I am experiencing a freaking rerun of my life with the visit of my MIL. The game, the undermining, the personal agenda, the manipulation. It is tiring and I've not even spent more than a couple of hours with her. Since she stepped in our door, she has spent a total of 2 seconds acknowledging her grandson and the rest of her free time working on getting to know the dog. That is her priority. Not surprising. Every question is potential opportunity to insert her agenda. For example, I asked her tonight "what would you like to do tomorrow." She answered "whatever you want. Why? are you taking time off." I said no in response. Every effort to guilt me but this time, it didn't work. In the past, I probably would have taken some time off but this time - NO WAY! When she arrived, we had mention a couple of things that we had in mind that we knew she would appreciate but because she needed to have the final say, she dismissed every one of them. It's annoying that after she huffed our ideas and then turned around and said "whatever you want."

What was I thinking when I thought of taking my son to meet my mother? Seeing my MIL ignoring my son gives me another wake up call that my own mother would have treated him with the same disregard. The first day my MIL arrived, she raised all of our expectations by saying that she had a gift for everyone, even the dog. As soon as we got home, I hurried my son to get him ready and seeing that my MIL was unpacking gifts, it was natural for me to assume that the little guy will get his gift. So, that's what I said to him. Not only did she not give him his gift, she gave me my gift and gets annoyed with my 3 year old when he wants to help open "our present." She then said that my son would only get his gift the following day even though he looked at her in anticipation for a gift. How cruel. Not only did my son not get his gift the following day, she just handed it to my husband.  Today, she got annoyed with the baby when the dog's gift on the counter caught his attention. She refused to let him even touch the bone and hurried us to get him his gift so that he wouldn't mess with the dog's toy. She should win the grandmother of the year award.

And then the tears. Oh boy - did they come pouring down. How she's depressed. How she missed her dog. How she missed the dog more than her husband because "he did things to her." - whatever! He should win award for putting up with her. How she didn't want to have another dog because she wanted to spend time with us. Seriously, words without action is like an empty vessel. Time and time again, she does not have our best interest at heart.  If she really wanted to spend time with us, she would have checked to see when is the best time for her visit. She would have at the very least, stayed over the weekend. She is retired, no reason for her to come for only 3 days in the middle of the week while expecting us to use all our vacation time to serve her. absolutely unreasonable.

tick tock, tick tock..... 2 more days before her departure. Lord have mercy!

For someone who hated her husband as much as she did, one would think that she would have a higher standard for her daughter. That was not the case at all. She used the same formula for me as she did for her own. She must have picked some of the worst guys for me and went behind my back when I did not reciprocate. When I was in high school, I "sort off" settled for a boy. My mother highly encouraged the relationship. He wasn't a bad kid but I went out with him cos' my mother wanted me to. While we were dating, one time she asked me to give him one of my priced diary so that he could give it back to me. She believed that I would not have the reality of being appreciated because unless I gave him something to give me, I would never have the experience of receiving a gift from him. I did what I was told and I still remembered how baffled he was. He never did give my diary back and I was as dumbfounded as he was. I was also baffled at how she would allow us and, to some extent encouraged us to be alone with the door close. She acted embarrassed when she knocked on the door to bring us snack. Looking back, it was not something I would have permitted my 16 year old daughter to do. That relationship fizzled off with no hard feelings. We were both young and innocent. The next dude she picked for me was a cop. He was no doubt extremely good looking and I think my mother had a crush on him. We were in no way compatible. Although I was considered his girlfriend, he never treated me like one. He treated me like any other girls who threw themselves at his feet. He knew he was good looking. He would bring another girl along on our date and walked ahead of me and not with me. He spent time engaging the other girl instead of me and when confronted, he claimed that she was like his little sister. Although I was only 18, I knew an eye-candy alone would not make the cut. My mother tried every possible way to excuse his behaviors and when I told her what I didn't like about him, she told on me. I was offended but I continued to give the guy a chance because my mother wanted me to. Like the previous boy, I was left unattended but this time, with a much older man. I was then exposed to the level of intimacy that I was not prepared for. That "relationship" finally fizzled off and left me feeling rather distraught for a long time. Those experiences certainly set precedence on how I picked my future relationship. I settled while leaving behind worthy candidates because I felt obligated.

