When was it that I became aware of my drowning?
Author:
Anonymous
CW: suicidal ideation in the author’s statement
Different genders are subject to different societal pressures. The author uses poetry to describe the struggle, the pain, the coping mechanisms, and the realizations he has wrestled with regarding being a Chinese man trying to live up to family expectations. Within a family, we are often many things – we are ourselves with our own aspirations; but we are also a cultural being, and we are children of people with aspirations for us. When these identities clash, it can create an immense burden on the individual in question. These are all issues that the author has had to deal with, all issues that the author has sought escape from. His poem details his pain as he plays one question over and over in his mind: What does it mean to be a man of Chinese heritage?
The Myself
You are a man. Never forget this.
You are Chinese. Never forget this.
You are a child. Never forget this.
You are not yourself. Never forget this.
Their voices, ringing in my head.
It hurt.
It hurt me to realize that I was never acknowledged.
This torturous isolation within a community; the common paradox.
Where could I go?
Those with muffled voices are no better off than those without.
There was no one that could hear me.
Home is where the hatred is.
Hell is where everyone else is.
Is there any escape outside of the bridge?
So I drank.
The nectar that set me free.
I can retreat into the paradise of my mind.
There are no voices left, except for my own.
Just forget.
As I watched everything I ever feared slip away, all I had was Myself left.
Not a single time I had been able to refute this horrible truth.
There was nothing there at all.
I was their child. A construct of their dreams.
I was Chinese. A construct of the millennia of accumulated stories.
I was a man. A construct of systems, societies, and those influential enough to control them.
I was a construct of a structure that needed me to fit my assigned identity.
That was all there was to it.
Do your job.
How could I come to terms with such a reality?
The decision was easy.
I returned to my refuge of half-empty bottles.
\
When was it that I became aware of my drowning?
When I realized that there was nowhere else to hide.
Only two places to find resolution; within yourself, or with God.
There are days where I have chosen God.
There are days where I have chosen to pick up the shattered glass and try to make something out of it.
\
Do you know where I found my paradise?
A horrible twist of irony.
.
The phrase my name was based on:
“”
“Everyone under the sky is happy.”
Funnily enough, the truth was always with me. This prescription of mine.
You know what?
I chose to live up to it.
Not everyone, mind you.
Everyone under my sky.
As much as I can do.
I’m not a hero by any means; I often find that I am the antagonist of my own stories.
That’s fine.
We all do our best.
Where exactly do I wish for this legacy of mine to endure?
Perhaps, in the journals of my friends?
