Underneath my yellow skin

Category Archives: Family

Not fit for polite society

Posted on by • 0 Comments

I’m back to talk about being a weirdo. Here was my last post on it. I was listening to MPR on the way to and home from Cubs (I’ve gotten into Lactaid cottage cheese and lentil chips lately), and the topic was on having kids in the current US climate. The hypothesis was that people in their twenties and thirties were much more hesitant to have kids for reasons outside of themselves than in the past. I was interested in this because as someone who does not have children and never wanted them, I feel like society is still very child-heavy in general.

There were a few comments from people on the reasons why they chose not to have kids (or were waffling on them). The two who were played on the show said they were concerned about bringing children into this world. The first, a man, said that he wondered about bringing a daughter into a society that was increasingly limiting choice and the second, a woman, said she could not bring a child into a world that sanctioned genocide.

The section on the way howe was talking with a woman about the shift in society about having children in general. She was in her early thirties (I think) and was seven months pregnant. She said that it felt like society had shifted much more to ‘don’t have children unless you’re absolutely sure you want them/can raise them right’. She said in the past, if you were on the fence, it was more, ‘have them and deal with whatever comes up. It’ll be fine.’

My immediate thought was that the former was the correct way to think and why the hell would you want the latter to be the norm? I have always believed that it’s better to really think about why you want to have children than just to have them because you think you should.

The woman went on to say that in her circle, no one was having children so it was isolating. I’m not discounting any of that because I don’t have any reason to think that’s not true in her circle. However, her broader assertions about society in general made me skeptical. To my eye, it looked like the pressure to have children, especially on young women, was the same as before. Then again, she wasn’t exactly contradicting that–just that people were also expecting that you be in the ideal position to have children.

That I can believe. People are irrational at their core. I could see the mentality being, “Yes, you have to have children, but not until you ________________” (fill in the blank with ‘have been is a loving relationship for five years; enough money to use a day care center/nanny/au pair; have your career in a stable place, etc.”


Continue Reading

More about gaslighting in my family

Posted on by • 0 Comments

In my last post, I was talking about my mother and how she lies/deep-sixes uncomfortable/bad memories. The biggest example I have is from the last time she was here, and it has stuck in my mind as to how it brightly highlighted how my mother’s mind worked.

I was in the living room on my laptop when my mather came racing in the room, crying. My father was hot on her heels and screaming at her. He was accusing her of stealing his money, which was one of his recurring themes in his dementia. He lived in poverty when he was a kid, and my parents didn’t have much money when they f irst married. Like, really scrimping and saving, in addition to them sending money back home to my father’s family (but not my mother’s for sexist reasons).

Side note: my father has been weird about his money all his life. For the most part, he was stingy as he pinched a penny hard. It’s understandable, but he took it to extremes. And in very disaparate, disconnected ways. I have mused about it before, but he was very penny wise, pound foolish. He would gripe about two kiwis costing a dollar when he came to visit (apparently, it’s cheaper in Taiwan), but then he will spend a hundred dollars on a water pick for his teeth (this was decades ago).

Which, I get. We all have the things we will splurge on. For me, it was my last desktop (the computer I’m writing on right now). But at least I’m aware of my weak points. My father isn’t and never has.

Now that he’s in his dementia, I have to pretty much let it go. Let what go? The resentment, the expectations (as minimal as they were to begin with), and  any hope for an authentic relationship. I mean, to be honest, I did not have the last at all with my father–ever. At least since I was in my twenties. Instead, I have to practice taking my father as he is, which is where Taiji really helps out. It teaches me to be in the moment and just be.

Anyway. The fight. My father was shouting at my mother, and I unwisely put myself between them. Literally and metamophorically. Sometime in my thirties or forties, I looked at my father and realized that he could not hurt me physically. Emotionally, yes, but not physically. That helped psychologically in a way I can’t completely explain.

I stood between my father and my mother, and outshouted my father. I’m not proud of it, but it is, as the kids say, what it is. Sometimes you have to outbully a bully, and in that moment, he was bullying my mom. Again, it was about money and how she was stealing from him. Or maybe it was about his driver’s license and how we refused to give it to him. That latter was true, by the way. There was no way he should be driving, but he was very stubborn about it. My mother allowed him to beat her down (metaphorically) until she let him drive to Cubs for instance. She argued that it was so close, but it really doesn’t matter. That’s a spurious argument, but she could not say no to him.


