon because her husband had never even returned home that night...he was out getting pissed with his buddies and he slept over at a friends house that was in walking distance from the pub.
How fucking terrible for Mama to find something like that. It's terrible just knowing that she outlived her own daughter. She was in hysterics half the time I was there, the other half just quiet and off in a completely different world. My father was devastated...just as he would be, because no matter how any of us ever fucked up, we're still his children and the most important in his eyes.
There were several things that completely just pissed me off about the whole thing though.
There was the fact that this happened in the first place, she just turned 22...she had a son...
There was the fact that that bastard of a husband of hers showed NO remorse whatsoever, and doesn't seem to be fazed at all by her death. He even said, "I think we all saw it coming."
My father kicked his ass. At the wake. He took him aside to have "a talk" with him and just beat him til he layed on the ground in defeat and my uncles pulled Da back. Jesus Christ I hate that man. She went to her grave hating that man and I'll share that with her. He also wants nothing more to do with Colin, has since relinquished complete custody to my mother and refuses to pay a punt in child support. My family can take care of him, but its...it just hurts. That boy is going to grow up without a mother, without a father, and he'll eventually know why, which I'm sure will hurt even more.
And then there's the fact that the entire Italian side of my family (minus Auntie Lotta, but even including Mama) said that no matter how much they loved her or what a good girl she was that since she was Catholic and she committed suicide, she's gone straight to Hell. Well if that's true and she has, she'd be much happier there than the "Heaven" that was offered. They can all eat a big steaming pile of shit.
While my family was at passing around foot-in-mouth disease, they also made sure to know how disgusting and disgraceful it is that I'm now engaged to marry an Asian man. Some of my family is accepting of him, mostly the younger generations, but the "aged ones" (I just edited some very nasty language from that...) made sure to pass around words like "dirty Jap," "heathen" and "pagan scum."
One of my Italian uncles made a comment at one point, "There's a reason the Americans nuked them..." While he was standing right next to Yamcha at that. I think he assumed since we were speaking nothing but Japanese to each other that he didn't understand a word of English.
Yamcha replied with, "And there's a reason they hanged Mussolini as well. He was guilty of war crimes. The ones who died at Hiroshima and Nagasaki were innocents."
That shut my Uncle up very quickly. I laughed my ass off. Dillon asked who Mussolini was.
But the best part about the trip was the bitch fight. Between my mother and myself. The woman was nuts for half the time, like I said. Dillon's been raised in a completely un-Catholic environment, and I don't force it on him, so he's been exposed to much more Shinto. At the burial he did something that even I wasn't expecting, he clapped his hands twice and bowed.
Nearly everyone there immediately made the sign of the cross.
Quite frightening at how ignorant of other religions they are.
Afterwards my mother walked up to him and asked him what the hell he was doing. He told her that it was how his Shinto friends taught him to pay respects to the dead. And the crazy bitch smacked him. As if, how dare you bring anything NOT Catholic into this. Of course he didn't understand what was wrong with it, but I up and smacked her across the face as she had done to him and asked her exactly what the hell she was doing. Then I spent a while cursing at her in Italian, hopefully words Dillon doesn't know. Or at least didn't.
And so that ends the last shred of compassion I have for my family. I can live with the fact that I'm filth, I'm marrying filth and I'll never go to Heaven. But don't ever raise your hand to MY son.
And so we return (a bit early...), all a little bit wiser, myself sad that my sister is gone but happy that I've finally come to some sort of peace about the rifts in my family. I can now honestly say what they say no longer hurts me.
I stopped by Jen's yesterday afternoon to get those books on Aromatherapy from her. I haven't had a chance to look over them yet, but I'm sure they'll be interesting reading. We had a nice chat over caramel mochachinos (a newfound addiction, I think), avoiding most of my trip and me spending more time telling her horror stories of nursing. She was genuinely interested and found it a little amusing that I can talk about such things as if they were like going to pick up the mail or going grocery shopping.
I also got to gush a little over my engagement *beams.* Honestly, for a long time I thought I'd be alone and Dillon would be without a father forever. I guess I was proven wrong. And what a man to do the deed. Oh hell, I'm so bloody happy I could puke right now. But I think I'll keep that to myself.
Ahh well, Dillon's up and about and I'm off to get him ready for school and myself ready for work (bah). I'll see you all at Trunks' birthday party tonight! Have a great day!