Monthly Archives: October 2010

The Truly Forbidden Word (Starts with P)

I had my therapy session this morning.  I was talking about the solo bagua lesson Choolie gave to me last week.  The conversation went something like this.

Me:  When I started Taiji two-and-a-half years ago, it was because I wanted to be able to defend myself.  Now, my decision to learn Bagua is so…

(Squirms a little.  Drops gaze.  Falters.  Deep breath.  Starts again).

Me:  I decided to learn Bagua so I could kill someone if need be.

T (Nods.  Writes):  Uh huh.

Me:  Kill or be killed.  That’s hard for me to say.

T:  You want power.  And–

Me (Interrupting quickly):  No!  that’s not it!

T (Looks surprised):  It’s not?

Oh fuck no!  She said the really forbidden word.  I can’t believe she said it, and in connection with ME.  I started panicking because it was a word I never thought about, let alone associated with me.

What was the word, you asked, that got me in such a dither?  What could the word possibly be that would make me tremble so?  The answer below the fold.

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I want it all.

After so many years of denying I want anything, that statement is a little frightening.  Scratch that.  That statement is a whole lotta frightening.  I was raised to believe that I shouldn’t want anything.  I am given what I’m given, and that is that.  It’s partly Asian culture.  It’s partly sexism found in both American culture and Asian culture.  It’s partly my family dynamics.

Very OT:  I had a talk with my bro about our childhood.  He couldn’t remember much of what I mentioned (because he’s not in tune with his surroundings), but the one thing I did get out of him was this.  I asked if he remember Dad being home very much.  He said, “Oh no.  Dad was always gone.  Working.  Supposedly.”  We glanced at each other.  I said, “You know about that, too?”  He said, “Oh sure.”  Another glance.  I said, “Supposedly?”  Pause.  My brother, “He had…meetings.”  Pause.  Me, “With women.”  Brother, “Yes.”

Funny how a family secret can be not so secret.  My mother and I have talked about it.  I had a cousin tell me that he knew about it from his parents.  Now, my brother has acknowledged it as well.  And yet, when I brought it up with my father, he…well, he didn’t deny it, but he put his own spin on it.  “It’s not fair to me for you to say that.  I had many female friends and male friends as well.  It’s not fair to me.”  My therapist pointed out that his response was instructive as to the general pattern of our family dynamics.  It’s the same thing that happened when I confronted my father about the abuse those many years ago.  He said, “I don’t remember it happening.  Wouldn’t I remember it if it happened?”  We are a family of deniers, we are.

Anyway, back to the original topic.

I have always been a bit too much.  I laugh too loudly (my brother told me years ago that I had a weird laugh.  I ended up laughing silently for about a decade after that because I was mortified by his comment); I eat with gusto; I fuck with even more gusto.  I adore the feeling of a hard rain pelting my skin, and I love how a biting cold wind sears open my nostrils, tightens my nipples, and makes every pore sing.  I am a sensualist to the core.  The feel of velvet on my skin makes me want to purr.  The taste of an exquisite chocolate dessert actually makes my pussy pulse and gives me an orgasm face.   Kiki laughed at me when she saw the look on my face one time this happened.  “That good, eh?”  She asked me as I nearly moaned out loud.

It was that fucking good.  Oh my god.  Silky-smooth chocolate ganache sliding down my throat….It’s making me wet to think about it now.

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The Ugly Truth

It’s my father’s birthday today.  Or rather, it’s the day recorded as his birth.  October 1st.  His parents didn’t really know when he was born, so that’s the date they picked to put on his records.  I had forgotten about it until approximately ten minutes ago, and then I thought about what to do.  Normally, I send an e-card and am done with it.  One year when I first started grappling with the molestation issues (over ten years ago), I didn’t send him anything.  I heard from my mom that he was ‘so hurt’ by that, even though my brother sends them nothing.  Ever.

This year, I was flummoxed as to what to do.  I decided to send a card, but what would it say?  I looked at different cards, and they were all too sappy for me.  I mean, I am not a sappy person anyway, and most certainly not when it comes to my father.  I found a simple one and wrote something like, “Happy Birthday, Dad.  May your year be filled with peace, happiness, and love.  Love, Minna.”

That’s all I could muster.  And, strangely enough, I meant most of it.

You see, in my last therapy session, I talked a bit more about my father’s lack of enjoyment for life.  As I’ve said, he’s traveled around the world, eats the finest food, and doesn’t care for any of it.  He can be excused for his lack of enthusiasm for the countries themselves because he’s mostly in conferences while he’s there, but he gets treated to the best food each country has to offer, and he appreciates none of it.

It got me thinking about what he does enjoy.  He likes watching war movies.  He liked playing tennis (though I think it was more the social aspect than anything else).  Other than that, nothing.  His life is pretty joyless.  Even his affairs were more about validation than for actual enjoyment.  As I have also documented, he doesn’t have much use for women.

The more I talked about him, the more I felt a…stirring of…sympathy for him.  But I will get to that in a minute.

On a wildly different track that isn’t different at all (bear with me), my aunt died a few months ago.  This is my father’s sister, a woman who had nothing but contempt and disdain for me for not speaking Chinese/Taiwanese (but, not for my brother.  Double standards runs in that family, I see).  When my mom emailed me to tell me the news, I felt nothing.  A few days ago, Kiki emailed me to tell me that someone with whom we had both worked many many years ago had died recently.    I had had a crush on him when we worked together, and he had been kind to and admiring of me as well.  I haven’t seen him in 16 years.  Kiki saw him a couple years ago, and she told me then that he had asked about me.  Just a few weeks ago, we were wondering what had happened to him.  I Googled him, but I found nothing, and believe me, that’s very unusual in this day and age.

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