Continue Reading

More family dysfunction and the truth

Posted on by • 0 Comments

I am back to talk more about my family. Here is yesterday’s post about my father’s problems with his memory. I have saved my mother for last because as usual, it’s the most complicated and entangled relationship. My brother and I get along great, and I don’t worry about annoying/hurting/bothering him because he’ll never remember it if I am. My father is my father, and it was pretty clear from when I was a kid that he was self-absorbed narcissist who would never care about anyone but himself. It wasn’t until much later that I realized he didn’t even love himself. That’s why he kept grasping for anything to fill the empty hole in his soul. Deep gaping maw.

Because he was so badly broken, it was easy to say, “This is a him problem, not a me problem.” It was different with my mother. Why? Because she can act like an actual human being. A deeply flawed one, yes, but one with ties to this actual world. Yes, that’s a dig on my father, and not even a subtle one.

This is where societal norms come in. I am from two cultures that venerate parents to an unhealthy degree, albeit in very different ways. In America, we give such lip service to family and how pro-family we are. We are not, which is probably not a shocker to anyone, but it’s a great sound bite. Mothers are special! Mothers love their children without restraint and will do anything for them!

On the other hand, Taiwanese culture is (or was, at least) about venerating your elders to a ridiculous degree (yes, I’m saying that with an American bias). You call your relatives different names based on their status in the family. What I mean is big brother has a different title than younger brother, for example. There is a very complicated heiarchy as to who is venerated the ost. Grandparents, then father, then mother, then sons…wait. Sons may go before mother. Girls are really treated like shit. Or at least they were. My knowledge is decades old because my parents have not evolved at all since the sixties.

Both of these fucked with my head because the underlying message was that there was no bad parents. Again, for different reasons. In America, it aligned with the toxic positivity that is so prevalent in this country. Parents are the best! Parents are all good and only want good for their children! (But, again, we will not do anything to support parents. Shhhhhh!)


Continue Reading

The keeper of my family’s truth

Posted on by • 0 Comments

I’m still musing about my dysfunctional family, and today I want to focus on the fact that everyone in my family has a bad memory, but for different reasons. In yesterday’s post, I talked about my truth and how important it is to me. Today, I’m going to talk about how difficult it is to hold onto my truth when my family doesn’t support that. At all.

Side note: One thing I learned about having autism is that people with autism can be easier to manipulate because they just assume that other people are right and they’re wrong (because they’re told so often, implicitly and explicitly that they are wrong). And because it doesn’t really occur to them that someone would deliberately lie to them. I have difficulty with sarcasm for that reason. The deadpan kind, I mean–when it’s out of the blue. I’m very used to reading people intently for clues as to how to react to them, but deadpan gets to me. My brother is really good at deadpan, which means I miss his jokes more often than I would with other people.

It took me a long time to realize that everyone in my family (including me now, to a certain extent) are really bad at remembering things–but for completely different reasons.

With my brother, he just has a bad memory. Could it be related to ihs neuroatypicalness? Maybe. Could it be related to his face blindness? Maybe. Could it just be a very bad memory? Maybe. But it’s something I’ve come to accept about him.

Here’s a recent example. About a year ago, I had an issue with Xfinity and my internet.

Side note (yes, again. Deal with it!): I fucking hate monopolies. It’s so fucking hard to get customer service at Xfinity unless you have a billing issues (which I just had–this week. Got a person then, right away. Funny, that), that it makes me actively angry.

Anywaay. It had to do with my data usage. One of the issues turned out to be my modem. I bought a new one and had my brother come over to hook it up for me. He spoke to the representative for forty-five minutes before we drove to the nearest store and talked to them there (that did it).

A month or so later, I mentioned to him that it had worked as a hack (not completely, but good enough), and my brother said, “Oh, you bought the new modem?” I was gobsmacked into silence. Several seconds later, I said, “You installed it for me. You talked to the rep for forty-five minutes.”