My mother was even less selective with my niece. My oldest niece started staying over at her boyfriend's house at too young of an age. By then, my mother really didn't care anymore. She acted relieved and couldn't wait to get rid of her because she would had one less to care for. The well-being of my niece was the least of her priority. She was very dismissive when I expressed my concerns. In return, she rant and rave about the boy simply because he bought her some gifts for the New Year. My mother was pretty much willing to hand her granddaughter over for a few bottles of bird's nests.

She was even quicker to try to get rid of my youngest niece. Without having any discussion with the party involved, she would make persistent casual conversation about us adopting my youngest niece. She gave false hope to my niece by persistently asking her if she wanted to be her aunt's daughter. My mother took it upon herself to twist and turn words in order to fulfill her agenda without consulting anyone. She certainly did not have any regards to my niece's feelings. The so call "adoption" never materialized but I must admit that I did look into the possibility.

As much as she wanted children to give the perception of a happy family living with a white picket fence, she really didn't want the responsibility to raise us. When my 2nd brother first went to college, she used me to write letters to governmental personnel in hopes to get some fundings. I did what I was told but I didn't take the letters of rejection well. It was personal for me at the time. When a few college professors helped my brother gain some financial aide, my parents offered him up for adoption instead of thanking them for their assistance. It was my mother's idea and my dad just went along with it. Neither one of them saw anything wrong with that.

At every level, my mother tried to find ways to get rid of us in the easiest and most convenient way without making her look bad. Now that I have my son, all the more I cannot comprehend her thinking. I would never hand my son over to anyone. There is no amount of money anyone can give me for me to hand him over. He would never be that much of an inconvenience that I would remotely consider getting rid of him.

Putting it all together, none of it made sense.

Just watched Robin's Journey on 20/20. The words that resonate in my soul is the phrase uttered "it doesn't matter if you're 2 or 52, you always want your mummy when you are sick." My mummy was not there when I was sick. She was not there when I was down. She was not there to pick me up. She left me without a single phone call for the entire year to fight through my divorce all alone. She didn't care that I could be sent back to her in a body bag. I wanted my mummy through thick and thin, but she didn't want me. She never did.

Just celebrated my birthday yesterday. I was born 42 years ago to my parents.  As far as I know, they wanted a girl and there I was. My mother was thrilled that she finally got her girl. That was as far as her excitement went.  I wondered what went through her mind when she first set eyes on me. I know that I was not born with the sought after features. She had wished my eyes were a little rounder and my nose with a higher bridge. I guess I wasn't quite as pretty as she had hoped. She spent years rubbing my eyes hoping that the upper lid would stay in place giving an illusion of a bigger and rounder eyes. Other times she would pinch my nose hoping to create a higher bridge. None of the methods worked. She did say that I  was a good baby. One time when I was sick, I slept to a point that she thought I was dead. She was worried. She didn't want me dead yet, I guess. I don't really know what was her intention of having me. I don't believe that she loved me My best guess would be, if I was dead, it would make her look bad. 

But what I do know is that,  when I had my son three years ago I didn't know what to expect. I certainly didn't view him as an extension of me. I just wanted to get to know him for who he is. To me, he is not here to make me look good. He is not here to fulfill my dreams. I can't put that burden on him for I lived with that burden all my life. 42 years has gone by and I guess I have failed miserably in fulfilling my mother's dream but I have done a great job in fulfilling mine.

Yesterday was a quiet day for me. A friend brought me a cake and we had a small celebration. I opened cards and listened to my music on the way to work. I was bombarded with birthday greetings on facebook and a few friends even said "I love you." I guess I did ok. This is yet the best time of my life.

