First, let me say that I only had one rule for my niece as she was growing up:  Do not break your head.  I figured anything else was fixable.  She got a kick out of that, but she was a really good kid.  High-energy and high-spirited, but not destructive or pushy.  As I’ve said, we sat for hours making up long, complicated stories about being fairies or wizards or other ethereal creatures.   Now that she is twelve (and looks twenty), she really has grown into a lovely young woman.

When the boys came along, I had to start making up rules on the fly.  Most of them included “No” or “Don’t” and some form of banishment from hitting me/throwing things at me.  As I’ve said before, for someone with PTSD, this is a recipe for disaster.  Until recently, I had to sit on the aisle seat in a theatre or the end seat at a restaurant in order to have easy access to the exit (I still prefer that seat, but it’s not imperative).    You can probably see where I am going with this.

Let me give you some background.  I was born in the Year of the Boar so I collect pigs.  Stuffed pigs, glass pigs, ceramic pigs, wooden pigs, piggy banks, jade pigs, etc.  I have had pig socks and pig slippers before, and I currently have a pair of boxers with grumpy pigs on them.   To that end, I have a giant stuffed pig (about three feet tall and two feet wide) that only has one eye because SOMEBODY who shall remain nameless (*cough, not Raven, cough*) likes to scratch his claws on it, and my nephews love this giant pig.  Of course they do!  It’s a giant pig.  Anyway, the time before last they were at my house, they decided it would be great fun to swing the pig around and throw it at me.  You can imagine that I, on the other hand, vehemently disagreed that this was a good idea.

So.  This last time.  On Saturday, the boys were mostly good.  Of course, I was asleep for the morning and had Taiji until around three-thirty, so that cut into a good deal of the time.  Still, when I got back home, the boys wanted to watch baseball, so that’s what we did.  My bro and SIL were coming at five for dinner.  My mom decided around four-thirty to get ready for dinner.  The minute she leaves, the boys started acting up.  Nephew the Younger grabbed the giant pig and started swinging it around while Nephew the Elder giggled madly.  I put on my best stern voice and told NTY to cut it out, but he just swung it at me and laughed.  When I ordered him to give it to me, he put it on the ground and sat on it–still laughing.  I grabbed the pig out from under him, causing him to tumble to the ground (still laughing), and I went to the kitchen to do something after putting the pig in my bedroom.  The boys followed me into the kitchen, and NTY had my giant pig slipper (about two feet long) in hand, and he started whacking me with it, laughing happily.  NTE was also giggling and threatening to go get the other pig.  They were backing me into the fridge, and I saw red.

This is where I snapped.  Pure rage overcame me.  I turned on NTY and said in my deadliest voice, “You. Do. Not. Do. That. To. Me!” and advanced towards him.  I was terrible in my rage, and he immediately reeled back to get away from me.  I was thisclose to beating the shit out of him, which I’m sure he sensed.  NTE continued to pester me and ran for my bedroom with me racing after him.  My mom popped out of her bedroom and using her best stern mom voice got NTE to stop in his tracks.  She sent him to the basement (where he spent time petting Raven, who actually let him.  In fact, earlier, NTE asked as he was petting Raven, “If we are quiet when we pet him, will he stay around us?”  I said yes), and I went back to the living room to try to control myself.  NTY apparently fell asleep on the couch with the pig slipper over him.

With that one moment, my ideas of myself in relation to kids shattered.  I know people with kids are rolling their eyes at me, but I never wanted to be the authoritative bully when it came to kids.  I know how it felt to be ordered around without having any say in the matter, and I didn’t like it.   I hate the fact that with my nephews, I seem to be saying no all the time and reacting to whatever it is they are doing.

I know, I know.  They need to know boundaries and to respect other people’s persons and properties.  By the way, we had a fine dinner after their parents came.  During dinner, I noted that NTY hit his mom, too.  It didn’t make me happy, but I will admit to a bit of relief that he didn’t just hit me.

You know, one of the reason I didn’t have kids is because I knew I had the capacity to hit a child.  Granted, it wasn’t the main reason or even in the top five, but it was still a reason.  However, that doesn’t mean that I like having that hypothesis confirmed.  No, I did not hit my nephew, but if he had pushed it one more time, who the fuck knows what I might have done?

Goddamn it.  I hate the fact that they can so effortlessly make a liar out of me.  I hate the fact that I keep mixing up my old family dysfunctions with the new ones, though they are the same, really.  Lack of boundaries, being laughed at, a feeling of threat to my personal safety.  The difference is, I’m the motherfucking adult this time around.  I need to act like it.  However, I am at a loss as to how to do that.

I will say that the few times I have been able to say to NTE, “I will not answer you if you shout at me like that,” he has responded positively.  However, I feel as if I immediately go to the ‘no, don’t touch that, it’s mine, no, don’t pull up my shirt, pull down my short, etc.’ mode right away.   And, I feel cornered.  I hate that feeling.  I do not want to manhandle them, but they simply refuse not to touch me when I don’t want to be touched.

Again, I wonder if the victim stamp is still visible on my forehead.  I try to think of a way to deal with them that will work, and I am stopped short.

Then, the day after, my bro called my mom because NTE was having a meltdown (which he does once or twice a day).  They were going to go to the pool, and NTE was ready to go.  However, NTY was dawdling, making them late, so NTE said he was going to go by himself.  Of course, his parents said no, and he had his meltdown.

I suspect that NTE might be autistic or have Asperger’s.    He freaks out if things don’t happen exactly as he NEEDS it to happen.

Anyway, my bro said if NTE wasn’t around, NTY would be fine.  This breaks my heart.  My brother has always shown a clear favoritism for NTY, most likely because NTE reminds him of himself.  I have tried to get him to realize that this is not helpful.  He can have a favorite, but he needs not to advertise it so blatantly.  Plus, he is wrong about NTE being the source of trouble.  My bro says because NTY idolizes NTE, NTY does whatever NTE does.  I told him that he can’t blame NTE for that.  Besides, NTY is the instigator about half the time.  He knows full well that NTE will be blamed, and he milks it for all it’s worth.  NTY has been told all his life how charming and cute he is, so he knows how to use both.  He reminds me of my father in that way.

Anyway, my mom said she would take NTE for one more night (it was originally supposed to be his sleepover as he pointed out until my mom offered to take NTY as well), which means that I have to sit the kid for one more day/night as well.  In all honesty, I can deal better with NTE when it’s just him.  The two of them egg each other on as well as compete with each other.  Still, I’m a bit disgruntled that my mother so blithely offered to sit without asking me how I felt about it.  Then again, what could I say?  So, my bro is bringing over NTE Thursday at noon, and we are keeping him until Friday morning.  At that time, I’m bringing my mom to the airport so she can visit her sisters in Philly, and then I’m dropping off NTE at my bro’s house, which is seven minutes from the airport.

Then, I’m having a wild sex orgy over the weekend before picking my mom up at the airport on Monday.

Just kidding.  I wish.

So.  Dealing with my nephews makes me feel like shit.  The dysfunction is similar to the dysfunction in my nuclear family, and I don’t know how to break it.  I feel guilty because I don’t like spending time with my nephews.  It just seems so wrong to say that.  I used to say that I would make a shitty mom, but I was a great aunt.  Now, I am not so sure I can say the latter any longer.

Second piece.  My mom is still here.  She’s leaving for good a week from Friday, which is not a moment too soon.  We have done hard and good work on repairing our relationship, but having her around is really deleterious to my mental health, especially in regards to my body image.

In other words, I think I am a grotesque slug right now.  This is important because of the performance I am doing.  As I wrote about earlier, I have realized that I need to perform.  The first rehearsal was really good.  The second was difficult because I was in a bad space.  Besides my self-castigation over my inability to find a way in which to deal positively with my nephews, I was hating my body big time.  So, getting nearly naked and undulating under a scrim with other nekkid people was difficult.