He remembered when I mentioned it, but he had completely forgotten it before that. And it had been at most a month earlier. As hard as it is for me to grasp, he truly forgets things soon after they happen. Not all things, but many things.

Continue Reading

I mean what I say; no more, no less

Posted on by • 0 Comments

I’m thinking more about how my brain works and how it doesn’t. In my last post, I was talking about how this manifested when talking about my parents and how people were uncomfortable when I said they didn’t love me.

Side note: Yes, this early in the post! I am pretty sure I’m neuroatypical. Now. I never thought that about myself until talking about it with a friend six or seven months ago. Maybe more? Anyway, I knew I was a weirdo. I knew I didn’t think like other people did. I felt as if there was a manual on how to human that I had never gotten. It’s partly because of cultural issue, but it was also me feeling like I was broken. All the other kids would talk and laugh, seemingly knowing what each other was talking about. I had no clue, and no matter how much I studied the others, I did not gain a clue.

Side note two: My family was not at all immersed in American culture. I can’t remember a time we went to an American movie, for example. We did go to a fast food restaurant every Sunday after church, but that was probably a time thing. Best meal I had every week, too. Big Mac, fries, a diet pop, and a hot fudge sundae if it was McDonald’s. A chicken parm, fries, and a diet coke if it’s Burger King. Once in a while at Mickey D’s, I would have one of the ‘pies’ rather than the sundae, but not often. We went to Arby now and then, and it was meat and cheese. Very tasty, actually.

My mom was a health nut before it was a thing. We did not have sweets in the house, and she put me on my first diet when I was seven. Her goal was to get me married and having babies by the time I was wenty-five, and I wasn’t going to get it done if I was fat (in her eyes). My father is from farmer stock, and I have a mesomorph’s body. I am thick all the way around. Even when I was anorexic, I still had broad shoulders and thick thighs.

No matter how much I whittled away at my frame, I was never going to be a languid, slender, lissome person. And you know what? I don’t want to be. I like being strong. I like having muscles. I like feeling like I could beat the shit out of an attacker if I needed to. I have biceps that bulge as I practice my weapons forms. I have thighs and calves that could be used as tree trunks.

I love my body now. Plain and simple. I have my moments of insecurity (in fact, I’m in one now), but it’s more because of the intense societal pressuer to be thin. I do want to eat better, which includes cuoking, but let’s be real. I am not going to cook.

Continue Reading

Take me at my word

Posted on by • 0 Comments

I realized a few decades ago that many people are not comfortable with plain speaking. I don’t mean brutal honesty because I am not into that, but I do mean speaking without euphemisms. I started saying I was fat because I am. I don’t like ‘plump’ or ‘zaftig’ or ‘fluffy’. I don’t hate them, either, but they’re too vague for me. ‘Fat’ is a good, solid word. There’s nothing hidden about it. To me, it’s a neutral term, though I understand that other people don’t like it. I only use it to describe myself, not other people (unless they are like-minded).

Another term is old. I use it for myself in the RKG Discord because I’m definitely on the old side. I don’t think 53 is that old, but it’s ancient in gaming. I mean, the kids are complaining when they hit thirty of being old, so, yeah.

A concept that I get push back for is something I mentioned in yesterday’s post: My parents don’t love me. I used to say that they loved the concept of their daaughter, but I’m not even sure that is true any longer. Heer’s the thing. They should not have been parents. I don’t think they actually wanted to be parents, but it was drummed in their heads (back in the last millennium in Taiwan) that they had to do it.

My father did it for saving face purposes. That was what real men did. Got married and have kids. Fuck around on the side. Provide money for the family, which was all he needed to do. In his mind, anyway. And if my mother pushed back on aynthing he did (like spank my brother), then he petulantly said that he wouldn’t do anything at all.

I knew fairly early on that he did not want to be a father. My mother, on the other hand, had stated quite plainly that she always wanted to be a mother, that it was the most important thing in the world to her. It was all she wanted (so she said out loud), but it isn’t reflected in her actions. Or rather, she did the shit that she thought a mother was supposed to do (cooking, cleaning, sewing). She also pushed my brother and me to do all the things she thought a kid was supposed to do. In my case, it was dance (tap, ballet, jazz), an instrument (first, piano for a few years and then cello for seven or eight, the latter which included orchestra), ping-pong, T-ball/softball, volleyball), and I did try to get into acting, but that was for me. It’s so stereotypically Tiger Mom that my mother didn’t think my brother or I should have a second to breathe.


