Girl and City

I know many of my entries these days have been rather materialistic – about my travels to New York, shopping sprees¹, limos and champagne, etc. – but my life hasn’t been all about that.

If you recall, the day I got my job offer was also the day my father was fired. Since then, my mom has been bringing home the paycheque. Needless to say, this arrangement is not exactly ideal. My father has always been “motivated to succeed” and losing his job deeply hurt his pride. Moreover, there aren’t a lot of jobs out there these days, especially for a man of his seniority and experience. I have been hesitant to ask how the job search is going when my parents call me because I don’t want to give him unnecessary pressure. His own pressure to be the man of the house should be more than enough.
But from what my mom has told me, my father’s pride may be his undoing. He is so convinced of his own value and self-worth that he has been very picky about what jobs he applies to. Obviously, an entry level job would be beneath him, but at the same time, can he really expect to get a high-paying management job when firms are trying to slim down their middle management in this recessionary period?
Due to his own stupid mistake (long story regarding his email settings) the job search has been fruitless and it has already been a month. This weekend, when I got back from New York, I finally broached the subject with my father as we were in the car.

It was clear that there were very limited job opportunities in his industry of expertise, although his IT skills could be applied to other industries as well. He mentioned that he had seen (comparatively) more IT job postings in health care and banking, and I immediately encouraged him to pursue those leads. At first, he was reluctant, as he would essentially have to “start over” as far as domain expertise, but I told him that if he got in early in an infant industry, he could get promoted fairly quickly. He seemed to take my advice, and the more we talked, the more he warmed up to the idea of doing IT-related things for health care (which I convinced him was a recession-proof industry with heavy government subsidies in Canada, and therefore, more stable than banking). He might have to take some time to re-train himself, but he actually seemed excited about having to learn new things and the prospect of a new challenge².

The conversation left a few impressions on me. It made me realize that even my father, who has a PhD, who has worked for over twenty years, has insecurities about his abilities. It made me realize that I have valuable information and insights, particularly because I go to business school, that are applicable to real life and useful for pragmatic decision-making. It made me realize that my parents see me as equals. My voice has always been heard in our household since there’s only three of us, but giving advice to my dad about his career really cemented this feeling.

At the end of the conversation, not only was I able to shed some light on recent trends and give some advice on attractive industries, but I was actually able to make my father feel excited about his career. I could tell he had been dreading fully plunging himself into the job search because it would re-confirm his unemployed status, and it would also make him anxious about his abilities and value to a potential employer. But after this discussion, he was infected with some of my “the world is your oyster” talk. Even though he is much older than me, I really do believe that he can start a new career, that he can find a job that he actually wants to get up in the morning for, and that it can totally be worth it to start over.

So, Dad, here’s to starting over. Cheers.

1. I have yet to write about what I bought, which I plan to as soon as I have time to take some pictures. So yes, more materialism to come. [↩]
2. As opposed to finding another job doing exactly the same thing, particularly a management job with few technical challenges and more HR challenges. My father is not really a people-person. [↩]

On Saturday morning, my parents called five times. Normally, they call me on Sunday mornings, but ever since they spent a week at my apartment, my mom has been calling me whenever she felt like it. It was really starting to peeve me (can you tell I’m someone who needs my space?).
I was at a training event so I didn’t pick up the phone. On the sixth call, I finally picked up and hissed, “Stop calling me! I’m busy!”
“Oh, I thought you just hadn’t woken up yet.”
“No, I’m up. I’m at a training event. Call me tomorrow!” Then I hung up.

So this morning, they called again. Even though I was working on my take-home exam, I picked up, like promised.
“We’re going back to China.”
What? Is this a joke? Is this just to spite me because I didn’t want to talk yesterday?

My parents, unlike the parents of some of my friends, are not the kind to suddenly decide to go back to China. They are not impulsive, they love their home here, and they hate change. Sometimes, these attributes can be quite frustrating, but more often than not, I appreciate that I have the most dependable parents in the world. Until now.

“What do you mean you’re going back to China? Both of you?”
“Well, your grandmothers (mom and dad’s side) are feeling ill. Plus, both our companies are very unstable right now. We might as well use up our vacation before they fire us.”
“So, you are planning to come back?”
“Well, yes, at the moment. But your father’s company can’t get financing and my company is all over the news with its recall, so if it seems like we won’t have jobs when we come back, then we might stay in China a little longer.”
Well, at least I know it’s not my fault. It’s the fault of the economy. The economy is literally driving them away. If they do both lose their jobs, I will be screwed. Law school costs are ridiculously high, there are no such things as full scholarships, I don’t even think there are such things as scholarships for international students, and I have no guarantor in the U.S. so it will be difficult to get a loan that large.