One of the women, Kendra, has what I consider the perfect body.  She’s athletic, in her mid-twenties (if that), slim, and gently rounded.  I aspire to have that body.  So, of course, seeing her nearly naked under the scrim made me self-conscious as to how corpulent I am and how pendulous my breasts are.  Plus, there are my scars.  I’m not ashamed of them, but they ain’t pretty.  Before, we had individual scrims.  This time, we decided just to be under the one big scrim.  It’s definitely the way to go, but as I’m undulating on all fours with my breasts dangling, I feel uncomfortable.

This is how bad I am in my ED thinking right now.  I thought to myself, “Hm.  The performance is in two weeks.  I can lose ten pounds in two weeks.  No, it wouldn’t be in a healthy way, but who cares about that?”  This is my default thinking, and I don’t know how to correct it, either.

Finally, it’s the last two weeks of my mother’s visit, and for some reason, it’s grating even more than the rest put together.  Oh, I know why intellectually (the finish line is in sight!), but it still bothers me that I’m regressing.   I am starting to really chafe at some of the things she does.  For instant, the minute I get up, she is yapping away at me about what needs to be done.  She thinks I should do this or that or blah blah blah.  I need at least half an hour of silence before I can handle someone talking to me when I first get up, but she needs to talk talk talk talk talk to me the minute I step out of my bedroom.

I just want to say, “SHUT THE FUCK UP I CAN’T HANDLE YOU TALKING TO ME RIGHT AWAY!”, but I don’t.  I just grit my teeth and give her terse answers and feel myself sliiiiiide back into the person I used to be.

I don’t want to go there.  I do not want to be that person.  And yet, I feel myself stalling on what I need to do in order to move forward.  I was going to title this entry Dissatisfaction Guaranteed because that’s pretty much how I feel about myself in general.

My thoughts:  Fuck.  What the fuck have I done with my life?  Nothing.  What am I going to do with my life?  Nothing.  I am going to end up old and alone, living in the Irish Dancer’s mountain inn with thirty-two cats to keep me company.  Who the fuck is gonna want me, my freakiness, and my fucked-up baggage?  I mean, I don’t even want me, so how can I expect someone else to want me?  I am a grotesque blob.  Yes, that might be good for primordial oozing, but it’s not good for my self-image.  I want to perform, but I’m doing shit-all about it.  I want to be published, but I’m doing shit-all about it.  In fact, I’m doing shit-all nothing right now.

As y’all know, I follow national politics, and I feel pretty much useless there.  I know I have to get more involved in the local scene where I could actually make a difference, but I’ve done fuck-all about that, either.

So, I start thinking, I am a piece of shit.  Does my life really matter at all?  Yes, I’m going down that slippery slope.  I have no idea how I got there–wait, that’s a lie.  I do know how I got there.  It started with my epic fail concerning my nephews and then it just spiraled from there.  It really takes so little for the demons to set up camp and have a field day.  Even knowing that they are the ones at work here, it’s difficult for me to pull away.  It doesn’t help that I have a horrid headache and my beloved Excedrin Migraine isn’t doing its job.  I took my usual three capsules (I finally read the directions.  I’m not supposed to take more than two capsules in a twenty-four hour period, so I will forgo my second dose of three capsules), and it usually helps within fifteen minutes.  This time, no.

I’m not quite back in the abyss yet, but I’m sliding down that road.  I don’t know how to stop the slide, either.  They never taught that lesson in school.

Now, on to the entry.

As devoted readers of my blog know, I have major body/food issues.  It’s hard to say which came first, oh wait.  No, it’s not.  Body issues were first, followed quickly by food issues.  As I have written before, I got fat around age seven–coincidentally (and I mean that wryly), the same age (as best as I can pinpoint) the molestation started.  At least, it was happening at that time.  Before that, I was plump, but not fat.  After that, I blew up.

Wait.  Stop.  That’s not true, either.  I’ve seen pictures of myself at that time, and while I was overweight, yes, I wasn’t grotesquely hideously fat.  However, my mom put me on my first diet when I was seven, saying, “You would have such a beautiful face if you lost some weight.”  Seven.  Thirty-two years ago.  That dictum is still pounded in my head to this day.  ”If, then.”  If I lose weight, then I would be beautiful.  In my mind, the two cannot coexist, but only for me.  Hearken back to this entry.  In it, I wax poetic about how hot I find other women with curves.

I get frustrated because I truly believe a woman’s worth is not based on how much she weighs–unless it’s me.  It’s not even that cut-and-dry, though.  I know that I am an intelligent, funny, witty, creative, loving, caring woman.  I accept that there are people who find me attractive.  I like my hair, my eyes, and my boobs to some extent (free drinks, yo!).  I have been told often enough that my smile lights up my face to accept that this is probably empirically true.  I actually like the fact that my legs are solid because then they can do a lot of work.

Still, the last six months have been tough for me on the body front.  First, my doc telling me I’m close to dangerously morbidly obese and that I could keel over at any second, and then having to deal with my family (in Taiwan) and their obsession with weight.  If I was given the choice of being able to be a size two for the rest of my life, but with the caveat that I would live five years less, I would take that deal.  I hate admitting it, but it’s true.

Again, I don’t find a size two attractive on other women.  Most Hollywood actresses don’t appeal to me because they are too damn skinny.  I don’t find bones poking out to be attractive, and yet, that’s what I want for myself.  This is how fucked up I am.   Punk Girl (Kel’s middle child) is very slender.  Rangy, is a good word.  At the soccer game, Kel, Punk Girl, and I were talking about the shirt Kel gave me for my birthday.  She was saying how I kept talking about how huge I was so she got me a large size that is swimming on me.  Punk Girl drawled, “Yeah, you keep saying you’re fat.  It’s not like you’re morbidly obese!”  I said my doc said I was close to it.  Both of them told me my doc was full of shit.  That’s when I talked about how when I was at my thinnest, I weighed 138 pounds (about ten pounds away from being overweight), but I had a 24″ waist.  Punk Girl stared at me and said, “I have a 27″ waist!”  I didn’t believe her, but if she’s not lying to me (and I see no reason why she would lie), then I am more skewed in how I view myself than I thought I was.  Looking at Punk Girl, I see her as so slim and stunning.  I can’t reconcile the idea that her waist now is bigger than mine was when I was at my skinniest.

In addition,  I was taught at a young age that my body was a commodity.  It is something with which I can barter.  Like a chicken (the leading candidate for the senate spot in Nevada suggested bartering chickens for healthcare.  Seriously).  It wasn’t really mine, per se.  I felt that if someone wanted it, who was I to say no?  It was my way of giving the only thing I felt I had of value–conversely, that meant I valued it not at all.  Part of the photo shoot was to reclaim my body as mine, to see if I could find the beauty of it in and of itself.  I know what it can get me, well, I used to know.  I am finding new and unique ways to get pleasure out of my body, but I’ll save that for another entry.  Suffice to say, I viewed my body with a mixture of loathing, repulsion, and resignation.  I have always preferred my brain, and for many years, I considered my body simply the vehicle for carting my brain around.  That’s one of the reasons I’m so clumsy–I just couldn’t be bothered with caring for my body.

So.  This is my long-winded introduction to the photo shoot I had with Kel.  Many months ago, I was talking about a female photographer who shot nude pictures of women who had been abused in their childhoods.  It was a way for the women to reclaim their bodies.  At the same time, we were passing back and forth You Can Leave Your Hat On by Joe Cocker, which I think is one sexy-as-hell song.  In addition, awhile ago, I saw the Chippendales dancers on some talk show, and one guy did a strip (not to the nude, of course) to this song.  Hot!  Anyway, I said that I would like someone to do that for me, but the only photographer I know around here is my brother.  Yeah, no.  That would not be a good idea at all.  She offered to do it for me when we met, and we planned how we wanted it to be.  I knew that I wanted to sit on a chair that was facing backwards.  The rest, I would leave up to her.

