Time to humanise myself a little bit.

Even though I give advice here more than I post journal entries, and seem to be detached and as insightful as I can, I am not without the turbulence of any teen that has recently been launched into adulthood.

I guess this journal entry is going to be a bit different. I haven't talked about my family or problems for a while. I'm not in denial, I just feel strong enough not having to... admit them. I see that's akin to giving in. It's giving the problem credibility and power over my life and augmenting its significance. So in a weird way I keep them under the radar of other people - but cancerous as they are, they are still an integral part of me, grown and nurtured and intertwined as part of my life.

So, I'd appreciate if you took the time to appreciate what I have to say. Because I'm opening up, now, for now.

So I turned eighteen. I've homestayed for seven years. Being separated from my parents at a mere ten-years-old had been a traumatic experience - especially to be in two culturally contrasting countries. Not only is there a generation gap, there's also a great cultural divide. I'm very liberal, arty, social, and unrestrained living in New Zealand, whereas my parents hold the orthodox, conservative, and conditioned views of traditional Asian culture. I am the oldest son of the family, and I'm supposed to 'continue the bloodline'. When Father visited me two weeks ago he kept enforcing that on me. Asian culture is inherently sexist. Not having kids and anything that isn't the nuclear family is unacceptable. We had a small argument over this. Even my older sister, at a mere twenty-one, is not exempt from the pestering of a father that desperately wants to hold grandchildren.

So perhaps it's interesting I made no real mention of my father's visit here in New Zealand earlier on, considering he only visits once say every three years. There are just so many things in my life I no longer mention. Because in a way they have become inconsequential - I deal with them as they come and then they're gone. Just like Father left New Zealand already. So really, I could not post about this at all - and it really doesn't matter one single bit.

Don't get me wrong though. I know Father loves me. We have conflicting views and many cultural clashes, but the love is undeniable. He sends a lot of money every week and he pays for rent. The love had to manifest itself in a different way. We're separated by cirumstance and not by a choice on our part. And having to live away from my parents have developed my emotional independence and maturity at a much much younger age. From ten-years-old when I left them I realised the only constant in my life will always only be me - even though at such a young age I could only feel its effect and was unable to materialise the concept yet. I had to sort any shit out myself. So I realised, no one's ever good enough for that exteme form of intimacy.

There's more I was going to say. Much more. But no one likes long entries, not even myself. So I'm going to stop. At least I tried. And grandpa passed away a few days ago. Don't ask me how I feel about it. If I wanted to talk about everything, everything would still mean nothing even when it's concretely laid down onto a page. There is no catharsis in doing so.

I can give myself the perfectly crafted advice. But that doesn't absolve the possibility of the problem from arising in the first place. That's the irony.