2004: Part 1

That "worst year of our lives" comment has run over and over in my head lately. I keep thinking about it, thinking about how hard the last year truly has been...and yet, I just can't call it that. So, what year would earn the title? Surprisingly, it's been hard to narrow down. I really thought I'd figured it out (the last deployment?) but I still found myself hesitating. There were very dark moments and periods, yes, but there were also some really great things. Like going to New York. And then I knew what year takes the cake: 2004.

You're probably wondering WHY this is even something I'm putting thought into. Isn't it super negative to try to narrow down which year you'd classify as the worst of your life...SO FAR? Well, yeah, when you (I) put it that way, sure. But it has also been an interesting experiment of assessment; sometimes comparison is helpful (not comparing to others but within your own life experience). Sometimes, it's helpful to be able to look at something and say, oh, that wasn't that bad. Or, oh, that was really hard...BUT THAT was harder. And look, I survived both. Sometimes, you forget how strong you actually were...or are. You take for granted how far you've come or sell it short because you simply can't remember the darkest days. That can be a blessing and a curse. A blessing because they aren't a forboding face always lingering over your shoulder. A curse because of everything mentioned above and also the weird, out-of-body feeling of knowing that you honestly DON'T REMEMBER chunks of your life.

It was 2004. I moved back to America. For good. For the first time. I had come back to visit lots of times. But it was just that; visits. It never held any permanency. It felt more like a vacation or weird parent work trip sometimes. Deep down, we all knew we'd have to return to our birth country (note, not home country) someday. And for me, that was something I tried not to think about too much. The idea of going back was kind of exciting in some ways. College was an intriguing idea. But the part that no one talked about was all the friends from other countries who would have to return to their own "homes." All of those relationships would be largely over in the closeness sense. I have friends all over this globe that at one point felt as close as family and that separation still hurts.

That year and what laid out after it is something I've never fully unpacked. Fully? How about not AT ALL. And I think I'm finally ready. This is the year. It's been 16 years and that year still haunts me. And I couldn't be able to explain exactly why in so many words. Because words don't cut it. But hopefully, with time, words can bring some healing. Telling my story can help clean out that wound, maybe.

We returned to our countries of origin. But where we had been for our formative years, for the MAJORITY OF OUR LIVES...that is the place we will always call home. Rightly so. This rise of defensive emotion bubbles up in me, a natural defensive response, in anticipation of having to explain or defend the right to claim another place as home, not the one I was born into. For some, it's so hard to accept. For others, the logic shines through. Why would some place you've only lived 4-5 years, years you barely remember, be held in such high regard? Why would it define the rest of my life when it was almost entirely absent from the rest of my life experiences?

Back to the point. We all went "home," to the place on our passports. 

I've thought a lot this past year about that first year. I have wondered long and hard, tried to think of some way that would have saved me all this heartache and pain and struggle within myself. And the answer is it's simply unavoidable. I can think of things I definitely would have done differently. So many things. But in the end, I truly believe I would have had to face the transition sooner or later and it would have always been hard. Always.

I remember the bits and pieces of that year as fragments of anxiety. Episodes of panic, bottled up and held behind carefully calculated eyes and practiced expressions of calm.

I came from somewhere where I was always watched, like a celebrity. Both by the local population and authorities, we were all always watched. You just learned to live with being stared at. This isn't an exaggeration. Imagine leaving your house to go to school and every person you passed (in your "town" of 6 million people) turned and stopped what they were doing to stare at you.

But I felt myself there. I had become myself there.

Here, in America, I was supposed to be stared at because I was NOT like anyone here. It made sense. I was different and, maybe for the first time, I wanted to be noticed for it. I didn't want to be mistaken for just another American citizen because I wasn't. But also for the first time, I suddenly blended in. 

Your ears get attuned to different accents, different languages, different rates of speech. Your brain shortcuts and fills in the blanks when it is familiar with a pattern. When that pattern is disrupted, everything slows down. Things get confusing and take longer to process. Even in your native tongue. Describing it like this almost makes me think of the aftermath of having a stroke. You have to relearn things or learn new ways of doing things that fit your abilities. Coming to America was like that. Hearing Americans speak English the way they speak English (because English is not just English), it was like that. It still is sometimes. Sometimes, someone is speaking to me in English and I just can't understand them. In 2004, people would say things and I just couldn't understand them and anxiety would set in and I'd feel like I was going to have a panic attack. But I still didn't really understand what that felt like or what I was experiencing. So, I just felt really foolish for having to have them repeat themselves 5 times and finally just giving up. I was a foreigner all right, but no one would have guessed I was by looking at me. So, I probably just seemed really weird.

I got a job and I remember getting "sick" one of my first nights on the way to start my shift. I felt so horrible, had the cold sweats and abdominal pain. It came on suddenly and I felt like an idiot for having to ask my mom to tell my manager, after driving me the whole way there, that I was sick and couldn't come in. I recognize it now as a complete anxiety panic attack. But I didn't even know at that point that I struggled with anxiety. I did not recognize it as such until maybe 2 or 3 years ago, 13 years later.

Getting a job felt like what I was "supposed" to do to "feel more like Americans do." Or feel less like an outsider. Get an idea of how to survive. But looking back, I feel like I had no time to process anything. Which has made my life with anxiety even worse.

I was holding on for something. Going to college was supposed to be really fun and where I'd learn to be really great at something, either art or music (or both!). So, I awaited that with anticipation of some sort of...fulfillment. Like it would make everything okay. It would make me realize that that was where I was meant to be. My brother was there so I would know someone and he seemed to love it. Therefore, so would I. I had to. And the following summer or Christmas, I'd be able to go back home, to my real home, back to China.

To be continued...