Continue Reading

My re-birthday is a day to celebrate!

Posted on by • 0 Comments

The day this is posted is my actual re-birthday. That is, the anniversary of the day of my medical crisis, September 3rd, 2021. Here is yesterday’s post leading up to this post. In yesterday’s post, I rambled about this and that as is my wont. Today, I want to list my goals for my fourth year in my rebirth. I’m going to try to stick to that in this post, but we’ll see how it goes.

1. Finally write my damn memoir/murder mystery/novel about my medical experience. I have loosely held this goal in my head ever since I got back home from the hospital. I have tried to write both a memoir and a murder mystery (several times), but I just could not do it. Not that I couldn’t write; I could do that. But…

How do I explain this? Before my medical crisis, I wrote several murder mysteries. The way I would do it is I would come up with an idea in my head. Within a day or so, I would have the perp, the victim, and the general circumstances surrounding the murder. In another couple days, I would have the chronological events (the important ones) lined out in my head. Then, I would start writing and not stop until I was done.

I know the conventional wisdom is to write an outline before you actually start writing. I don’t do that. Nor have I ever held to a writing schedule. Well, I mean, I have a rough one–I write at night. That’s a whole nother topic, how I come alive at night. I do my best writing after midnight. But I don’t set a certain time to write. I feel constricted when I do this. I write when I feel like writing, and that’s worked for me in the past.

Now, however, it’s time to admit that my own ways don’t work for me any longer. I did NaNoWriMo last year (I’ve done it every year for a decade or more. I think I might have skipped 2021 or done editing, but I don’t remember). I had a good idea for…2022 or 2023? Again, I don’t remember which one because my memory is shit now, but one of them. It was a rom-com/murder mystery mash-up.

I knew the perp, the victim, and the other main people. I knew how I wanted to have the meet-cute. I just couldn’t make it work. In part because I hate rom-coms. I probably should have taken that more into account when I started writing, but I thought that made it the perfect thing for me to try.


Continue Reading

When the mask cracks and/or slips

Posted on by • 0 Comments

In my attempt to write about how I’ve struggled to be normal all my life, I got massively derailed into delving into my family dysfunction. It’s related, but not what I really wanted to talk about. I ended the last post by noting that old people sometimes cite their age as an excuse for retro behaviors/beliefs. I mentioned how I hate that because they neatly skip over the fact that they’ve been alive in the decades since that birth and have had every opportunity to update their beliefs.

That’s not what I want to talk about, though. One reason I realized that I might be neurodivergent is…well, let me take you through the steps.

I am extremely adept at reading social situations. As I have mentioned before, this is because I had been groomed by my mother to be her emotional support person. She expected me to listen to her complain for hours at a time about my father and to soothe shattered emotions.

I was talking to A about how I was way-too-empathetic, but it wasn’t natural. I explained how my brain worked when someone told me something highly emotional (or just any big event). Let’s say it was getting a new job. This is how it would go.

Friend: Hey, Minna. I have news.

Me (thinking): News. What does that mean? How do they sound? Happy or sad.

Friend: I got a new job.

Me (thinking): New job, new job, new job. Is this a good thing? A bad thing? Have they mentioned this before?

(My brain frantically trying to remember if friend has mentioned anything about their job in the last few months while not showing any outer turmoil.)

Friend: It was rather sudden. It only happened in the last three days.

Me (stil thinking): Am I supposed to know about this? It happened suddenly. Does that mean good or bad?

Me (out loud): That is quite sudden! (Hoping they will reveal more.)

Friend: It comes with a 20% pay increase and double the PTO. And full insurance! I’m so thrilled.

Me (in relief, scrambling to come up with an appropriately enthusiastic tone): Oh, that’s great! I’m so happy for you. What thrilling news!


