Underneath my yellow skin

Category Archives: Musings

How dementia ruins everything, part two

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I know that I can only change myself. I mention that because I’ve been musing about family and getting frustrated with my parents. Different reasons for each one, but frustration just the same. I don’t bring any of it to my father because he can’t help how he is (dementia), and it’s just how he was before, but worse. Actually, that’s the hardest part. He’s hitting me in all my sensitive spots, but I have to just remind myself that he’s not himself. But he is. But he isn’t. Before I get to that, here’s yesterday’s post.

Here’s the problem. My father before his dementia was a selfish, or rather, self-absorbed person who never thought of anyone else. He was also deeply sexist and said sexist shit to me all the time. Here are some brief examples. He was always scolding me for not putting on a jacket when he was cold. He never asked if I were cold, which I rarely was. Now, one of the things he asks about often is the weather. And he gets stuck in the loop of being concerned that I’m cold.

In general, he doesn’t think women can do anything for themselves. Or rather, that’s what he tells himself even while my mother does everything around the house. This was even before his dementia, by the way. He’s been like this all my life. I know it’s a self-protective mechanism, but it’s so ugly and distasteful.

Fortunately, the explicit sexist shit does not show up, but it does rear its ugly head in sly ways. Such as, him repeatedly asking me how I get places. He knows (or knew) that I drive, but he has somehow forgotten that. To be fair, I can’t say that’s for sure a sexist thing, but it certainly feels like it. Also, his harping on my health might be because of the medical crisis, but I have a hunch it’s more a neg than anything else.

That’s the problem with my father–past behavior has shown me not to give him the benefit of the doubt. I know who he was in the past, and it’s hard not to apply that to the present. But he’s not resonsible in the present for…how do I put this? He’s not of sound mind (dunno about body). So he’s not trying to be offensive on purpose, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a quick flash of ‘not this shit again’.

However. The cruelty of the dementia has far outranked the impatience I feel when he hits one of my buttons. It’s really sad what’s happening to him and since I only talk to him for five minutes (at most ten) at a time, I can deal with the bullshit that comes with it.


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The cruelty of dementia only intensifies

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I intended to write a post about dementia, which I still will. However, today on Ask A Manager, there was a post from a man who is in the same industry as his well-known (and well-loved) father. The letter writer (LW) is estranged from his father, and he wrote in because they are both up for prominent awards in different categories. People seem to assume they’re in entertainment, which does make sense. Anyway, the LW did not want to take any pics with his father (which he feared the organizers would want for marketing/promo reasons), and he wanted a diplomatic way to tell the organizers that he didn’t want to be seated at a table with his father, either. I learned in the comments that Angelina Jolie’s children are speaking out about how awful Brad Pitt is (some are his biological children and some are not). I am not surprised by it, but it just brought out a feeling of profound sadness as did reading the comments.

So many people with abusive parents with whom they were either estranged or low-contact. In a weird way, it was comforting to know I wasn’t the only one. Also, to see a steady stream of ‘it’s not your problem’ as to the question about what to do in this situation (in response to managing the father’s emotions or other people’s reactions to the situation.

It’s hard. It’s isolating. It’s lonely. Having very dysfunctional parents, I mean. In my case, it’s tempered by the fact that my father has dementia–which is just getting worse by the day. I talk to my parents on the average of once every other week or so, but during the trying times, my mom has been known to call me several days in a row.

I have accepted that I am her therapist/emotional support person. I do what I can to not let it bring me down, but I would be lying if I didn’t acknowledge that I heave a small sigh of weariness as soon as I hear her voice. Not to mention a constriction in my chest. I have to put up a shield as best I can and not let it get to me too much.

Side note: I gave up on my parents being parents to me a long time ago. I never expected it from my father because he has never been a good parent. In fact, I would say he hasn’t been a parent at all except monetarily. He once hounded me to know if I was grateful for the money he had spent on me/given to me, and  I was in a very rebellious state at the time (mid-twenties), full of seething resentment over so many things. I was so very angry, and I was not having any of his shit. This is me saynig that I was a brat at the time .I will fully acknowledge that I was not at my best.