This weekend, I will go back to The City to see my parents, then next week they will abandon me and our dog, and fly halfway around the world. Stupid economy.

As for what I said earlier about them being the most dependable parents in the world. Once every decade or so, they do make drastic changes. I don’t know if it’s because of hormones, mid-life crises, alignment of the stars, or what have you. About ten years ago, I came home one day to a living room filled with technological gadgets. They had suddenly decided they needed to keep up with the times and replaced every piece of technology in our house for fear that it was going to be obsolete. Five years ago, I came home one day to a living room covered in floor plans. They had suddenly decided they wanted to buy a new home, and not just any new home, a new home the size of a mansion. They argued that my future husband and I, and our imaginary baby, would each need rooms. “I will never, ever live with you when I get married,” I told them flatly.
So yes, once in a blue moon, my mother and father will actually agree wholeheartedly with each other on some major, drastic change, even though they can fight for hours over the most insignificant decisions.

Thus is married life I suppose.

This past weekend, I went on a mini-break with my parents. We visited a few provincial/national parks/conservation areas. We brought our dog, packed some food, and hiked some trails.

My parents stayed at my apartment in University Town for the weekend (because it was near the provincial parks), but my roommate had moved out of my apartment, so I had no furniture (except the furniture in my bedroom), no internet, and no TV. My parents slept on the floor on an air mattress. We made makeshift tables out of cardboard boxes, we listened to the radio, we drank wine out of plastic cups, and I cooked with a rice spatula because my roommate accidentally took my stir-fry spatula. It was ghetto living, but it was fun. My parents laughed more this weekend than I’ve seen them do in a long time. And when they drove away on Monday, I cried.

I’ve never been close to my parents. I think the last time I felt emotionally attached to them was when I was 11. When I was 12, I spent three months away from my parents and I didn’t miss them once. I have never cried out of homesickness. And yet, after a mere weekend together, my 21-year-old self bawled cried as I watched my parents drive away and I was left, literally, in an empty apartment.

I cried because I finally realized the importance of family. No matter what, my parents will always love me, put me first, care for me, worry about me. They would die for me, but more importantly, they live for me. They are utterly devoted to me whether I recognize it or not, whether I thank them for it or not. A few months ago, I resented them for being emotionally closed off. They never said things like “I’m proud of you” or “You did good,” and I resented them for making me feel like I wasn’t good enough. Be that as it may, there were a lot of things I never said to them either. “Thank you,” “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” Perhaps my inability to open up emotionally is still “their fault,” perhaps I am very much the product of my upbringing, but all I could think was “I should have known better.” Knowing them, knowing myself, I should have known they were proud of me even if they never said it. I should have known they loved me even if they never told me.

I am so silly.

I was so focused on finding someone who cared about me, when I had two people who lived and breathed for me right beside me. Instead of embracing them, I was pushing them away and then desperately looking for a relationship (or friendship) to fill the gap.

I have so much growing up to do.
(more…)

“We thought you would get better as you got older, but apparently not.”
“What do you want from me?”
“To not lie to us! To tell us things! You don’t tell us anything!”
“You don’t exactly make it easy for me to tell you things.”

Almost a week after the car incident, my mom spontaneously comes up to me and accuses me of trying to cover up the accident.
“That’s absurd! It’s a huge dent. What did I think, oh, ‘If I don’t say anything, my mom is not going to notice this huge dent’? I’m not that stupid!”
“Well, I don’t know what you were thinking! Why didn’t you say something right away?”
“Because I came home after you went to bed and you left for work before I woke up! By the time you came home, you’d already formulated your own theory about how your car got hit in the parking lot. And I was the one who pointed out that that was impossible because the dent was below the bumper and no car hits that low. Why would I say that if I were trying to cover it up?”
But I already knew, this argument was not really about the car. We’d already put aside the car issue days ago. This was about something else.
“You’re always lying to us, we can’t trust you at all. I mean, you don’t trust us to tell us the truth. We’re family! You’re supposed to trust family!”
“Well if you don’t trust me, why would I trust you? You’re the parents, you should be the ones taking a leap of faith first.”
Clearly, she did not agree with me. The who-trusts-who-first was like a catch 22 in our relationship.