Continue Reading

Neurodivergency and me

Posted on by • 0 Comments

I want to talk more about neurodivergency. In the last post, I talked about how for most of my life, I just assumed that I was a broken person or that there was something wrong with me. It wasn’t until I talked to my friend, A, that I realized that a lot of what I considered failings on my part might actually be neurodivergency (specifically autism).

Here are some other things that fall into this category. I cannot for the life of me NOT connect the dots. What do I mean by that? I mean that I can’t see things in discrete units. It’s why my posts go all over the place. I think of one thing that leads me to another thing that then leads me to a third thing, which may or may not be related to the first thing.

I am a big fan of footnotes, asterisks, side notes, etc. In my old posts, I was guilty of oversuing all of the above. I used to footnote my footnotes, for heaven’s sake. I went down long and winding side roads, sometimes, never to return. It’s really hard for me to focus on one thing and exclude other things because they really are connected to me. I remember the professor in my Feminism in Philosphy class asking us what we wanted to learn in the class. I mentioned something about race and gender, and she said we didn’t have time to talk about that. I lost interest in the class because to me, you cannot talk about one without including the other. This was years before intersectionality was even a whisper in conversations about isms, but I felt it on a cellular level.

In the same vein, any time I tried to bring up gender issues in the Asian group I was in while in college, I would get the (male) leader responding that we didn’t have time/energy/money to tackle that issue. What?! Excuse me? Feminist issues are Asian issues are queer issues. I can’t be Asian without being AFAB/agender, queer, areligious. I can’t be AFAB/agender without being the other things. That’s not how life works, and it still astounds me that people don’t get that.

I mean, I understand that sometimes you have to focus on one thing at a time for political reasons and to get shit done. That’s a political move, although I would argue that it’s still important to be as intersectional as possible when you’re trying to get shit done.

Look! I did it again. I digressed, and I’m fine with it.

A mentioned to me the social model of disability (as opposed to the medical model), and it really resonated with me. The medical model is based on the presumption that someone is sick and needs to be cured. Which, to be fair, works well for many illnesses. Though I would argue that there is room for the social model in doctor shit, but that’s another post for another day. The social model argues that the problem is with the society, not the individual. That if we make it easier for neurodivergent people to exist in society, then the neurodivergency wouldn’t be an issue (that’s grossly simplified, of course).


Continue Reading

Gender is a social construct, part three

Posted on by • 0 Comments

Here’s the thing about gender. In an ideal world, I would not have to think about it at all because I don’t care about it (to an extent). Just as I don’t think about religion or children unless someone else brings it up. In that ideal world, I would just be a woman and people would accept that without question. I would not have people telling me that I was womanning incorrectly or pointing out all the ways in which I was not really a woman. I ended the last post by talking about the sexism of my father. His attitude is one big reason I’m a feminist now. He definitely believed that I was a fuckup as a woman, but he wasn’t the only one.

Here are many ways I have been dismissed as a woman:

1. Not having children (always at the top).
2. Not getting married.
3. Not caring about fashion and/or makeup.
4. Not liking dolls (as a girl).
5. Not caring about cooking, cleaning, or sewing.
6. Liking sex.
7. Imaging having sex with strangers.
8. Liking sex a lot. As in every day a lot.
9. I don’t shave anything (I’m also Asian).
10. I don’t do anything to improve my appearance.
11. I treat men, women, nonbinary, genderqueer, agender people as equally as I possibly can.

Just a note on that last one. I’m not saying that women are worse about this, but that women can be as bad about it. Because of how patriarchy works, women oftentimes do the major lifting of keeping other women in check. Patriarchy wouldn’t work if there weren’t women who were willing and/or eager to hold up the status quo. This is just an unspoken truth about sexism. Women are just as capable (if not more) of being sexist against other women.

Side note to the side note: This is part of the insidiousness of sexism. Women learn early on that in order to move up in America, you have to appease the men at the top. One way of doing this was to be more ruthless than men, claw your way up the ladder, and then kick it down below you so no other women can climb up it.

Side note to the side note to the side note: This is why I’m deeply suspicious when people say that the world would be a better place if women were in charge. I say it depends more on the system than the gender of the people in charge. If the system is sick, then it doesn’t matter the genders of the people in charge.

Back to my list.


Continue Reading