However, with his next line, he destroyed any illusion that he wanted to be my father. Or rather, that he knew what being a father meant. He looked at me with such hatred in his eyes and said, “Why should I love you then?”

And with that, I saw him for who he really was. There was no way to hide the man behind the curtain any longer. I mean, I knew before then that he did not love me and that he never really wanted to be a father, but it was unspoken and merely felt. See, in our family, we don’t say that shit out loud.


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In My Ideal World, I can just breathe

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Still talking about being a weirdo is a very straitlaced world. Here is the post from yesterday. Sometimes, I get jaded when I hear other people talk about things they consider ‘weird’ because it often falls into what I consider to be mildly diffreent. Or even if it’s more out there, it’s not super out there.

It’s hard to explain, really, but as someone who is on the fringe of everything, I don’t assume that anything about my life is normal. Not my hobbies; not my beliefs; not my traits/identities. One fairly tame example is when I worked at the county as an administrative assistant. I was on the floor with all the executives of the different departments. That meant that there were people from very disparate departments on one floor. There was a researcher who was roughly my age and also a woman (as I identified as at the time). We would casually chat about this and that, and it was fine. I only saw her once a week or so, so it was certainly not a steady thing.

Somehow, we found out that we were both bisexual. She was with a male partner in what she thought might be an abusive relationship. That was an interesting discussion to have, but it’s not the reason I brought her up. Once, we were talking about sex. Yes, wildly inappropriate for the workplace, but not surprising with that particular workplace. Somehow, the question of attraction came up. I said that I would walk down the street, see someone hot, and think about how they would be in bed.

My colleague looked at me as if  Itold her I was streaking on the streets on the regular. Or as if I had said that I was punching people in the face randomly and for no good reason. I asked her what was wrong and she said that women don’t think like that. My brain screeched to a halt because she was telling me, self-identified as a woman at the time, that something I had just said was something that ‘women’ didn’t do/think. She was completely serious and did not see how fucked up what she was saying was.

Side note: This is human nature, by the way. We think/believe things beyond all ratinal belief. If something threatens our sense of self and what we believe, we will go to ridiculous lengths to explain it away. That’s why it’s so hard to get someone out of acult, for example. Or why conspiracy theorists are impossible to reason with. They will simply dismiss anything that doesn’t fit into their preconceived notions/ideas/beliefs. Again, we all do this–it’s just to what extent any given person will do it.

I looked at her and told her I, a woman, was telling her to her face that this was something I did. She said that she had talked about this with all her female friends (ten! Ten women! All the women!) about this very thing, and all of them said they could not imagine doing that. Therefore! No! Women! Would! Ever! Do! That!


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In the in-between In My Ideal World

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In my last post, I intended to talk about the little things around the big things in my life, but ended up talking about writing–which is a big thing. It’s not one of my identity issues, though, except that I’m struggling with writing fiction now in a way I never have. Before my medical crisis, I had stories in my brain all the time. I had one writer’s block that I could remember, and it was for a month. That was very tense for me, but it went after that month or so with no problem. Now, however, while I still have ideas and fragments in my brain, I don’t have the stories I used to have.

I have been mulling over an idea for a trilogy for the last year. I’ve been refining it as I go, but I can’t make it gel in a coherent whole. Acutally, I have a few different ideas (for different trilogies), and I’m trying to find a way to bring it all together. I don’t want to talk too much about it before I start writing because I find that the more I talk about my writing, the less I actually write/the worse I actually write. That’s not unique to me, by the way. A lot of writers find that if the talk too much about their writing as they’re writing, it takes the verve out of said writing.

Here’s the thing. The big things such as sexual orientation, race, gender, etc., are important, yes, but so are the spaces in between. Or the things that don’t quite fit into any one character. And they’re all connected–at least in my mind. Which I’ve discoverered might be because I’m neurodivergent.

Side note: It’s refreshing to know that I can still learn things about myself at my old age. Refreshing, but also daunting. Daunting because there is so much about myself that I would like to fix. Refreshing because apparently, you can teach an old dog new tricks!