So, Friday afternoon, while the kids were at school, we had the shoot.  I briefly thought about putting on makeup or running a brush through my hair again, but I decided to leave it.  I am not a makeup gal, anyway, and my hair is always tangled throughout the day.  I also considered not wearing my glasses, but Kel had it right.  My glasses are a part of me.  I wear them all the time except when I sleep.   I would wear them for the shoot.  As she started making lunch (yummy scrambled eggs), I stripped.  I was wearing a tank top, a bra, and boxers, so it wasn’t hard to go the full monty.   I sat on the chair where she had placed it, and we got to work.

Now, I was aware she had Alejandro in hand and was shooting my picture, but it wasn’t intrusive.  We chatted about this and that as she gave me suggestions as how to pose.  We had fun with it.  I stuck out my tongue at her at one point (the picture turned out really well), and I gave her the finger at another.  For the most part, though, I just smiled and laughed as we chatted.  I wasn’t uncomfortable at all, and I give major props to Kel for setting up an environment that felt so safe.  It doesn’t hurt that her nearest neighbor is not very close to her house as we were shooting in the kitchen nook with the sunlight streaming in the windows.

Later that afternoon, Kel edited the pics.  I had the impulse to tell her to cover my scars, but in the end, I decided to let them stand.  Why?  Because they are a part of me as well.  I don’t like them, but I am not going to hide them, either.  I did want her to erase my double-chin, but I didn’t ask her to do that, either.  I love the white streaks in my hair, so I wasn’t going to have her touch those, either.  In the end, I don’t think she did much ’shopping on the pics.  I had a hard time looking at them, but to my surprise, they turned out really well.  I still cringe slightly at the sight of my stomach and how round I am, but I really like what Kel did to my face, double-chin notwithstanding.

As I’ve written before, I rarely look in the mirror, so I don’t have a very good idea as to what I look like.  When I looked at the pics, I was struck by how much I like my eyes.  I’ve always counted them as one of my good features, but I never realized before how warm they can be.  Plus, Kel said I looked confident and serene in the pics, and I have to agree.  She insists that she did nothing to me, but I beg to differ because that’s not really how I look–at least not in my head.   So, thanks, Kel, for making me beautiful.

I’m still not crazy about my body, but I can at least look at it objectively now.  As I looked at the pics, I could intellectually say that I wasn’t grotesque or disgusting, even if I still look fat (my waist is so thick!) and my boobs are not so perky.  The cringe was a slight one, rather than a full-body recoil as it would have been in the past.  I can see that my body is more than a commodity or the protector of my brain.  Baby steps, my friends.  That’s the best I can do right now.

P.S.  I had to re-size the pics for the blog, so I may throw up the full-sized pics on Flickr at some point.  If I do, I will link it.

P.P.S.  I have more pics, a few that show more of me, if you know what I am saying.  I may post them in another entry in the future.

I thought I could do it this time.  I thought I could have a sensible eating plan, incorporate a moderate amount of exercise, throw in some taiji, and take off the pounds slowly and sensibly.  As the the latter, I was doing well for the first month.  I lost ten pounds.  Not bad.  In the last month, it’s been a harder road.  I’ve lost and then regained, and in the end, I’m down four more pounds.  Not great.  I know what my problem is, but that’s not the focus of this entry.

As longtime readers know, I have struggled with eating disorders (ED) since I was…well a child really.  My mom put me on my first diet when I was seven (using the ‘you have such a beautiful face’ line as she did), and I have been yo-yo’ing ever since.  Right now, I am near the heaviest I’ve ever been.  It’s not a comfortable place to be at all.  I have not been happy with my weight for some time.  For the third time in my life, I am on a major attack on my weight.

Here’s the problem.  I have no road map in losing weight in a healthy way.  Furthermore, I have a plethora of issues relating to food itself, which makes it even more difficult for me to think rationally about the whole subject.  It has been said that the biggest problem with eating issues is that you have to eat in order to live.  If someone is a recovering alcoholic, she doesn’t have to drink another alcoholic drink for as long as she live.  She will not die from not drinking.  It’s the same with nearly every other addiction.  One does not need to smoke in order to live.  One can quit drugs, walk away, and never look back.

However.  If I were to walk away from food, as it were, I would die.  I cannot give up my addiction as a way of overcoming it.  No, I have to fucking eat every day in order to live.  That means I have to confront my eating issues every fucking time I eat.  Or don’t eat.  Or when I used to chew and spit.  Or binge and purge.

I have never had a healthy relationship with food.  I know it’s just food.  It’s not inherently good or bad. Most food tastes really good when it’s properly cooked.  It’s job is to sustain.  It’s neutral, really, in its attributes.  I know that in my mind.  Once I start dieting, though, the sensible ideas in my head start morphing into more sinister characters.

A big problem is that many of the mainstays of dieting (counting calories, weighing oneself regularly, seeing how many calories are burned for each activity done) are actually triggers for OCD/ED behavior for me.  I actually believe that much of our dieting industry is sanctified ED behavior and thinking, but that’s not the gist of this particular entry.

The inherent difficulty is that losing weight takes a lot of energy, thought, focus, and work–especially as I get older.  It’s not something I can do lackadaisically and see encouraging results.   In other words, I have to feed my ED thinking and patterns to some extent no matter how healthily I am dieting.

To complicate matters even further, I can’t eat without doing something else at the same time.  For some reason, if I sit down to a plate of food and just eat, I start freaking the fuck out.  I have to be on the computer, watching TV, reading, or talking to someone as I eat in order to be able to do it in a semi-rational matter.  I have to trick myself into eating, in other words, because on some level, I don’t feel I should be eating.  I will get to that in a second.

Now, to throw on top of all of that, I have developed dairy and gluten/wheat intolerance over the years.  I don’t always heed these limitations, much to my detriment.  Then, I get a queasy feeling in my stomach, which makes me want to throw up.  Or, I get PAS (Prickly Anus Syndrome), and I spend way too much time on the toilet.

Toss in the fact that my mother is a push-pull of ‘lose weight, you giant elephant’, ‘eat this piece of chocolate cake which I offer as love to you’, and you have the recipe for a disaster in making.  I have realized over the years that while my mother gives lip service in wanting me to lose weight (for health reasons, supposedly), she will subtly do things to sabotage my efforts if I actually start losing a lot of weight.

So.  I started out this time by sensibly saying, “Ok, I’ll eat less food from the deli of my coop and start buying more raw veggies.  That’ll help.  I’ll try to eat only when I’m hungry (which is exceedingly difficult for me as I can’t tell when I’m hungry and when I’m not), and I’ll cut down on the sweets.  In addition, I’ll get my 10,000 steps in per day (as recommended by someone, somewhere–I have been told many times this is the holy grail of numbers).  I will do my taiji as well, and it’ll all be good.”

Sounds good, right?  It’s a sound plan.   However, true to my OCD issues and my perfectionist tendencies, I am starting to slip.  I have added lifting to my repertoire again, which is not bad in and of itself.  It’s only bad because I’ve gone from one hour of exercise a day to an hour and a quarter.  If I expand my program as I plan, I’m going to be pushing the 1 1/2 to 2 hours mark again.  Per day.

Then, the last three days, I haven’t felt up to doing the whole program, so I’ve done nothing.  That makes me grumpy.  I don’t like my all-or-nothing mentality, but I’m not quite sure how to fix it.  I try the, “Do it for ten minutes” thing, but then I feel compelled to do the whole set.  I have a really hard time saying, “OK, I did fifteen minutes.  I can stop now.”

