Going Home
3:09 AM
So yesterday I went back to my parents place.
FYI, I haven't been back there for a year now, and man, that house has moved on.
Everything looks somehow different. First, my dad got a brand new all-in-one desktop computer. One of those. You know where the motherboard is integrated with the monitor. And the old PC is now sitting in my room, collecting dust. Now, this old PC is a freaking veteran having witnessed much conflict between my dad and I. During high school, I was really addicted to DOTA, this online multiplayer game if you didn't know. My dad was obviously against me playing computer games, just like any good controlling Asian parent. And what better way to control your kid than through operant conditioning, which he had a good theoretical knowledge of without probably even realizing. Props pop. Negative punishment. That's what it was. He hid the PC's power cord or monitor cord, sometimes even the router, so I wouldn't have access to the game. Decrease in gaming behavior? -insert opposite of "heaven yes"- Little did he know, his son was not stupid. I obviously didn't wait around and subjugate myself to his reinforcement schedule. I took my conditioning process in my own hands.
To all the addicts out there: when the reward is removed, look for it yourself.
Like a labrat (lebrat?), I went on little treasure hunts around the house looking for my reward. And upon discovery, immediate gratification. Delayed whatification? Simply satiation. Afterwards, I'd put the item in question back in the original hiding spot so I don't arouse any suspicions from dad.
Unfortunately, my dad was not stupid either. For some reason, he'd always check if the motherboard was warm (= used) when he came back home.
He would then change the hiding location after finding out that I found out. At one point, he even started to bring my precious with him to work so I wouldn't find it.
But two could play his little game. I started to hide parts of the PC too.
"What? What power cord? I have no idea where it is."
After a while, this seemingly harmless game would go too far. Huge blowouts and uproar it caused.
"I know you hid it. Give me back the power cord right now. I need to use the PC."
"You know, the cost of this PC was partially covered by the Canada Child Tax Benefit. I say I technically own 10% of it. Therefore, I declare this power cord to be mine. I can do whatever I want with it."
"You give it to me right now young man."
"Give me the WIFI router then."
"Stop bombing around. Give it to me now."
"If I can't play, you can't play either. Why don't you give me my 10% in cash and then I'll give you back your power cord?"
"Son of a bomb. This is my bombing house, if you don't bombing like it, you bombing leave right now motherbomber."
"Fine. Why don't you go to the opposite of heaven!"
I'd pick up my schoolbag and run away from home. Nowhere to go obviously at night. In bus shelters or parks I hid. Then those dark thoughts would come. They never failed me really. They became my source of comfort and accomplices in my anger and loneliness.
"How to kill myself..."
My mom only finished work around 11pm. When she got back home and learned that I ran away, she would patrol the area to look for me. Always she found me. She knew exactly where I would go b/c I would never go too far. Upon seeing her, I'd break down in front of her, releasing all my anger, all my sadness.
"Mom I don't want to live anymore."
"Me either. But you know I am only choosing to live right now because of you. You are the reason why I live."
Tears. Abundance. Home. The next day, a second bout of steam blowing with dad.
FYI, I haven't been back there for a year now, and man, that house has moved on.
#withoutme
Everything looks somehow different. First, my dad got a brand new all-in-one desktop computer. One of those. You know where the motherboard is integrated with the monitor. And the old PC is now sitting in my room, collecting dust. Now, this old PC is a freaking veteran having witnessed much conflict between my dad and I. During high school, I was really addicted to DOTA, this online multiplayer game if you didn't know. My dad was obviously against me playing computer games, just like any good controlling Asian parent. And what better way to control your kid than through operant conditioning, which he had a good theoretical knowledge of without probably even realizing. Props pop. Negative punishment. That's what it was. He hid the PC's power cord or monitor cord, sometimes even the router, so I wouldn't have access to the game. Decrease in gaming behavior? -insert opposite of "heaven yes"- Little did he know, his son was not stupid. I obviously didn't wait around and subjugate myself to his reinforcement schedule. I took my conditioning process in my own hands.
#likeabauss #onlychildproblem #giveyourchildasibling
To all the addicts out there: when the reward is removed, look for it yourself.
#howwedo
Like a labrat (lebrat?), I went on little treasure hunts around the house looking for my reward. And upon discovery, immediate gratification. Delayed whatification? Simply satiation. Afterwards, I'd put the item in question back in the original hiding spot so I don't arouse any suspicions from dad.
# deceiver #lejaune
Unfortunately, my dad was not stupid either. For some reason, he'd always check if the motherboard was warm (= used) when he came back home.
#paranoiactivity
He would then change the hiding location after finding out that I found out. At one point, he even started to bring my precious with him to work so I wouldn't find it.
#checkmate
But two could play his little game. I started to hide parts of the PC too.
"What? What power cord? I have no idea where it is."
#passiveaggression #originalsin
After a while, this seemingly harmless game would go too far. Huge blowouts and uproar it caused.
#screamostyle
"You know, the cost of this PC was partially covered by the Canada Child Tax Benefit. I say I technically own 10% of it. Therefore, I declare this power cord to be mine. I can do whatever I want with it."
"You give it to me right now young man."
"Give me the WIFI router then."
"Stop bombing around. Give it to me now."
"If I can't play, you can't play either. Why don't you give me my 10% in cash and then I'll give you back your power cord?"
"Son of a bomb. This is my bombing house, if you don't bombing like it, you bombing leave right now motherbomber."
"Fine. Why don't you go to the opposite of heaven!"
#convoextract #translation
I'd pick up my schoolbag and run away from home. Nowhere to go obviously at night. In bus shelters or parks I hid. Then those dark thoughts would come. They never failed me really. They became my source of comfort and accomplices in my anger and loneliness.
"How to kill myself..."
My mom only finished work around 11pm. When she got back home and learned that I ran away, she would patrol the area to look for me. Always she found me. She knew exactly where I would go b/c I would never go too far. Upon seeing her, I'd break down in front of her, releasing all my anger, all my sadness.
"Mom I don't want to live anymore."
"Me either. But you know I am only choosing to live right now because of you. You are the reason why I live."
Tears. Abundance. Home. The next day, a second bout of steam blowing with dad.
#trauma
A tangent. I have always been rather suicidal. No worry for I have also been rather chicken to execute any of my plans, thus the reason I am still here with you today. Now let us delve a bit into my suicidal ideation if you don't mind. I have always felt that my life had no purpose. Back in high school, trying to achieve high grades was all that kept me going. I always felt like my parents cared more about those two-digits numbers than their own son's well-being. Toppings: I had no friends whom to rely on either. I was a closed case. Felt like a nut job. That's why I exclusively resorted to gaming in order to find meaning for my life. To have a sense of control. My one and only. Way out. To tell you the truth, ever since I came to Canada at the age of 10, I never felt I fitted in or belonged. Something about this place called Quebec. After high school, I promised myself I would never be a lonely outcast anymore. Thus, I found myself a new purpose subsequently in college. To become cool and popular so people would like and appreciate me. I just wanted to be acknowledged and cared for. Was that too much to ask for? Was I really that unlovable?
The answer was no. And I have been found.
The answer was no. And I have been found.
#tobecontinued
There. Another broken puzzle piece of myself that I present to you. I had no idea this post would turn out like this honestly. Was originally just going to write about how I thought it was weird to go back home. After seeing the inside of my parents' house again, it made me wonder if that is going to be me in 5 or 10 years. Owning a house. And a bunch of stuff. Covered in dust.
Photography by Maria A.
