"Myself"
Anna Dang
I don’t think there’s a specific moment where I lost something drastic in my life. It all just happened little by little, but I presume there was a moment where it all struck me. I always thought that my worth had been based on me and my actions, not my grades, the sports I did, or the extracurricular activities I attended. In a way, I presume, I was wrong. This didn’t necessarily hit me until fifth and sixth grade. My mother had always been harsh on me when it came to schoolwork throughout my life. She wanted me to be as successful as she was, excelling in academics and graduating top of her class. She wanted me to be tough and fierce, but I turned out somewhat the opposite. Both my mother and I excel(ed) academically, but there was a point where it just got too much for me.
In fifth grade, I still remember the moment I was dubbed successful to my mom. My name was being called out by the principal,
“Anh Thy Dang(butchered), please come forward to receive the Presidential Academics Award!”
Boy, was I thrilled my name had been called. I hurriedly walked onto the stage and shook Principal Roberts’ hand. She handed me an off-white certificate with a huge gold seal on it. It had a large eagle with flowers next to it. As I walked to my spot on the stage, I examine the certificate more closely. ‘Signed by Donald J. Trump’ with a big swoosh of ink directly underneath it.
“FINALLY,” I thought, “all my years in the Talented and Gifted program had paid off.”
After the ceremony, my mother hugged me in joy. She exclaimed and told me how proud of me she was, tears almost streaming down her face. I looked at her with the widest eyes, observing how tremendously happy this achievement of mine made her. Slowly, I wondered, “Is this all I have to do to keep you happy? All the screaming and fighting over math, all the arguing and grudges about English, and all I had to earn was a certificate?” I gave her a forced smile and she pulled me into a tight hug. I was ecstatic at my achievement, but I think she had been a lot more thrilled than I could ever be.
The thrill lasted through the summer of fifth grade. A certificate had earned me so much praise from my mom, along with a better attitude from her.
This all changed in sixth grade. Just like now, I was trying to figure out who I was and what I was set out to do. (Not really though.) I still did everything my mom wanted me to do. I read the books she bought, took the classes she chose, joined the clubs she suggested, and played the instruments and sports she wanted to as a kid. I don’t think I realized how much of my youth I had lost until now. Every day was a new book to read, a new song to learn, a new challenge to face, and slowly, my mental health depleted. I didn’t want to touch my bass, I didn’t want to open another book, and I didn’t want to do any schoolwork. My motivation dropped more and more as my time at school went on. I started side-tracking, getting into relationships, hanging out more with people after school, and disregarding my work. I didn’t care anymore, yet at the same time, I needed so much academic validation that it broke me. I needed to stay the golden child of my family. The first one to come to America, the one to get all the awards, and the one who always had a 4.0. I didn’t know how to cope. I had no idea how to get better. It felt as if I had an illness, or there was something wrong with me. Every day after school, my mom and I would have a screaming match. The yelling, gaslighting, guilt-tripping, manipulation, I couldn’t handle it. I wanted to rip my hair out, punch a wall, anything to get away from her. Neither of us could recognize each other. I didn’t see her as my mother; I didn’t know who she was. Every attempt at communication turned into a fight I couldn’t win. She never listened, but to be fair neither did I. It seemed as if we just wanted to hurt each other.
“You can’t just think that you’re right because you’re older than me. You’ve made me feel terrible for so many years of my life.”
“Why can’t you just understand that I’m doing everything for you? You’re the only thing I have. Why can’t you ever just think of how much I gave up just to raise you?”
“How much you gave up to raise me? It was YOUR choice to have me. If I’m such a joy, why did you tell me that you literally wanted to kill yourself because of me?”
“What do you want me to do about that?! It’s in the past! Do you want me to get on my hands and knees to apologize? Oh yes daughter, you are so entitled to my apology I’m so sorry for being such a terrible mother.”
My heart dropped to the bottom of my chest. I was shaking with anger, tears streaming down my face. I didn’t know what to say back. So many things ran across my mind. I was nine. Nine years old. You don’t tell a nine-year-old that they’re the reason you want to kill yourself. Since when the fuck was that ever acceptable? I held a fist in my lap, not knowing what to say. I just stared at her in disbelief, my dad sitting in between us.
“Can I leave?”
“What do you mean leave? We are having a conversation.”
I exhaled, “Can I leave?”