Still, with all my frustrations for the exercise aspect of my diet plan, it’s manageable.  What isn’t is the food side.  My thinking is becoming disordered again.  I am starting to classify foods as good and bad.  I feel like a horrible person if i eat something that is ‘bad’.   And, yes, I mean that morally.  If I eat, say, deep-fried fish and chips, I am a morally bad person.  If I eat soy yogurt, grapes, and a spinach salad with fat-free dressing, I am a morally good person.  Keep in mind that except when I go out with friends, I only eat food I buy from my two coops.  It’s high-quality food.  Still, the deli food usually has cheese and/or some kind of breading.  Much of it is comfort food.  Delicious, but not exactly lean.  The fish and chips were from the last time I went out with Natasha.  It lasted three extra meals, but I felt guilty each damn meal.  I eat too much one day (way too much) and then overcompensate by eating too little the next.  I know the folly in such thinking, but I am having a difficult time stopping my erratic behavior.

I am starting to think about using the tricks I used to use back in my ED days such as eating each bite a certain number of times.    I am also toying with the idea of fasting–just because.  It’s easier not to deal with food at all than have to navigate the minefields that surround the whole messy topic for me.

The other thing that happens when I diet is that I focus on how much I hate the way I look.  Normally, I pretty much don’t think about it.  I don’t look into mirrors, and I just ignore the fact that I have a face and a body.  I have no idea why people are attracted to me, but that’s neither here nor there.  The demons love it when I diet because I become even more susceptible to their steady streams of insults.   “You’re fat and ugly and disgusting and grotesque.”  I am more conscious of my gut hanging down, my thighs rubbing together, my boobs being pendulous, my shoulders being so goddamn broad, and how fucking thick my waist is.

I know I have to lose weight; I just would rather not get completely torn apart in the process.  Hm.  I never returned to the subject of why I don’t deserve to eat.  Well, not gonna write about that today.  Maybe later.

I love food.  I adore food.  Yet, I hate it, and I fear it, too.  So much crap wrapped around what should be a simple subject.  My therapist is urging me to check out an ED program because that’s not her specialty–ironically, motherhood is.

I am tired of this.  Why the fuck do I have to deal with this right now?  Like a three-year-old, I want to stamp my foot and whine that it’s not fair.  The grownup me, however, knows that it’s part of the whole childhood abuse issue.  It’s not going to go away if I simple ignore it.  I have to deal with it in order to move on.  I just fear it’s going to get worse before it gets better.

As I was driving back from the airport to my house, I felt some relief to be getting away from my family and the pernicious insidiousness of Taiwanese beliefs about women, family, etc.  One thing my therapist commented on before I went on my trip was that the culture clash of family first v. independence was something I would have to deal with now.  She said it much more eloquently, but it’s what she meant.

Now, I am not saying that putting family first is an inherently-dysfunctional thing, any more than I am touting the superiority of rugged individuality.  I think both have their pluses and their minuses.   What I am saying is that when you skew crazily to either side, then there’s a problem.  In my case, in my family, the boundaries between each person are nonexistent.  What I want isn’t a factor at all.  It’s not that my parents don’t care what I want or think–they simply don’t realize that I could possibly think or want something other than what they think I want.

I have written in the past that my father is a narcissist, so the fact that he can’t fathom a me outside of him doesn’t surprise me.  However, the realization that my mother is just as much a narcissist in some ways is really bothersome to me.  I have spent much of my life grappling with issues with my mother (I gave up my father as a lost cause many years ago), and this new revelation throws things in a different light.  In addition, her ability at revisionist history is comparable to that of a current GOP congressperson, which is really disturbing.

Because of her latter capability (she firmly believes that she and I were really close when I was a teenager), everything she says about my past is now suspect as well.  I feel as if the sands are shifting under my feet.  What really happened in my childhood?

There is one person who knows and who has a good memory:  My brother.  Yet, I hesitate asking him what he remembers from our childhood.  It’s another unspoken taboo as he didn’t have a very cheery childhood, either.  My father used to beat him (as per old customs) until my mom made him stop–or so my mother says.  Then (again, according to my mother), my dad washed his hands of all disciplining thereafter.

I have heard this story since I was a kid, and it makes me so angry now.  If it’s true, then that means that my mother stood up for my brother, but not for me.  In fact, she’s never stood up for me in relation with my father.  She takes his side and downplays any beefs I have with him.  As I have written about before, when I confronted the family about my father’s abuse so many years ago, the first thing my mom said was, “It can’t be true.  If it’s true, then I’ll have to leave him.”

Oh, in addition, she has a habit of forgetting that she says these kind of things.  And, a few years after I told her I was bi (to which she said, “If that’s acceptable, what next, bestiality?”), I mentioned something about a woman, and she said, “Oh, you still like women?”  She tries to bend reality to her liking and ignores all the parts she doesn’t like.

Anyway, this is a new year.  Funny, it feels a lot like the old one, but a new one, it is.  I made it back from Taiwan barely in one piece (though my mind is still fragmented, and my sleep schedule is more fucked than usual), and now it’s time to look to the future and what I hope to accomplish this year.

Which depresses the hell out of me.  So, first up, my fantasy list of all the things I want to accomplish this year.

1. Lose 100 pounds
2. Become self-supporting and self-sufficient
3. Buy my own house
4. Get back into theater
5. Become a published author
6. Get my online literary mag up and running
7. Get laid
8. Start playing the cello again
9. Finish the long form in taiji and start pushing hands
10. Start dating

Since I am CDO, I’m limiting myself to 10 for 2010.  Yes, I know the list is unreasonable.  That’s kind of the point.  I wanted to lay it down and see exactly how far I have to go.

The result:  Depressingly far.  When I look at the big picture, I am overwhelmed.  Objectively, finishing the long form in taiji this year is doable.   Taking up the cello again is doable.  God, I miss playing.  I don’t miss practicing or the pressure of performing, but I do miss playing the cello.  What a beautiful instrument.

The rest will take lots of psychological fortitude as well as sheer determination.  I am lazy by nature when facing things I don’t have to do and that are hard for me to do.  I tend to get overwhelmed by the big picture.  I know the answer is to break down each goal into smaller, reasonable steps, but that’s hard for me to do as well.

I am sad, cranky, depressed, and in self-hatred mode upon my return to the States.  My mom emailed me that I made a couple errors in her manuscript, which means I’m not done with it yet.  Plus, she still wants to make changes, which is up to the editor, but if he says yes, then that means more work for me.

The trip to Taiwan was intense.  During the last two weeks (and about a month before), I was so focused on surviving the trip, I pretty much put the rest of my life on hold.  Now that I’m back, all the shit I shoved to the background is pushing forward once again. On top of all that,  I am still struggling with the utter worthlessness I felt while being with my family.  It’s hard for me to think I matter after two weeks in which I did not.

The worst thing about being with my family is that I lose ground every time I spend an appreciable amount of time with them.  They have me doubting myself and everything I am.  It’s not intentional, but it’s the end result.  By the end of the trip, I was more suicidal than I have been in years.

Anyway, I am done with today’s entry.  At some point, I will write a more reasonable list of goals for this year.  Maybe.

P.S.  To justify the Alan Rickman category tag, which I haven’t used in a while, this is the year that I make my fantasy of Alan Rickman, chocolate, pizza, handcuffs, and a blindfold come true.

Today, my bro, my niece, and I started with a leisurely breakfast.   It’s cool when it’s just the three of us.  We can take our time and just talk about whatever.   There is no tension there.  Plus, I got to see the chefs let a fire get out of control.  That was cool.  I love fire.

Oh, and I have one goal for 2010:  I wish to lose 100 pounds this year.  It is ok to lose up to ten pounds a month, so this is a doable goal.  I hit the proverbial wall today.  My body just plain gave out on me.  My ankles and knees are swollen; my feet burn/hurt/are numb (depending on the time of day); I can’t turn my neck very quickly.  I am in such bad shape right now, it’s pathetic and pitiful.