Truth is, I did have a relatively decent childhood. It wasn't all that bad. I worked at a very young age but it wasn't something that I resented. I took a lot of pride in my capability. I enjoyed teaching piano and tutoring kids in the neighborhood. I was not driven by money but more so by progress of my students. I had one or two students that I never collected money and I was okay with that. My parents bragged about it and to me, I brought them pride.

I was a happy kid. Truth is, we didn't have a lot but I never felt poor. I had the entire church compound to play in. The front yard was so large, I once rode a motorbike around it. I had the hill surrounding the church to climb on. During monsoon season, I would wake up to the gushing waterfall right in the backyard. I would put on my bathing suit and rush out to play in the fresh water coming down from the hill. The pond would overflow and me and my brothers would try to save the goldfish from being washed away. I once spotted a pair of toucan perched on the hilltop right in our backyard. We always had visits from wild monkeys. My mother was a great cook. She took a lot of pride in her cooking and she guarded that with a vengeance. A skill that she was not willing to impart. But that also meant that I had the greatest meals growing up. Meals that I now recreate with my own twist, thanks to the endless online recipes. My parents loved gardening but each stood in the opposing team. My mother would plan and attempt beautify the yard while my dad was all about harvesting from the earth, while disregarding what was there before. He would plop a papaya tree in between my mother's orchid and it absolutely infuriated her. While they bickered over nothing, I remembered being surrounded with all kinds of beautiful plants and tropical fruits. My mother had the most beautiful rose bushes. Her orchids were simply spectacular. My father had the entire orchard to feed us. We had endless supplies of papaya, mangoes and bananas. We had jackfruit and even a durian tree. My all time favorite is the custard apple  I love animals and over the years, we had cats, dogs, rabbits, chickens, duckling, dove, and even a pet monkey. We lived close to the ocean and I love every bit of it. I love the water, the sand, the endless supply of fresh fish, the sea shells, the wind in my hair.

Away from the memories of my mother, there was nothing to cry about. But yet, she was so miserable. I felt almost obligated to be unhappy. Almost felt like a betrayal if I was happy. She was also very angry with God. She would openly tell us that she scolded God for not giving her what she wanted. For not taking care of things. For giving her a useless husband. For years, she griped about how God wouldn't transform him into a better man. She complained about everything he did. She complained that he didn't do anything. She complained that he refused to help her. She complained that he looked like an idiot riding the bike under the hot sun without his shirt on. In my last visit with her, she had the same gripe. She said to me while referring to my dad,  "I don't understand how a person just won't change" and I retorted back quoting directly from Judge Judy - "I don't know - you picked him." She didn't like that. She stopped gripping about my dad for the rest of my visit. I didn't want to hear it. If she was so unhappy, then dump him. Just don't drag us in the mud. She chose to stay with him, so live with it.

Life wasn't bad at all if my mother could only see. She did leave behind a trail of emotional destruction with her years and years of put downs, manipulation, blackmail and control. It was hard to wrap my parents' memories in blankets rainbow now that they are gone. But I chose cling on to the good. I still love what I loved. I love my yard. I love my garden. I love digging dirt with my boy. I love seeing my rottie running with a bone in his mouth. I love stroking the soft hair of my nebelung. I get excited seeing the first bloom from my fruit trees. I love the ocean. I love that I am surrounded by the sea shells I collected over the years. In the midst of the bad, I chose to be surrounded by the good. The good that my parents never knew they had. The plants and flowers, the yard, the ocean, and most of all, a family.

 

When I first joined the airline, I was very quick to apologize, making me an easy target. I was picked on very early on in my career. I said sorry to everything, even when I did not do anything wrong. This went on surprisingly, for not very long. I remembered an incident where a leading flight attendant bullied me just about the entire way on our first leg. I was miserable. I apologized just about every 5 minutes. It was ridiculous! I remembered checking into the hotel upon arrival and somehow it dawned on me and I made the decision that day, that I will only apologize if I did something wrong. On the way back, the person picked on me again and I can remember the gist of the conversation to this day. The villain was blocking the ice chest and I said "excuse me" in order to get to some ice. She turned around and accused me for being rude. She insisted that I had to say "excuse me, please." I told her straight to her face that "excuse me" in itself is polite. That woman almost died and threw the biggest tantrum. She marched her way to the supervisor in first class. I was called upon. I explained myself and he took my side. He got her out of my galley and told her that she wasn't allowed there because it wasn't her assigned area in the first place. She left and my life for the rest of the journey was heavenly. I was able to do my job and not have to deal with a bully. Since that day, I don't think I've ever apologize unless I am wrong and it's been worth it.