That night, I had trouble sleeping. There were some parts of the conversation that were stuck in my head.
You’re always lying to us…
We thought you would get better as you got older…
You don’t tell us anything…

As a teenager, I barely spoke to my parents, and it was no secret that I wanted to move out as soon as possible. Once I was in university, my relationship with my parents improved vastly (something my mom did not give me any credit for in our fight). Since our relationship was limited to phone calls and the occasional weekend visit, it was a lot easier for me to control what they knew about my life based on what I told them. This meant I lied a lot less, and they seemed to trust me more.
But the more I spend time at home, the more I am suffocated by their boundaries and judgments, and the more I start lying again to be able to do the things I want. If my mom wanted frank and open communication, did that mean I should tell her I wanted to go clubbing on Friday night, drink with my friends, and come home at 3 in the morning? I wanted to be a good daughter, which by my parents’ definition precluded drinking and clubbing. Did wanting these things make me irresponsible? What is so wrong about a 20-year-old who wants a girls night out with her friends? How would I make my parents understand without being judged as irresponsible? Did lying about this sort of thing to protect my reputation as far as my parents mean I was immature or was there something more to it?

Why did I systematically lie to them? Why did I withhold so much information? Clearly, my parents only knew half of the person I was, the half I wanted them to see. But why did I compartmentalize myself? When did I start? (more…)

The other night, I was supposed to go out for dinner with OBF and ALS, but we ended up eating at OBF‘s house because she was “too broke” to pay for parking or food in The City. Saving money always sounds like a good idea to me considering the amount of shopping I have been doing, so I agreed.

After two hours of feasting on pasta and strawberry shortcake, I decided it was time to go home. My mom was still being a bitch extraordinaire due to work-related stress plus menopause, so I did not want to stay out too late and give her something to bitch about. As I backed out of OBF‘s driveway, I heard a loud thud. I whipped my head around to look out the back window, but I couldn’t see anything. It was dark and raining. I got out of the car and checked the rear bumper. It was hard to see anything, but I ran my head along the bumper and didn’t feel any scratches.

Phew, I thought. My mom would kill me if I scratched her car. I mean, a few weeks ago, I had accidentally scratched the front bumper when I was trying to squeeze into a parking space, and she’d flipped out when she noticed. That was barely a mark. Ever since, I had been extra careful, always parking far away from other cars in wide open areas. And I’d always check the car doors before and after I parked to make sure no one had banged into them.

As I drove home, I stopped at a 24-hour grocery store on a whim and decided to buy my mom some flowers. She’s been extra cranky lately, mostly due to menopause but partly due to stress at work. I certainly didn’t help the situation when I told her we couldn’t go fishing this weekend because of the wedding I had to attend. The fishing thing was a two-week walleye migration and this weekend would be our last opportunity to go. I shouldn’t have felt guilty considering she knew I had this wedding months ago, but when my mother looked so unhappy every morning, how could I not feel guilty?
So I bought her some flowers and took the opportunity to check the car’s rear under better lighting in the parking lot. Still, I did not see a single scratch. This was weird, considering how loud the noise was when I backed out. Maybe God is giving me a break, I thought. Because I really don’t need another reason for my mother to be upset with me. Besides, I am a good daughter. I do want my mother to be happy. I mean, her unhappiness has been on my mind for two days, and now I am getting her flowers in the middle of the night. I am not thoughtless. And I don’t deserve this guilt-trip.

On Friday, my mom came home from work and called me out of the house to look at the car. And there it was. An enormous scratch on the rear bumper. It was hidden on the side, below the part of the bumper that sticks out, but it was still a huge, obvious dent. Oh fuck.

So now my parents think I am a bad driver, despite the fact that I had not gotten a single scratch on her car since I started driving. Oh, another secret I have kept from my parents. They think I started driving last August, when I got my license. Actually, I started driving the Christmas before that, because they were on vacation and I was stuck in a house in the middle of nowhere. And although it had been two years since my driving lessons, and I had no license, I drove anyway. I even drove on the highway, by myself, for the first time, at midnight. No biggie.
I’ll admit that it wasn’t the smartest decision I’ve ever made, and I was a far better driver once I’d actually gotten my license than that one Christmas I spent terrorizing the streets, but even then, I did not get a scratch on the car.
And all of a sudden, in a span of two weeks, I scratch the car twice?
Is it really because I’ve suddenly become a worse driver, or is my luck just running this way?

I’m not religious, but sometimes I feel like some higher power or fate or something is deciding arbitrarily whether my life is in a rut. I mean, I have had ridiculous bad luck streaks before. The decision to throw my life in the shits, once made, cannot be reversed no matter how hard I try. It’s only over when “they” say it’s over. When it’s high, everything is going my way. I might as well have angels clearing paths for me. I could go to an interview in a Kool-Aid costume and still get the job. When it’s low, everything is in the shit. I can’t get a job. I can’t get a scholarship. My mom is constantly screaming at me. And I am constantly getting into situations where she has a right to scream at me.

So, in conclusion, the night I spent at my friend’s house for dinner in order to save $10 on parking and $30 on dinner ended up costing $1500 in car repairs.