room. He lifted my wig, saw my bald head, and
lectured me about disrespecting Mom.
“Your body is a gift from your parents. You
shouldn’t upset your mother.”
“Giving birth to you almost killed her. Her back still hurts.”
I burrowed under the covers, tears stinging my eyes. “I didn’t ask to be born,” I said, my voice flat.
I wished she hadn’t given birth to me.
The door flew open. Mom’s voice was shrill, frantic. “Ashley! We don’t owe you anything! We
fed you, clothed you, sent you to college! We don’t deserve this disrespect!”
“Do you know what people are saying about you?!”
“They say you’re a bad person, a loner, a freak! That you’re quiet as a mouse, dumb as a rock! That you’re ungrateful! That you didn’t even cry
<
when your aunt and uncle died! That you’re a
spoiled brat, an ungrateful wretch! They say you’ll die alone and no one will care!”
Those words stung, but not as much as hearing
them from my mother’s mouth.
“Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is for us? People say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree! You’re rotten to the core! How is this my fault? Which of your disgusting habits did you learn from me? I’m not the one who’s wrong! I’m the victim here!”
“Do you think I wanted you? If I’d known you’d turn out like this, I’d have stayed childless! You’re a waste of my money, my time! All that money…enough to buy another house…”
So, being my mother was a burden, a hardship.
I pushed myself up, ignoring the pain, and pulled out a debit card from my bag. I slammed
<
11:22
it on the mahjong table.
“Here’s your $72,000. Every penny.”
“We’re even now.”
Mom stared at me, speechless. Dad picked up
the card, examining it. “Is there really $72,000 on here? Where did you get this kind of
money?”
Tears streamed down my face, my voice raw. “I
saved it. While everyone else was out partying, I
ate ramen. While they were shopping and sleeping in, I was working…”
I’d never slept in. Never seen a movie in theaters. My life was an endless cycle of work and exhaustion. What choice did I have? I was
born in debt. Indebted to my parents, indebted to my aunt and uncle.
Every penny I spent was a weight on my
11:22
shoulders, shackling my confidence, stifling my courage. I never felt like I belonged, nover foll comfortable enough to speak my mind, to tako
up space.
I was a cockroach, surviving in the shadows, fooding off scraps, unnoticed and reviled.
Just…existing.
- 15.
Mom’s face hardened, but she still hold her chin high, maintaining her composure. She looked
down at me.
“You think money settles everything? I gave you
life! You’ll never repay that debil”
“Then I’ll give you my life back,” I choked out,
tears blurring my vision. But I stared at her,
unflinching.
<
The last time I’d cried like this was three years ago. A sunny, sweltering afternoon. A coworker, almost 40, was talking about how her parents still treated her like a child. How they called
every day to remind her to look both ways
before crossing the street, to walk in well–lit
areas, not to open the door to strangers, not to buy street food, not to pick up things off the ground…
Everyone chimed in, sharing similar stories. I sat
there, my head in my hands, tears silently
streaming down my face.
I was 23. That was the first time I realized:
parental love could last that long..
- 16.
Mom faltered for a moment, grabbing Dad’s
arm for support. But her voice was still cold.
“Even in death, you’ll owe me.”
<
“I brought you into this world.”
Despair washed over me.
- 17.
Maybe she was finally too disappointed in me,
but Mom stopped her constant criticisms. She
also stopped talking to me altogether.
“I saw Jason’s car parked outside. Is he here to
see Brittany?” she asked Dad one evening.
“Really? I should call her!”
“She’s been heartbroken. Jason hasn’t been
answering her calls. She’s cried herself hoarse.
Come with me to the store. I’ll get her some
lozenges.”
“Not too many. She’s always had sensitive
teeth. Can’t have too much sugar.”
<
11:22
My throat had been raw since I got back. The
tumor was pressing on my vocal cords. But no
one seemed to remember what my voice used
to sound like.
I came out of my room and sat on the couch.
Mom’s cheerful mood vanished. She switched.
off the TV and walked away, slamming her
bedroom door.
Dad, still angry about my “giving my life back”
comment, filled his thermos with hot water and
went to his room without a word. Soon, I heard.
their laughter. Loud, boisterous laughter that
grated on my nerves.
I was invisible again.
But soon, I wouldn’t be. Soon, I’d make my
presence known.
- 18.