I don't really remember the day that I learned to say "no" without feeling bad about it. Over the years, I've become pretty diplomatic. I've been able to say "no" and also able to accept "no" as an answer. Most of the time, I ended up being the person to tell that others that it's ok if they have to say "no" to me. It has worked out quite well. It helps me keep friends who are worth the while and get rid of those who aren't. I think it is important that true friends are able to do so with each other without having to feel obligated.

My mother was pretty good at saying "no" to good things and she definitely cannot accept "no" as an answer. The last request she made of me still infuriates me to no end. During my flying days, I've accumulated quite a few things. One thing that I truly love was a set of silk carpet from Turkey. The last trip that I saw my mother, I asked for the carpet and she willingly took out one. She then asked if she could keep the 2nd one and my answer was "no." Her face turned color and she rolled her eyes. She was instantaneously pissed off. The 2nd piece was a gift and I really wanted it back. The carpet was with her for years and it was stuffed away. It was never put on display or treated like something that was loved and treasured. So, I said "no." When I asked her for the 2nd time where my carpet was, she shot back at me and said "I don't know." I knew then that I'll never see the carpet again. My nieces and nephew just stood there as all of these transpired. I don't think they have ever seen anyone having the guts to say "no" to my mother. Their faces were as pale as a ghost. This summer when I went back to my brother's house and guess what I saw? my beautiful silk carpet being used as a rag. What a B^&^*&^*!! Why? I was fuming! but what can I do? That piece of carpet was just another beautiful thing that she destroyed. Kudos mum!

In the midst of the celebration, I am dreading my MIL visit at the end of the month. Her narcissism is a painful reminder of my mother's cruelty and manipulation. Like my mother, my MIL is always right. She is crude and makes convincing statement based on unfounded truth. She spent seconds to form a conclusive reality about someone or something and spent years trying to convince you of her reality. One conclusion she made of me is that I do not accept gay people and since then, she spent just about every opportunity she has to convince me that gay people are the best people around and every time she mentioned someone who happen to be gay, she made sure that I am aware of their sexual orientation. Personally, I find that extremely offensive for several reasons. Professionally, I am an advocate for diversity. Her conclusion insulted my conviction. I also find it offensive that she highlight the sexuality of a gay person and not a straight person. By doing so, she reduce the quality of the person based on his/her sexuality.  To me, a person is a person, good or bad, and who they sleep with has nothing to do with it. 

It's just annoying. I want to be nice but I am also wasting a lot of time being passive aggressive. I really don't want to spend time with her and therefore, I am not taking time off. While I would LOVE to go on my life as if she wasn't here, I also feel rather intimidated if I don't pick up a thing or two. She has concluded that I am too "sloppy" for her son when she first met me while she has cobwebs in the front porch of her trailer that is older than me. I am still very insulted when she took out her camera when I was vacuuming during her last visit as if it was monumental event. There were countless events where she has be absolutely inappropriate with me and I have kept my mouth shut. Part of the reason I kept my mouth shut is to keep the peace. Part of it is because I don't believe I can get through to her. Part of it, I was often dumbfounded by her ignorance.

I so want to speak up this time. I so want to not give a damn. I so want to look her in her face and ask her to shove it. I so want to put her in her place. I feel that it's about time someone says something. It's about time I learn to speak up for myself. What do ya think?