My mom came to pick us up at ten.  We went to Yi-lan with my dad’s driver and his wife (who is my mom’s assistant) and my dad’s assistant.   We went through the longest tunnel in Taiwan (it took ten minutes), and I was fighting to stay awake the whole time.  I didn’t sleep very well last night (surprise, surprise), and I was exhausted all day long.  We walked through the arts and crafts store in Yi-lan, and my parents made my brother and I eat when we weren’t hungry.  This is a common theme in our family (and in many Taiwanese families).  They ask if we want to try something, and we say no.  We were both still full.  They ordered some for us, anyway, and it would have made them lose face in front of their coworkers if we had refused.  So, in our family, food is not just food, and it’s not exactly love.  It’s a duty.

Another thing in Taiwan is a tradition of giving a woman a gift the first time you meet her.  I have no idea why it’s just for women (and little boys), but it was uncomfortable for me because my dad’s assistant kept wanting to buy me things.  In addition, the things she pointed out to me were girly and feminine and…NOT ME.  As we have discussed before, I am not girly nor feminine nor cute.  I don’t do cute!

At the arts and crafts center, I saw two black dogs.  One of them, I swear, is the same dog I’ve seen before.  OK, I know it’s not, but he looked the same.  And, I bought two black pig figurines today and two black cat figurines.  They are my animal spirit guides for the day.

My dad had to go back to work, and he took my mom’s assistant and his assistant back with him (or actually, his assistant drove).  I felt better once my dad was gone.  I could breath again, and I didn’t have to be so guarded.

I was dying by the time we were going to leave.  Then, the driver mentioned there was an old house we hadn’t seen.  He and his wife are from Yi-lan, so they knew more about it than my parents did.  I didn’t want to see the house, but we were already there, and I knew my brother would want to see it.  I had already seen a similar house the last time I was in Taiwan, but he never had.  My niece was pretty tired, too, and she definitely did not want to see the house.

Afterwards, we left, but the driver wanted to show us this huge-ass (my words, not his) park that was close to the arts and crafts center.  It had a river that was flooding the town, so they shaped it better or something like that.  I didn’t want to go, but again, I didn’t want to make waves or sound petulant or anything like that.

We got there and started walking.  And walking.  Up some stairs and down some other stairs.  My brain shut down at some point, and I was just methodically placing one foot in front of the other.  I was a ball of pain, and I couldn’t think.  When I reach that state, I don’t talk; I don’t smile; I don’t joke.  I am basically on auto-pilot, just trying not to completely wig out.  My whole body is aching and screaming at me.  We keep walking and walking for what seems like ages.

Now, the sad part is that we did not walk nearly as much in that time today as we had in the past.  However, my body has reached the breaking point.  It’s not the amount any more, but the fact that we are doing anything at all.  By the time we are done with the park, it’s four in the afternoon.  Oh, at some point during the ’stroll’ through the park, I started thinking, “I hate you I hate you I hate you” at my mother.  Not very nice of me, I know, but alas, it’s the honest truth.  Anyway, back in the car, my mother talked about going to another night market.  I asked if we would be going back to the hotel.  I didn’t want to go to the night market, which I also said.  Long story short, we went back to the hotel to rest for twenty minutes before going to the night market.

By this point, I couldn’t feel my feet any longer.   I so did not want to go to the night market, but I wimped out.  I went.  I was at the end of my rope, and I went, anyway.  I didn’t enjoy it, and I was a bit snappy (more so than usual), and in general, I was a big PITA.  It would have been better if I’d stayed in the hotel because I really was not a ray of sunshine today–as if I ever am.  Then, my mom got a call from my father.  He wanted to meet us at the night market.  I stifled a groan because things always got tense with both my parents in the same place.  Tonight was no exception.  They snip and gripe at each other.  My mom talks my father to death, and my father reacts by withdrawing into his icy-stone silence (yes, I come by it honestly).

I just kept walking.  My niece was super-tired, so I did the chicken-shit thing by saying she was tired and that we should return to the hotel.  We were on our way back when my brother mentioned the night market across from our hotel.  He has been on a quest to find a hat similar to the one our cousin bought.  His wife saw a pic and liked it, so we have looked for something similar ever since.  Apparently, my cousin bought a one-of-a-kind hat.  However, my bro had spotted a hat that he thought was similar at the night market across the street.  He wanted me to look to see if it was close.  I may not be much of a girl, but I have enough of the girl gene to know when a hat is similar to another one.  So, I agreed to go.  My niece really wanted to go back to the hotel, so my brother said my dad could take her.

Um, no.  I had vowed to myself that there was no way in hell I would let my father be alone with my niece, though I didn’t think he would really do anything to her.  I started thinking of ways to circumvent the two of them being alone (such as insisting that I was really tired, which I was, and going with them).  Then, my mom said that she would take my niece back because her (my mom’s) ankle was hurting.  This meant that my father would be going with me and my brother.  Do you know what my first feeling was?  Relief that my father wouldn’t be alone with my niece.  I would prefer him to be with me if that meant that he was not with her.  I would deal with all the moving around I had to do so he wouldn’t be behind me.  I would deal with him being too close to me for my comfort.  I would even deal with the inappropriate jokes he made from time to time.  My niece was safe.

We found the hat that my brother thought looked like the one my cousin bought, and it was close.  He bought it.  He wanted to walk around more.  I said no.  They could if they wanted to, but I was going back to the hotel.

Back at the hotel, we gathered in my bro’s room to talk about tomorrow.  We are meeting the VP of the country at 2:15 p.m. for fifteen minutes (before my father’s regular 2:30 p.m. meeting with him), but that is all we have scheduled for the day.  My parents started throwing out all these ideas.  The zoo!  No, says I.  The garden show!  No.  My niece and brother agreed to go to the swimming facility, but I firmly declared I was staying in the hotel for the morning.  I can’t even get up from a chair without my back clenching up on me.  I am not doing any more appreciable amount of walking.  My dad and mom were talking about Friday as well (when we leave), and I finally said, “I am not doing anything tomorrow morning, so may I return to my room now?”  I didn’t see why I needed to be in on the discussion any longer, and I had had more than enough of people for the day.  I managed to stagger to my feet and out the door.

Now, I should take a shower and go to bed, but I can’t move.  I feel like I’m a hundred years old.  I am definitely making losing 100 pounds one of my top five goals for 2010.

P.S.  Day Nine Pics.

P.P.S.  The pic with people in it, pic number four, shows, from left to right, my brother, my mother, me, the driver, and my niece.

Taiwanese Food Set on Flickr.

After breakfast, I went back to my room and surfed the web a bit more.  I also had another cup of truly excellent coffee.  My mom called to tell me the itinerary.  Lunch at noon, checkout at one, beach, then back to the hotel for tea at two-thirty.

Lunch was huge, too.  The food at the Park View Hotel was amazing and plentiful.  After lunch, we checked out, stowed our bags at the hotel, and went to the beach.  I saw two black dogs at the ocean–my animal familiars for the day.

I loved the ocean.  The Pacific Ocean is MY ocean.   I could stare at it for hours.  I loved the way it was striated three different blues.  Dark blue further away, sea blue in the middle, and turquoise close up.  It was a windy day, so the waves were really roiling.  I kept creeping closer and closer to the edge, and the waves were really crashing up the shore.  I scrambled to get out of the way and fell on my ass–got it wet.  Then, a wave caught up to me so my shoes and socks were soaked.  When we went back to the hotel for tea, we used the hair dryers in the swimming pool locker room to dry out our shoes.  Then, tea, which was more like supper.

Then, my parents wanted to walk around the grounds of the hotel again, so we did.  And did.  And did.  My body is done with this trip, and taking the walk around the hotel reminded me of how out of shape I am.  Choolie commented on the pics from yesterday saying I looked so unhappy.  I said it’s because I have decided not to smile for any pictures for the rest of the trip.  I hate having my picture taken, and my mom wants to take pictures of the family every five seconds or so.

So I’m getting grumpier and grumpier the more we walk.  After the walk, we proceeded to our plan of playing ping-pong.  My niece was the referee, and she grouped us by gender–my mother and me against my brother and my father.