This is one of the reasons my writing has stalled. I think that since my medical crisis, my brain has become even more wedded to the idea that everything is related. If I want to write about one thing, say, my medical crisis, then I have to start with my family dysfunction. I have to add in my Taiji practice, not to mention just my life in general.

When I start thinking of all the things I need/want to add to the story, my brain mentally gives up.

Side note: After Elden Ring came out, Ian urged mo te pitch to his editor a story about FromSoft games and my medical crisis. See, before my medical crisis, I was so hyped for Elden Ring. It was announced….before the pandemic? Or at least rumored, and then it didn’t come out. And didn’t come out.


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In My Ideal World, everything is a hot mess

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In writing about writing, I am throwing pretty much all the shit against the wall and seenig what sticks. Here’s yesterday’s post. I’m at a crossroads because I have not being able to write fiction since my medical crisis. I have tried, but it just hasn’t sparkled. I have talked about how I used to have stories in my brain at all time. Now, it’s pretty quiet. I can think of stories, but I never had to think them up before. They were constantly crowding my brain.

Do I think it’s because of my stroke? I don’t know, but I think it’s possible. I was given a clean bill of health after my stroke, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t residual problems that have happened as a result of it. In addition to my reflexes being even shittier than before (ughhhhhh I dropped the cover to the ceiling light fixture in the kitchen yesterday and it shattered into a million pieces. Granted, it’s a terrible design and a terrible cover, but still), my memory is spottier. I used to have a great memory. I could remember anyone’s name after meeting them once. Well, most people. There were a few who just did not stick no matter what. In general, though, my memory was fantastic.

Now, it’s still decent for the day to day. But there are times when I have no memory of something happening. This is not unusual in my family, but it’s unusual for me. I have always been the one with a steel-trap memory. Not so much any more. I don’t care, though. Surprisingly or not, it didn’t bother me at all. I am alive and mostly healthy, which is much more important than the holes in my memory. After my medical crisis, I read about how devastating strokes can be. Oh, and sudden cardiac arrests? Well, let’s just say that most people don’t survive one of those, let alone two.

Three years after my medical crisis, I still can’t believe I’m alive. It’s surreal, and the only way I have been able to accept it is to just take it at face value. “I should be dead, but I’m alive. Yep.” And then I move on. If i think about it too much, I freak out. It’s not hyperbole to say that I should not be alive. I literally should have stayed dead after my second sudden cardiac arrest and storke. Not to mention the non-COVID-related walking pneumonia.

I should be dead. I was dead. I died twice! I don’t talk about it, but it’s something that affects me on the daily. How could I not? When I first respawned, er, regained my consciousness, and went back home, I was filled with wonder and gratitude. Every day, I woke up and marveled at the world outside my window. It was autumn, which is my second-favorite season–and it brought me to tears how beautiful the world was.


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In My Ideal World, all the little things

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In talking about my new series, In My Ideal World, I realized that I wanted to talk about little things, too. Or rather, things that don’t fall neatly into identity categories. Things that are tangentially related, but not necessarily in a category of their own. Such as weddings. They are definitely related to relationships and gender identity (not to mention sexual identity), but they aren’t something I would consider necessary to any of those categories. (Here is yesterday’s post.)

And yet.

This is one of those issues that is so huge in our culture, and yet.

I’m hesitating to write how I feel about it because it’s SUCH a huge aspect of our culture (and most cultures, really). I’ll save the deeper thoughts until I’m going to write about it for real, but I’ll just say that for me personally, it’s not important. Marriage is a positive as long as it serves the couple/throuple/community, but weddings themselves? I hold no truck in them.

I do get the need for ritual and to anonuce to the world your intent. But, I don’t get why it has to be a BIG WEDDING. I know it doesn’t, but many people seem to think it does. Even people whom I consider pretty progressive seem to get stuck on this tradition.

As with many things, I’m libertarian with a small l. I wish and want people to be free to do and be who they are. As long as that doesn’t hurt other people (actually hurt them and not “hurt” them. I’ll explore that difference in future posts), have at life as they wish. Want to be in a monogamous relationship with a person of the traditionally opposite gender? Have at it! Want to have children and watch cheesy Disney movies with them? Have at it! (Well, no, don’t. Don’t support Disney!) Want to go to church on Sunday and tithe religiously? Have at it!