Spent just about all day baking yesterday and today. Getting ready for a Chinese New Year get together next weekend. Felt rather accomplished but rather melancholy. Seeing all the festivity on facebook. Family gathering. Food that I miss. I did buy half a roast duck and some BBQ pork to represent a quiet reunion dinner. Was planning to bake a cake tomorrow but the fridge is full from all the cookies and leftover. I may hold off until mid week after we clear all the leftover. On the same token, I continue to browse the world wide web looking for more recipes and of course I found something that I hadn't had for years and now, itching to attempt to make it. It is busy work to host a  Chinese New Year party but it is something that I must do for me. I know that I cannot recreate what I was not given, but I can create memories with my love ones and friends. I can create new tradition for my family to call our own.

Happy New Year!

I was watching Dateline tonight and it was a story about a minister who murdered two of his wives. It jolted a memory. A conviction stemmed from years ago. I don't even remember when I made that decision but I did swear that I would NEVER marry a minister. I was raised by a minister. I see what goes on in the church and I don't like it.

The church attracts a certain kind and they are not always good. My father in my assessment became a minister because there really was nothing else he could have become. He didn't have the education nor skills required to survive in the real world. The church gives him a refuge. He graduated from the synagogue. I know very little about his earlier job posting but by the time I came along, he only goes to places that no other minister wants to go. So much for being a servant of God. Just about every minister that I know, fought for the big churches. My father was not that humble. He didn't willingly take on the small abandoned churches to minister. He had no choice. No one else wanted him.

I have little recollection of the church where we live when I was born. We left there when I was about four or five. I did return to the church years later. It wasn't quite how I remembered it but I did walk along the pew. The pew that I hung on to, row by row when I first learn to ride the bike. The second church left the biggest impression on me. It was the place I would consider as the home I grew up in. It is the place that appear in my dream every once in awhile. I returned to that church too years later. I walked into the room where I used to sleep. The pictures we hung up when we were little were still where we left it. The cabinet where we store our stuff was still there. The table where we did our homework was pushed to the side of the wall. The "big" bathroom didn't look so big anymore. The very bathroom where my 2nd brother hosed me down because I refused to let him give me a bath when my parents were away. That was the place I have the most memories. Good and bad. Our departure from that church was one of great disgrace. My father was caught embezzling money. For years, I could not wrap my mind around it. I didn't think that my parents were capable of such things. Besides, we were so poor. I had to work so hard. The math did not add up. The incident shattered my world. I spent years after that, just curled up in bed, crying to sleep. Only to wake up and go to school like any happy teenager. I didn't miss a beat and I continue to get good grades.

That was my world for being raised in a church. I don't go to church these days but I still tune in to TV sermon periodically. I do want to raise my son in the Christian faith but I'm really not trying that hard to instill the "Christian" value. But I still talk to God. I still pray. But if I'm not married, I still won't settle for a minister.

Blogging helps to cleanse the soul. It helps to bring up many suppressed feelings to the surface and it is not always pleasant. Today, I woke up with a numbing sense of pain in my heart and I know that my entry from last night had a lot to do with it.

I cried my heart out but most importantly, I let this inner child speaks her mind. I let her vent. I let her yell at her mother for not being there. I let her confront her mother like she was there right in front of her. I let her to tell her mother like it is..... "how could you!"

 

I always feel that God has always been very kind to me. In my life time, I have stumbled into many angels who have guided me and helped to steer me in the right direction. Amongst them, a few "mothers" were sent my way.

The first time I met her was at church. She played the piano for the service and so did I. She has this hearty chuckle. She has five children and a slew of grandchildren. Can't say that they've always treated her with the respect that she deserves or if they've always made the right choices for themselves. But she loves them all irregardless. They were hers.  I had a run in with a horrible college roommate situation and she offered a place for me to stay. She charged me minimum rent. She cooked for me. She cleaned for me. Iron my clothes for me. I was spoil rotten. It was great. When they had to downsize, I had to move. She went all out to find me a good home. That's when I met my two other angels. Two strong elderly women. They took me in. Cooked for me, but didn't iron my clothes. Still, I was spoil rotten. These women has strength that is admirable. They were independent. Opinionated to say the least but full of wisdom. They loved life. One of them have since passed and I actually had a premonition of her passing, but not of my own mother. That is the level of spiritual connection I have with her. I still hear echos of her voice. Not that I listen to them all but I agree with a lot of it.