Once we started playing ping-pong, it was like the good old days, and I mean that sincerely.  One thing that has always been fun for us is playing doubles in ping-pong.  The four of us are pretty evenly matched, and most of the games were very close.  As we played, we slipped back into a comfortable routine.  My dad is the trickster with his spins and cuts and such.  My brother prefers to just cut the shit out of everything.  My mom is steady and dependable, and I am good with my instincts.  It didn’t matter who played with whom.  When we had the ping-pong paddles in our hands, we could actually relate as a family.  We played by the old-school rules, and it was a blast.  Then, my brother and my niece played some pool while my mom and my dad went to shower (we were all dripping in sweat because no air conditioning), and I joined in on the second game to help out my niece.

Afterwards, my niece said, “I could come back here again.”  See, my family is planning another Hong Taiwan vacation in five years.  My brother figures that his youngest will be old enough at that time (eight) in order to remember the trip.  My niece says that she will be begging for us to allow her boyfriend to come with us (she’ll be sixteen at the time).  My bro said my SIL would like to come, too.  So, my brother was in, and my niece was in.  My parents turned to me and asked me if I was down (no, they didn’t phrase it that way).  I said, “We’ll see.”  That was the best I could do.  My honest answer would have been, “Unless the family dynamics change, I will not be here.”

We took the train back to Taipei, and it was pleasant enough.  Now, we are in another fancy hotel (but not quite as fancy as the one in Hualien), and I have my beloved intertubes.  I also have a HUGE king-size bed, and nothing fun to do in it, damn it.  I gotta admit that a little bit of luxury is not a bad thing.  And, I am loving the solitude.  I found myself thinking today that if the whole vacation had been low-key like today, I wouldn’t have hated it so much.

Oh, and the plans have changed yet again.  We are going through the longest tunnel tomorrow and to another city that is famous for its arts and crafts.  We don’t have to leave until ten-thirty, though, so I will be able to have a leisurely morning alone (I hope).   If the last two days here are anything like today, I just may make it back to the States with my sanity fairly intact.

For now, a shower and bedtime–in my huge huge bed.

P.S.  Link to Day Eight Pics.  There aren’t so many this today.

One of my uncles was eating grapefruit after he had his dessert.  This aunt turned to me and said, “Minna.  Grapefruit.”  I said, “No, thank you.”  Then she said in her little-girl voice, “Minna.  Grapefruit.  Diet.  Lose weight.”

“Fuck you, bitch,” flashed through my mind, but I did not say it, of course.  Instead, I turned away from her, and she was dead to me from then on.

Look, people, it’s pretty simple.  I know I’m fucking fat.  I know I am gross and disgusting and a blight to humanity.  I don’t need you fucking telling me that, ok?  Goddamn it.  I have a hard enough time with the teeny-tiny Taiwanese Tinkerbells looking at me in wonder and disdain.  I don’t need people telling me that I need to diet and shit.  I FUCKING KNOW THAT!  The minute I get home, I will do something about it.  I will fucking starve myself to a size zero so I won’t offend “my people” with my hugeness.

It’s true that I have a solid frame, anyway.  Even when I was a size two, I still had my boobs, unfortunately.  I have huge wrists (check out the previous entry for my trauma concerning that), thick thighs, and meaty calves.  I have broad shoulders, and I will never ever ever look like a waif.  One of these days, I will scan in a pic of me from when I was skinny, and you can see how curvy I still was.

I spend so much energy fighting the urge to completely sink into despair at how fat I am, and then my aunt says something like that (after the comment my brother made earlier).  What the fuck is the point?  I was thinking, the last time these relatives saw me, I was about this fat, too.  After that, I was at my skinniest (and anorexic), and now, I am at the fattest I’ve ever been.  I am so fucking tired of this.  I see all the Barbie dolls,  and damn it, I would give ten years off my life to look like that for ten years.

I am already broken in spirit and body.  Tomorrow, we are going to Hua Lien–a very beautiful city on the ocean.  We will be going on a tour in the afternoon for four hours.  We will be going on another tour in the same city the following afternoon–for four more hours.  I am already doubting that I’ll make it through the first tour, let alone the second.  My bro and niece are wandering around at the local night market as I type.  They both will most likely be able to do the tour tomorrow with no problem.

WTF is wrong with me that I can’t ever get in optimum shape?  No matter how much I exercise (anywhere from an hour and a half a day to seven hours a day), I am never in shape.  I get winded when I walk, and it just…hurts.  My body sucks, and not in a good way.

I am so done with this trip.  Right now, I am in tolerance mode.  I am trying to endure, but I feel the real me slipping away a bit more each day.   I can’t fight any more.  I can’t continue trying to get my family to give a damn about the real me without getting anything in return.  It fucking hurts.  I am tired of constantly having to move so my father isn’t directly behind me.  Whenever he manages to sneak up on me (not on purpose), I jump out of my skin.  I had to hug him today before he went to the office, and my skin crawled upon contact.  I also watch when he’s near my niece, though I don’t really think he’ll do anything to her.  It’s exhausting.

I am not looking forward to anything else on this trip other than the food.  I am trying so desperately hard to be good and not say anything controversial or lose my temper or make any kind of waves, and it’s killing me.  The same aunt who told me I should eat grapefruit to lose weight was talking about her serious run-in with cancer.  She said she was in remission, and she added, “Praise God” and raised her hands to the heavens.  She added with a smile, “It’s a miracle.”  I bit my tongue so I wouldn’t say anything.

Then, another aunt and uncle were escorting us back to the hotel because they didn’t think we could make it on our own (we could).  They were smirking and saying, “You lead.  We will follow.”  WTF?  Seriously, WTF?  My brother has an excellent sense of direction, and I can speak a smattering of Chinese.  Enough to get us to where we needed to go.  But, it’s how the family rolls.  Lots of put-downs done with a smile.  Then, as we were walking, my aunt was talking about the night market.  She was saying that they had a Christian bookstore on campus.  I was noncommittal.  She said that my cousin_____ (the one in the second picture) liked to visit that bookstore.  She and her husband were trying to remember the name, and all I could think was, “I’m not a fucking Christian, so WTF do I care about a Christian bookstore?”  Again, I did not say it, but I certainly radiated the thought.

I fucking hate this.  I knew it would be bad when I came, mostly in concern to all the activity and my self-image, but I didn’t realize it would be this bad.  When I am not numbed with depression or disassociated from my body because of the emotional pain and/or the physical pain, I am so full of rage, it scares me.  I am angry at everything and everyone–but I only feel safe turning it inward.  I know that I can take the damage that I give out when I am angry.  Plus, I don’t fucking matter anyway.  My family has made that abundantly clear.  I may as well be dead.

P.S.  First pic is of my fat face.  Second pic is of my very cute and skinny cousin.  Third pic, from left to right, is skinny cousin, me, my niece, my mother, my father, and my brother.

P.P.S.  Day Six Pix.

P.P.P.S.  I just looked at the Day Six pictures, and I’m a fucking cow.

So.  Today.  Bro knocked at the door this morning to ask if I wanted to go with him and my niece to grab a bun.   I’m always up for some bun-grabbin’, so I said yes.  Hey, he knocked and asked if I wanted to go.  That’s a big change for him.  Anyway, we went to Yamazaki Bakery to grab a bun or two.  They make their pastries fresh every day, and they are amazing.  My bro had a triple-cheese bread thing.  My niece had a mini tangerine Danish and…oh yeah!  Maple sugar French toast (thick-ass slice).  Me?  I had a Dutch melon bread bun.  I have no idea where the name comes from, but the bun is light and fluffy and to. die. for.   As you know, my family is very food-oriented, so that’s why I tend to describe the food I eat wherever we go.  My bro is uploading the pics to FB as I type this, so I will have pictures shortly.

