Soured

It is time, perhaps, to consider estrangement from my parents.

I have never had a good relationship with my parents. As a child, I  often hid who I was, and was perceptive enough at a young age to realize that the battle to "be yourself" was futile in my family structure. Too many times, I saw my older brother unsuccessfully try to "break free" of his chains until eventually his spirit was spent, and so early on, I realized that my parents had a great power, to taint and destroy our dreams.  So, while growing up, restricted, constrained, never allowed to be the person I had the potential to be, I stowed something of myself away. I secretly delighted in having my own grand designs about how I would like things to go in my life and who I might become. I liked the idea that I could be my own agent and that my thoughts were unique. Already, I was not allowed to look the way I wanted, read as much as I wanted, wear my hair the way I wanted, climb trees, or even have friends the way I wanted. No sleepovers, no having people over, lie to others, my life was filled with lots of tutors and education and great deep sense of "our family" versus "them" out there in the scary world. And this stupid, childish list of complaints goes on and on in an annoyingly privileged, unnecessarily angst-filled kind of way. A kind of "Oh me oh my I was repressed so much, pity me!" trend that ultimately leads me to hate myself a little more everyday.

So I grew up in submission to my parents, compromising the few ways I could, which they only perceived as me "trying to be different." I survived it. I dealt with the insecurities that formed within myself and dreamed of all the things I would be able to explore later in life, all the people I could meet, all the things I could achieve. I became fixated on a career that would allow me to escape, regardless of what the career was. I felt like a sociopath the day I watched my parents drive away, leaving me on the Johns Hopkins college campus, emotionless other than a niggling, guilty sense of relief.

I would hazard a guess and say that this is a pretty typical story for an Asian American family, any immigrant family, really. My whole childhood was a constant struggle to please my parents and survive as this formulaic person, one they promised would one day be successful and happy in this world. It seemed to come as a surprise to no one when I realized that all they had promised was a falsehood, an objective meant to keep us complacently trying, and that success they described brought me me little happiness at all. It certainly was no surprise to me when I was unable to achieve any valedictorian status, not shocking to me when they discovered that I was middling and mediocre in all the academic areas they wanted me to excel. What I eventually learned was that there was always another "better" Asian out there, and that there is and always will be.

After moving away to college and discovering true, unhindered friendships and sense of self and purpose, I continued hiding who I had become to my family until the situation became absolutely untenable. To make matters worse for them, I had fallen in love. A deep, unwavering kind of love that to this day makes me feel wanted and valued, that resists the test of time and distance, with a future so unclear but still wanted, so much so that I feel it's worth fighting for, certainly worth giving up the sham that my parents and I maintain with one another. So I forced my way into their line of sight, opening my my thoughts, my relationships and actions, and worst of all, my fears to their unfettered criticism. So following the theme, it came as no surprise when I was met with anger, resentment, and a level of antagonism so fierce that my conscious mind recoiled into whatever protective recess it could. Since then, this repressed awkward animosity has become the status quo between me and my parents, sustained by a history of hurt and leveled only by the intense distance I attempt to keep between myself and them.

As time goes on and as I have passed into my 30's, this antagonism with my parents has become something insufferable, unbearable. Every conversation is met with endless resistance, anger, and argument disguised in parental self-pitying. I feel more and more worthless in my discussions with them, my existence becomes apparently more and more painful for them. My mother has made it clear that having me was an excruciating episode filled with sacrifice of her dreams and self, my conception a deep regret, that I am now either a failing investment or a burden. I try to tell myself that I am overreacting, that these are just words spoken in the heat of the moment, but how many years of these reminders can one take before I stop denying her truth? Self-denial is a tricky thing.

So, it is time, perhaps, to consider estrangement.

I can think of no other solution. Am I blind, as they say? Have I not considered other possibilities?

When I left for college, I was a shell of a person. It took too much mental effort for me to find out who I am, to fill my shell with something I didn't mind, aided by nothing but the most generous of friends and most patient of partners. I like who I am now. I have lots of flaws but I am okay with the flaws. I am happy working towards a better of version of myself. I don't feel like killing myself all the time now, I have really good days and long spans of purposeful work. It seems that the only way is to go forward or go back, I no longer see any lateral options.

I feel a great loneliness now. I wish I could put all of myself and my worries into my relationship with my partner, but I am unwilling to ask him, "When I become family-less, will you be my new family? Are you capable and willing to take on all the responsibility that entails?" I feel ashamed and selfish, I cannot ask one person to accept all my dysfunctions. I cannot ask someone to follow me into an unknown of secret dreams and eccentric ideas, much less promise anything in return other than all my love and my support. I have nothing except my thoughts to give, and the fear, that perhaps all of myself stems from my family, the thought that who I am might disappear when family is finally gone, overwhelms me.

Tart Au Citron (Lemon Custard Pie)
One 9-inch pie

1 1/4 C all purpose flour
8 TB unsalted butter, cold, cut into cubes
Pinch of salt
1/4 cold water

Custard
5 large eggs
1/2 C of heavy cream
1 C granulated sugar
Juice of 5 lemons
Zest of 5 lemons (in hindsight, would recommend less)

Assemble pie crust. Sift together flour and salt, then add butter cubes. Rub butter into dry ingredients with hands until crumbly. Add half of the water and toss until dough begins to come together, adding remaining water until a dough comes together and no crumbly flour remains. Knead gently until pastry is holding together and smooth. Wrap in plastic wrap and chill for minimum 1 hour.

Preheat oven to 350 F. Roll out pastry after chilling and line a deep 8- to 9-inch pie plate. Parbake the crust until pale in color. Let cool completely.

Lower oven to 325 F. In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs, heavy cream, and sugar until smooth. Then add the lemon juice and zest to the mixture. Gently pour the mixture into the cooled pie crust.

Place pie on middle rack of oven and bake for 35 min until just set and there is a slight wobble still in the center. Remove from oven and let cool completely before serving. Stores in refrigerator for one week.

Serve with powdered sugar, or my preference, chocolate ganache and whipped cream.
Note: Pie crust credit to Erin McDowell's all butter pie crust. Custard is a nod to Mary Berry.