Oh Brother

I just got back -- I dropped off my brother at work. On the drive there, we had a discussion -- by discussion I mean argument, and by argument, I mean that I basically yelled at him for ten straight minutes until my face turned blue. And I kinda sorta regret it. Perhaps I shouldn't have.

The trouble all started by my brother's comment. I won't repeat it here, because it still infuriates me to think back on it, but it reflected my brother's belief that my parents are to blame for our current immigration status. I agree to some extent -- we were but children and they ultimately had the power to make some decisions, which went awry.

I used to think that it was my parent's fault for screwing up my life, and I blamed, especially my dad, whom I considered to have bailed on his family. It has been six years exactly since I last saw him -- he left in early October of 1998. When I found out that I had to go into the lawyer's office to change my remaining family's status in early 1999, I was just in utter shock.

My parents did the best they could to raise me without worries -- I wasn't even fully aware of the implications of my immigration status until I turned 18. They sheltered me. Today I am extremely thankful that they took so much on themselves by not letting on how poor we were and how serious our situation was. I grew up normal, became a poster child for an Asian American immigrant family. I participated in all sorts of extracurricular activities, volunteered at hospitals, played the violin, read so many books. But when I found out that my dad had left, and I would probably not be able to see him for an extremely long time, and that I would have to pick up where he left off on our immigration problems and financial problems -- you could imagine the shock. You could imagine how heavy the world felt on the shoulders of a girl who just broke through the childhood-adult barrier.

I was mad for a very long time. There was even a time that I gave up the notion of college for good -- I spent hours and hours, night after night, studying for the SAT's, the SAT II's, the AP's, the ACT, and for what? To go to a community college and get no where? Had I been a child, I would have kicked and screamed and not take it quietly -- and I did the young adult version of that.

After years of being severly angry, something happened. I don't know if I gave up on being angry, or if my feelings just got rubbed raw from the anger and became merely a dull sensation. I don't really know if I forgave my parents -- I don't think that I am in a position to forgive them, because they hadn't wronged me. They tried their best to be the best parents. What more could I have asked? A part of it was that as I maneuvered my way into the adult world, I made my own mistakes and saw consequences from them, and realized that even my parents, as infallible as they did seem, were not exempt from the harsh realities of the world. But they gave it their best, and there's nothing more one can do beyond that.

Even after the anger dissipated, I was still negative. I was cynical, and extremely pessimistic. I worked as a waitress where nobody cared that I had burned the skin off of two fingers -- when they got infected, they dismissed me as a person who was just trying to get attention. I worked for a man who sexually harrassed me during a company dinner, and worked for customers who harrassed me verbally, and even physically and sexually. I worked for a girl who was exactly my age, her mom and her husband, and they were the most cruelest human beings in the world. I came home at night and parked my car a block away from home and screamed. I cried. I punched the steering wheel. Then all the rage made me feel drained, and I puffed out the last bits of ill-sentiments with a cigarrette. Then I went home and watched TV or went to bed, and sometimes had ice cream if we had any.

Those days are far from over, but it is different -- I am not so angry and not so miserable and sad -- miserable is too hard to be for someone just starting out their life. I had optimism on my side. And during all these years, I can't say that I had been the best sister to my brother -- I was so busy taking care of my own needs and taking care of my own emotions and self-preservation. I can't recall when exactly he shot up tall enough to tower over me. I hadn't been there. And I am so deeply sorry for that. I promised that as soon as I finish nursing school and get a job, I will buy him a car. And I promised, that it won't be some used car or an old car. It'll be fancy, and pricey, and he'll be the coolest kid in the neighborhood.

I can't say that I kept that promise either -- and things like that make me see so much of my father in me -- making promises that I can't keep, but meaning them 100% at the time. But in the last few years, I honestly tried to put my brother's wants ahead of mine -- if he needed money to go to the prom, I let him borrow the money. I gave him money, just because. I wanted him to have the opportunity to enjoy his adolescence as I had, even if it meant being blind to our situation -- I didn't want him to worry about things until he absolutely had to. But I guess that's more what I wanted than what he wanted.

Tonight, when his statement suggested that he blames Mom and Dad for the whole green card issue, I exploded. I wanted him to be an optimist, because it sure hell beats the crap out of being pessimistic. I wanted him to realize that we have an opportunity to turn our lives around -- yes we have been denied our rights to be Americans. But we have an opportunity -- his visa has already been approved, and all he needs to do is to get into a nursing program and stick it out for two years. I just wanted him to stop being miserable over the last twenty years of his life, and start seeing the amazing possibilities that he, himself, could do with his life.

He turns 21 years old this Sunday; I think he wants a fruity-flavored cake. I wish I can say that I want him to be more optimistic about the future because there is reason to be -- but because of all the things I know, and because of all the things I've done, and because of all the things I know he'll have to face, I am powerless to complete that thought. He's turning 21 -- he's completely an independent adult -- he has a full time job now, and a car (despite it's an antedilluvian model, comparable to Noah's Ark -- he calls it a "classic" and I don't know if he honestly believes that or he just says that to believe it), and he's got a mind of his own. It is up to him, ultimately, to be a cynic or an optimist or angry or sad or burdened, or perhaps pious or excited or joyous or tired. All I can do is suggest him what flavor he wants his cake to be.