So, everyone enjoyed breakfast.  We strolled back to the hotel, and I went into my room so I could get online.  I could hear my mom as she passed my door–oh, she called me at eight-thirty this morning to tell me the schedule, waking me up in the process.  My sleep has been for shit since I’ve gotten here, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary for me.

Anyhoo, my mom walked past my door to go to my bro’s room.  I heard another voice–it was my father.  I didn’t expect him to be with my mother this morning, so I tensed up immediately.  Soon, we were on our way.  There was a minor skirmish because my parents insisted my bro and I go back to get our umbrellas.  ”It could rain, and we have to walk!”  They gasped in dismay.  Ok, not really, but they were pretty adamant about it.  We decided to get our umbrellas rather than waste more time arguing about it.  Needless to say, the umbrella rode along in my purse all day long.  Oh, and I will never listen to my parents tell me that it’s gonna be cold–ever.  We were going up north, and it was a bit nippy in Taipei.  They said it could get really cold.  I put on my black gortex-like longjohns under my heavier black pants.  On top, I had on a long-sleeved t–shirt under a long-sleevedshirt, and I brought a fleece jacket with me.  The fleece was the first to go.  Halfway through the day, I took off the top shirt.  If I had had on a regular t-shirt under the long-sleeved one, I would have taken off the long-sleeved t-shirt as well.

Anyway, we met one of my cousins at the train station.  She was at the family reunion earlier, and she’s been really homesick the last few weeks.  See, she’s one of my US cousins, but she got called by God (I wonder if He uses a cell) to be a missionary.  She is doing her work in Taiwan.  Anyway, she’s very cute and petite and sweet and smart and an all-around nice person.  As my niece said, “You can’t help but like ____.”  It’s true.  You can’t.

So, on the train, I started flashing back as I’m talking to my niece.   I had tears in my eyes, but I kept my voice even so my niece wouldn’t know that I was upset.  I kept seeing a close up of him penetrating me with his fingers, and then the scene would pan back to him holding his hand over my mouth and telling me that I don’t ever say no to Dad.  Over and over and over again.  Not pleasant, let me tell you.  Keeping all that to myself as I played an alphabet game with my niece was surreal.

We went to a city by the river today.  It’s called Danshui, and it had an old-city feel to it…except, it had Mister Donuts and Dunkin’ Donuts across from each other right outside the station.  Plus, McDonald’s, Starbucks, and a bunch of other American eateries.

Still, I was charmed by the old-world feel to the city.  There were fishermen on the shore, casting their lines again and again.  We stopped at a Taiwanese clothing store because my bro wanted to pick up an outfit for his oldest son (middle child).  I saw a shirt I really liked–a men’s shirt.  I tried it on (the right size), and it looked good on me, so I got it.  My bro got a very pretty dress for his wife, and my niece got an outrageously colorful purple sequined jacket.  My cousin got a fitted white shirt that made me swoon in envy (not for the color, but for the fact that she could wear something that slim), and we moved on.

We had some dumplings which were the yummy (niece refused to eat one), and then we walked some more before stopping to have a snack.  Now, I can’t tell you exactly what it was, but it was YUMMY.  Deep-fried tofu wrapped around green bean noodles (like rice noodles) and some kind of meat.  Plus, glutinous rice bun filled with pork.  Oh my god, it was so fucking good.  The niece did not like, though.  Again, she was a trooper about walking all over the place and not complaining, but her food restrictions really made it difficult to find something she would eat.  After our snack, we went to Starbucks to get her a chocolate muffin with chocolate chips.  Oh wait.  Before Starbucks but after the snack, we stopped at an ice cream stand to get some ice cream.  More like sherbet than ice cream, and when my brother gets today’s album up, I will post a pic, but I had mango, my niece had vanilla/chocolate twist, my cousin had green tea, my bro had strawberry, and my mom had taro root–which was purple.

After Starbucks, we wandered around some more.  The city was a mix of old and new, and it was quite interesting.  Except, and yes, it’s the common refrain, my feet started hurting.  So did my knees.  And my back.  We started at ten in the morning.  We went to see a British consulate (up a steep hill), and I had to keep moving because my father would walk up behind me and stand uncomfortably close to me.  While I could talk to him in a civil manner, I couldn’t tolerate having him touching me.  I kept having flashbacks at random times, which didn’t help matters.  I had to keep that strictly locked up in a corner of my mind, or I would have freaked the fuck out.

We spent all morning and part of the early afternoon meandering to the consulate.  My parents had planned on being out of Danshui by 1 pm.  Didn’t happen.  My mom said if we stayed, we’d have to skip the zoo.  Both my brother and I were fine with that, but she kept fretting about it.  There was no way we could make it to the consulate and lunch by 1 pm.

Lunch.  We decided to go to McDonald’s so my niece could eat something.  By the time we got there, it was nearly 2 p.m.  My dad had to be at a meeting at 2:30 p.m., so he grabbed a fish sandwich while we were there.  He had to leave while my niece was finishing up, and I breathed a sigh of relief once he was gone.

Oh, I have to tell you about my weird moment in the morning.  I was using the bathroom before my bro, my niece, and I went out for breakfast (no, that’s not the weird part, sillies).  As I was going, the lights flickered on-and-off twice.  After I finished, I went outside to ask my bro if my niece had done it (she liked to play tricks on me).  He said, no.  I asked if he was sure.  He said they both were standing outside in the hallway the whole time.  I immediately thought of my boys who always had to accompany me to the bathroom back home, and I decided it was their way of sending me a signal to let me know they were with me in spirit.  Hey, I can interpret it however I want, and that thought comforts me.

Then, while we were in Danshui, we saw many dogs (all wearing coats or sweaters).  I saw this beautiful black lab trotting around sans clothing–twice.  None of the other dogs had any black in them at all.  (Except for the Boston terrier).  I decided that the black dog was my familiar for the day.  It made me feel better, so I kept the thought in mind.

Anyway, after my dad left, we went to the day market.  It’s like the night market, except, it happens during the day.  Here was when things started souring a bit.  I hit the wall, first of all.  I slept like shit last night, so I was ready to crash around three.  We saw a hat store, and my niece wanted to try on a hat.  While she was doing that, my cousin decided to try on a hat, too.  Now, keep in mind that she’s five-two, maybe a hundred pounds, and cute, cute, cute.  Every hat she tried on was adorable on her.  Same with my niece.  The proprietor asked if I wanted to one, but the hats were not me.  I tried a few, but I am not cute in the slightest.  I wasn’t made for cute; I don’t do cute; cute looks ridiculous on me.  I am not feminine at all, so wearing things with lace and bows and shit just looks…wrong.  When I was in Thailand for a semester in college (I had short hair then), my friend’s house mother told me I looked like a ‘gratuii’, which is a transvestite.

So I was watching my cousin and my niece try on hats, and I was feeling frumpy, ugly, not feminine, and wistful.  My cousin is so damn cute, and so effortlessly.  She kept holding up all these frou-frou things for me to try, and I couldn’t believe she couldn’t see how ludicrous I would look in that shit.  Oh, and she made me listen to a Miley Cyrus song, which made me grumpy, too.

Anyway, after they bought their hats, we moved on.  My niece and my mom stopped to look at these handcrafted owls for at least thirty minutes.  My feet were killing me by this point, and I was feeling more than a bit grumpy.  I realized that my cousin is EXACTLY what my mother would want as a daughter.   She’s petite, sweet, loves to shop, a Christian (a fucking missionary!), girly, and in general, everything I am not.  My cousin asked if I was on FB, and I said I was.  I said I doubted she would want to find me on there, though.  I mean, really.  My FB wall isn’t called the Wall of Smut for nothing.  My cousin had been talking about passing a guy selling false eyelashes on the night market, and she and her friend said, “Would you buy false eyelashes from a guy?”  I said without missing a beat (or thinking about it), “I would if he were a drag queen.”  Dead silence.