I mean all that, truly. No hate, no snark. Well, maybe the teensiest bit of snark. My biggest issue is that I don’t get the same accord from the normies. Believe me I know all about how being a minority means not being seen–especially when you’re in the categories I am. It makes me cranky, though, when I’m asked to show empathy to someone in the majority because I always have to think about others.

Like with marriage. I have known since I was in my twenties that I didn’t want to get married. That was Not Done, apparently. I dated a guy in my late twenties who said to me, “I know you have said you don’t want to get married, but what would you say if I proposed to you?” He also once got really excited after going to a wedding (or maybe a bachelor’s party? I can’t remember) because the couple got a toaster oven. He waxed rhapsodically about it and said jokingly (but not really) that maybe we should get married so we could get a toatser oven. I looked at him in amazement and said, “We’re adults. If we want a toaster oven, we can buy one.”


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More about In My Ideal World…and beyond

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One of the weird things about my brain is that I never can just let things be. By things, I mean ideas. Part of it is because I’m heavily influenced by others (though I try not to be), but most of it is because my brain is constantly churning. In addition, I know that I don’t know everything, so there is always more for me to learn.

In this case, my learning is about–well, let’s get there the long way, per usual. My brain connects thins that most people wouldn’t think are connected. Or rather, everything is connected in my brain. It used to frustrate me when teachers wanted to talk about one thing, but not another. Such as feminism (in a feminism class), but not racism because ‘we don’t have time for that’. Which, on the one hand, I get. On the other hand, though, fuck that shit.

I realized in my early twenties that I contained multitudes. We all do, but I am talking about me specifically right now. I was Asian, bisexual, a woman (then), agnostic (then), and just Weird with a capital W. Now, I’m still Asian, bisexual but not liking that label, agender, areligious, and still fucking weird. I’m also aromantic and ethically nonmonogamous. I don’t want a long-term relationship, and I’m more interested in sex than dating at the moment.

I see all these things as connected. I was feeling interconnectivity before it was a thing. In yesterday’s post, I outlined a series I wanted to do called, In My Ideal World, in which I would take a topic and explain what I would would like to see related to that issue. I am verbose, which means I’d spend several posts on each topic. The thing that bogs me down, though, is that I don’t know how to talke about one without bringing up another.

Let me group it like this. Gender identity is linked to sexual identity loosley. Sexual identity is linked to monogamy/nonmonogamy and being aromantic. Gender is related to race. Religion is related to nothing in particular, but it’s something I could write ten-thousand words on. I have some deep wounds because of religion, and it’s taken me a long time to heal from it. I’m not completely there, but I am so much better now than I was when I first left Christianity (early twenties).

I want to find a hook that will bring them all together, but I’m not quite there. I don’t have a problem writing several disparate posts, but I would like to find a throughline.


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A new series called In My Ideal World

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I have a thought running in my mind that I have revisited from time to time. It’s about how I would like things to be in my ideal world which is very different from how things are actually happening in this world. In the RKG Discord, there are two other people who identify as agender, much to my surprise and delight. There was a discussion happening about gender, and I said I could write a 5,000-word treatise on how I realized I was agender. One of them stated interest in reading said treatise if I ever wrote it, and that’s what cemented this series of posts in my mind.

Even stating the paragraph above, I feel an immediate impulse to explain myself. I didn’t realize I was agender so much as I realized that I didn’t care about gender. That the more I thought about it, the more I got confused about it. How if I had thouught about it thirty years ago, I probably would have called myself nonbinary and been done with it.

Now, however, it doesn’t fit any better than any other gender does. And I would love to explain why that is and how it’s not so much that I chose agender as much as I rejected all the other labels. Which is how I work in general. Nothing fits, so I choose the label that least doesn’t fit. Or to put it another way, I choose the label that fits the least worst.

I’ve had this issue with many different aspects of my being, and I would love to delve more deeply and thoroughly in each of them. Those would be religion (areligious), sexuality (bisexual), and gender (agender). I have thought about each of them quite a bit, and in the end, I threw up my hands and said, “That’s good enough.”