My parents look at one another and finally nod. I ran up the stairs, breaking down in tears. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to exist anymore. That right then was the moment I realized I was alone. I had to protect myself, no one else will. My relationship with my mom has been a roller coaster. It hasn’t gotten much better, but I believe the distance has been good for me. My life and mentality haven’t been the same since that fight, but I guess it’s just part of the thousands of life lessons I have to go through.
In fifth grade, I still remember the moment I was dubbed successful to my mom. My name was being called out by the principal,
“Anh Thy Dang(butchered), please come forward to receive the Presidential Academics Award!”
Boy, was I thrilled my name had been called. I hurriedly walked onto the stage and shook Principal Roberts’ hand. She handed me an off-white certificate with a huge gold seal on it. It had a large eagle with flowers next to it. As I walked to my spot on the stage, I examine the certificate more closely. ‘Signed by Donald J. Trump’ with a big swoosh of ink directly underneath it.
“FINALLY,” I thought, “all my years in the Talented and Gifted program had paid off.”
After the ceremony, my mother hugged me in joy. She exclaimed and told me how proud of me she was, tears almost streaming down her face. I looked at her with the widest eyes, observing how tremendously happy this achievement of mine made her. Slowly, I wondered, “Is this all I have to do to keep you happy? All the screaming and fighting over math, all the arguing and grudges about English, and all I had to earn was a certificate?” I gave her a forced smile and she pulled me into a tight hug. I was ecstatic at my achievement, but I think she had been a lot more thrilled than I could ever be.
The thrill lasted through the summer of fifth grade. A certificate had earned me so much praise from my mom, along with a better attitude from her.
This all changed in sixth grade. Just like now, I was trying to figure out who I was and what I was set out to do. (Not really though.) I still did everything my mom wanted me to do. I read the books she bought, took the classes she chose, joined the clubs she suggested, and played the instruments and sports she wanted to as a kid. I don’t think I realized how much of my youth I had lost until now. Every day was a new book to read, a new song to learn, a new challenge to face, and slowly, my mental health depleted. I didn’t want to touch my bass, I didn’t want to open another book, and I didn’t want to do any schoolwork. My motivation dropped more and more as my time at school went on. I started side-tracking, getting into relationships, hanging out more with people after school, and disregarding my work. I didn’t care anymore, yet at the same time, I needed so much academic validation that it broke me. I needed to stay the golden child of my family. The first one to come to America, the one to get all the awards, and the one who always had a 4.0. I didn’t know how to cope. I had no idea how to get better. It felt as if I had an illness, or there was something wrong with me. Every day after school, my mom and I would have a screaming match. The yelling, gaslighting, guilt-tripping, manipulation, I couldn’t handle it. I wanted to rip my hair out, punch a wall, anything to get away from her. Neither of us could recognize each other. I didn’t see her as my mother; I didn’t know who she was. Every attempt at communication turned into a fight I couldn’t win. She never listened, but to be fair neither did I. It seemed as if we just wanted to hurt each other.
“You can’t just think that you’re right because you’re older than me. You’ve made me feel terrible for so many years of my life.”
“Why can’t you just understand that I’m doing everything for you? You’re the only thing I have. Why can’t you ever just think of how much I gave up just to raise you?”
“How much you gave up to raise me? It was YOUR choice to have me. If I’m such a joy, why did you tell me that you literally wanted to kill yourself because of me?”
“What do you want me to do about that?! It’s in the past! Do you want me to get on my hands and knees to apologize? Oh yes daughter, you are so entitled to my apology I’m so sorry for being such a terrible mother.”
My heart dropped to the bottom of my chest. I was shaking with anger, tears streaming down my face. I didn’t know what to say back. So many things ran across my mind. I was nine. Nine years old. You don’t tell a nine-year-old that they’re the reason you want to kill yourself. Since when the fuck was that ever acceptable? I held a fist in my lap, not knowing what to say. I just stared at her in disbelief, my dad sitting in between us.
“Can I leave?”
“What do you mean leave? We are having a conversation.”
I exhaled, “Can I leave?”
My parents look at one another and finally nod. I ran up the stairs, breaking down in tears. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to exist anymore. That right then was the moment I realized I was alone. I had to protect myself, no one else will. My relationship with my mom has been a roller coaster. It hasn’t gotten much better, but I believe the distance has been good for me. My life and mentality haven’t been the same since that fight, but I guess it’s just part of the thousands of life lessons I have to go through.
I don't know much about myself, but if you were to ask any of my friends for a list of my traits, egotistical and narcissistic might come up a couple of times. Though I don't think it's that bad since that's barely the beginning of the long list of red flags <3