Crap.  This is running late, and I am exhausted.  Day market food (no pics today, I’m afraid, as my bro hasn’t shown up with the memory stick.  I think he’s fallen asleep):  Deep-fried squid with wasabi salt; more dumplings and an awesome green onion pancake; white candy that tasted like…um…glass marshmallows; dried pork and dried fish.  I think that was it.

I will tell you about tonight later.  It’s getting late, and I need to crash.  I will be going to my father’s family’s reunion tomorrow (and karaoke), and that is gonna be hell.  The last time I was here, my father’s sisters didn’t like me at all.  They clucked their tongue because I couldn’t speak Mandarin, and they would talk to me in Mandarin.  Once I got the basics down, they switched to Taiwanese, which I can somewhat understand, but I can’t speak at all.  There are big class differences (my dad is the only of his sibs to go to college), and I know I’m going to be a freak times ten down there.  Sigh.

I most likely will not have an internet connection, either.  In other words, I’ll be off the grid, bitchez.

My mom showed up.  We grabbed some pastries for breakfast, and then it’s off to the National Palace Museum.  My father was busy all day long, so I did not see him today.  It makes me sad to say this, but I was relieved I didn’t have to spend any time with him.  In addition to the fact that he can reduce me to tears in a minute, I have had two more flashbacks (one a day) since I’ve been here.  The images aren’t anything new (him fingering me, him penetrating me), but the lack of surprise doesn’t diminish the emotions the images stir up inside of me.  When my mom showed up alone, I knew that I wouldn’t have to see my father at least until supper.  Then, when I found out he had a party he had to attend, my reaction was one of intense relief.   I wouldn’t have to see him at all today.  That allowed me a modicum of relaxation.  In addition, the fact that he wasn’t with us meant that I had a better shot at getting my three hours at the National Palace Museum.

We got there around a quarter to eleven.  It was crowded as hell because of all the tourists.  We did our own thing, and I got to spend my three hours there.  They had a special exhibit on teh best emperor evah, or maybe the worst.  They are not quite sure.  All they know is that people still talk about him, even though he only ruled for thirteen years.  I loved the exhibit on carvings the best.  And, I think I mentioned that I saw a black cat on the (glass) roof of the museum yesterday.  Well, today, in one of the exhibits, there was a black cat figurine.  My niece pointed it out to me.   I found comfort in seeing the black cat yesterday, and I found comfort again today in seeing the black cat figurine.

We had a light snack in the NPM before going to Taipei 101.  It was the tallest building in the world at the time it was built.  We went up to the 89th floor to the observatory so we could see all of Taipei.  It was pretty neat.  Then, we stopped at a bookstore, one of the biggest in Taiwan, before heading down to the Food Mart to eat.  Yes, you sense a theme here.  My family is very food-oriented, which made it all the more difficult to have my niece say no to every food she was offered.  She is a picky eater (she gets it from her mother), and she would try one little bite of something and then make a face.  We have had to buy her croissants for breakfast, and she had a ham and cheese sandwich (with veggies) for lunch today.  I have to give her props for being a trooper about walking around all day long with very minimal fuss, though.  I just think it’s a shame she’s missing out on all the fabulous food we’ve eaten.  Before we went to the night market, we got her a sub from Subway, which made her very happy.

So.  Off to the night market.  We stopped in a temple first.  It was a temple for Mazu, a Taiwanese goddess.  This is funny because it’s one of my nicknames.  Then, we started walking the streets–er, walking through the night market.

Now, before this, I only had the urge to snap at my mom a few times in the car when she wouldn’t stop talking.  However, in the first half hour that we were at the night market, I came very close to yelling at her again.  She insisted on buying food for us that we didn’t necessarily want because it was famous in Taipei or whatever.  Then, she would be mildly upset if we didn’t want to eat any of it.  Finally, after she had to finish off the oyster omelet she had bought for me (I wasn’t in the mood for fried oysters.  I had a few bites, but that was it), she said she was so full that she wasn’t going to buy anything unless we asked for it.  Um, yeah.  That’s kind of the point, I thought.  You see, there is a part of Taiwanese culture I don’t like:  insisting on doing something for other people ‘for their pleasure’ or whatever.  It’s supposed to be a huge gift to us to be buying us these foods (and it’s not just my mom in this respect), no matter if we want the gift or not.

When she got full, however, she got much better.  She did actually wait for us to ask for whatever we wanted.  It was much more relaxing, though my feet were screaming at me by then.  I had two amazing pork buns, excellent fried mini-wontons, good fried bread sticks with hot almond tea, half a dozen samples, green tea ice cream, watermelon juice, stinky tofu (which is the one thing I didn’t like), and my personal favorite, dough-hua (tofu pudding).

It was seven o’clock when we were done.  My mom asked if we wanted to go to her house for a bit.  I dithered, but my brother simply said, “No.”  He didn’t raise his voice or throw a hissy-fit; he just stated it in a calm, but firm voice.  Granted, my father wasn’t there (even my bro has a difficult time standing up to my father), but still.  It was impressive.  I filed it away for further use.  Then, my mother asked us about NY’s Eve.  I had been dreading it because she and my father wanted to take us to watch the fireworks around Taipei 101.  No matter where we went, there would be roughly a million people.  A million fucking people.  Perhaps y’all can see from where my terror sprang.  Anyway, she asked how strongly did it matter that we saw the fireworks in person.  I said I didn’t want to go.  I have no idea how I managed to say that–probably because the very thought of being amongst 1,000,000 screaming drunk people on NY’s Eve was enough to make me break out into a cold sweat.  Anyway, my brother backed me up.  My niece didn’t want to do it, either.  My mom said we could watch from te roof of her building, but then we would have to find a taxi ride home (which would be impossible).  I said a couple times that they must show them on TV and that’s how I always ushered in the new year.  My bro said he didn’t want to stay up that late.  We just kept repeating these statements until my mother finally acquiesced.

So.  Nine-thirty in the morning until seven at night.  Do you know what I’ve learned about myself on this trip?  I am a fucking wimp.  My brother is trooping around all over the place and not minding it a bit.  My mom is doing the walk ok as well.  My niece didn’t do so well, but she’s eleven.  I am so out of shape, it’s not even funny.  By the time we reached the end of the night market, my feet were burning.  Actually, they started aching at the NPM, and they just hurt more as the night wore on.

When we got back to the hotel, I hung out with my bro and niece for a bit, oohing and aahing over the photos.  Then, I came back to my room and chilled until my brother brought me a memory stick with the photos of the day on it.  Here is a link to the entire album for the day.  You will be so jealous when you view the whole album, let me tell you.  All in all, today was a much better day than yesterday.

However, I must confess something to y’all.  I feel like I’ve misled you, and I am very very sorry.  You see, I’ve been telling people that I am Taiwanese American because both my parents were born in Taiwan (and yet, I could run for president of the United States if I wanted–oh, sorry, wrong blog entry).  Now that I’m in Taiwan, though, I have to say that I am not a Taiwanese woman at all.   You see, I have seen hundreds if not thousands of them by now, and I have to reluctantly conclude that I am most definitely not one of them.  I am not a size zero with concave thighs.  I do not have perfectly mussed hair that reaches exactly to the middle of my back.  I do not have a wide-eyed blank stare as if someone has removed my personality.  I do not giggle or talk in the voice of a twelve-year old girl.  I am not fashionable, and I don’t risk breaking my leg by walking on the beach in three-inch heels.

Damn it, they are all so skinny and perfectly put together.  They are all so damn pretty.  I feel like an elephant around them.  An ungainly, awkward elephant galumphing around as they float on air.  I was ready to be a freak here (even more so than I am in the States), but I do get tired of being looked at as if I were a space alien with three eyes.  I know it’s also my tats and my, ah, ample cleavage that draw the looks of curiosity, but if I am going to be a freak show, I want to get paid for it, damn it.

Tomorrow is going to be a rougher day because I will have to deal with my father.  Hopefully, the food will be as good as ever because in the end, that’s what really matters, amirite?