I get frustrated because I think so hard about each of these issues. With religioun, it was pretty easy for me to say that I wasn’t religious, but to which degree? I’m not arrogant enough to believe that I can say for sure there’s nothing out there. Plus, it’s hard to believe there’s absolutely nothing when the fact that humans exist speak to the contrary.

I believe there’s some kind of greater being/entity/collective, but–and I’m going to leave that there because this post is about the structure of the series, not delving into the isuses themselves. Consider that a teaser of things to come.


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I keep my mouth shut

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So I’m continuing on with my musings about family dysfunction, how difficult it is to be so different, and how I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut. And, yes, I’m going to tie them together somehow (or not). I’m not too fussed either way. In the last post, I talked about family dysfunction mostly. I will touch more on that, but I want to start by musing about masking. I didn’t even realize to what extent I did it until I talked about it with A. It’s such a part of me by now, it takes conscious effort to take it off.

I am on my guard almost any time I interact with someone, online or in the real world. I am constantly monitoring the temperature around me to know if what I am saynig in acceptable or not. In the Discord I’m in, there’s an in-group and an out-group. Or rather, there are a few (cishet white) guys who are pretty dominant and others fall in line behind them. It’s not deliberate and they don’t mean to be, but god grant me the confidence of a mediocre white man.

Not that they are mediocre, but they are cishet white dudes who have no problem just stating their opinions like they’re facts. It’s really irritating when it comes to pop culture because I don’t feel that there’s room for disagreement. For example. Sekiro. Many people consider it the best From game ever. People will blather about how once it clicks, it’s like a dance/rhythm game and soooooo easy. They don’t want to hear anything about it not being true for everyone. Or that for some of us, it never clicked. I had a hard time finishing it once–a really fucking hard time. When I tried to go back to it after my medical crisis, I could not beat Owl (Father) who was my nemesis, and who I needed to beat again, unfortunately, for the plat. I say unfortunately because I did him on my first playthrough, thinking I would not play again and wanting to do all the bosses on this path. The only reason I would go back is to do the plat, and that would mean doing him again.

No. Not going to do it. Also, cannot do Isshin again. Oh, and you have to do all the bosses (the ones you get a trophy for) on one save, so I would have to do Owl (Father) on NG?. And then do the Shura (bad) ending on NG++? Nope. I wasn’t going to do it, anyway, and now, I can’t do it.

That’s a word that Americans don’t like: can’t. We have been told since we were kids that we can do anything! We can be anything! It’s horseshit. Everyone has limitations, and that’s not even remotely controversial. Or it shouldn’t be.


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Try to see it from my point of view

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I have more to say about family dysfunction, dating, points of view, and other things related. In the last post, I was saying what was my deal-breaker in dating someone. It’s not race, religion, or gender (to a certain extent). It’s political affiliation, specifically being a Republican. That can expand more widely into cishet white dudes because there are so many layers of privilege going on that it tires me just to think of it.

I want to say up front. This is not saying that all cishet white dudes, some of my best friends are cishet white dudes, blah blah blah. But. I just don’t have the heart for it any longer. Trying to relate to them, I mean. I think everyone should be treated with decency and respect, yes. That doesn’t mean I need to give everyone a chance in the dating world.

Side note: This is something I firmly believe–you don’t have to date anyone you don’t want to date. I don’t think it’s cool if someone is prejudiced against, say, black people, I think it’s perfectly legit not to date them. More to the point, it’s a service to black people to not date them if you aren’t attracted to them because who wants someone dating them out of pity/guilt? I had white women who felt they should date me to show how progressive they were, and believe it or not, I was not turned on by that. At all.

Here’s my point. Everyone looks at things from their own point of view. The trick is to realize that other people don’t necessarily think the way you do. And, if you want to be advanced, you could try to imagine where the other person was coming from.

This is the problem in describing abuse. There is just no way to give the complete context other people need in order to understand what has happened. Each individual instance may not be a big deal in and of itself, but oftentimes, it’s the death of a thousand paper cuts.


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