Out of the three, only one is still around .I should really be more in touch with her. Although we hardly communicate, come Christmas, I will get a calendar in the mail. Reminding me that I matter to her. She was there comforting me when my parents passed. She knows what I needed to hear. But I have never told her how much she meant to me. I have never told any one of them how much they meant to me. I don't even realize how much they actually meant to me until now. The last one standing just turned 80. She celebrated her birthday with her family and friends. I hope she sticks around a little longer because she matters so much to me.

 

My son just woke up wailing. Must have had a nightmare. I picked him up, comforted him, and finally soothed him back to bed. His cry interrupted my facebook messaging with my niece who just wanted a listening ear. A sweet sweet girl who is alone and taking on too much in her young life. A life caught in the same web of hatred and abandonment. My oldest brother apparently lost his job again. My niece was upset that now she has to foot up more of her earnings to support my mother's golden son, her father.  She also had gotten into a fight with her younger sister who is resistant to any help for her school work. Apparently, she is skipping school and flunking everything. What a legacy! I hope my mother is proud when she looks in from wherever she is! I can just hear her say to that little girl as she said to me, what's the point of education if you're going to end up useless like your aunt and uncle! The cycle of destruction continues. One can only hope that my little niece will realize the importance for self love before it is too late. As I laid with my son in his room tonight, I am reminded of how far I have come. At the same time, I am reminded of the turmoil my nieces and nephew are enduring. My son has parents who will go to great length for him. It hurts us when he cries. My nieces and nephew have no one to hold them and love them. No one to stand by them to make it better. Like me, they have a parent who deliberately hurts them. Delibrately cuts into their soul and leave them bleeding. Life is just so unfair.

The process of aging is very unkind to those who do not care for themselves. My parents' rate of aging in the last 6 years of their lives were shocking. They must have aged 20 -30 years in that 6 years. Their spirits went even further in the ditch.

My in-laws who are older than my parents have a steady rate of aging. They went through bumps in their lives like everyone else. Some bumps are more brutal than others. But they chugged along. My mother in law fell. Broke her knee cap. Was immobilized for months. At the same time, the nerves on the blind side of her eye started to rejuvenate, causing much pain. There were times when she just could not take it. But she took it like a soldier and it took more than a year, before all is much better than before. My father in law had a break down a few years ago. He needed medication to stabilize his mood and he eventually recovered. Nowadays he tells the grand kids, "remember when grandpa was crazy?"

Truth is, the body will manifest the deprivation of the soul. My mother's soul was empty and it showed. Her hatred towards life and her very own family took it's toll upon herself.

I was browsing on my brother's site and saw pictures of her posted about 3 months before she passed. She was so frail. The picture was taken in the hospital. Taken with her golden grandson. She had her hand wrapped on his wrist. Clinging on to what was left at the moment. I am sad for her. That it ended that way. The image is very confusing to my current state. Compassion for her is something I detest. Yet, as a human, I cannot allow myself not to feel compassion. I would for some stranger on the street. Why should I be resistant to feeling compassion towards the person who raised me? Maybe because the only time this person do not spit venom at me is when she is no longer able to. She literally took it to the very end. She spat at me with the last remaining breath that she had. Maybe that's why I feel detach from that image of that very very old and frail woman. A woman whom I called my mother for many years. A woman that I used to love. A woman that I wanted to please. A woman who was my world. A woman who rejected me. A woman who hated me first. A woman who hurt me deliberately. A woman who disowned me.

So, how am I suppose to feel towards this woman in return? No matter how frail the image of that woman is, I know who she is like nobody does. That's why it wasn't my hand that she was holding in that picture. That's why I was not the last person she sees as she caught her last breath. Maybe I don't need to feel anything at all. Maybe I should view that image like any old posters along the side of the street. But I can't. I am a person with a living soul. 

I was about 16. There was a knock on the door and I was to be the one that opened the door. To my shocked, a woman who looked just like my mother stood at the door. She introduced herself as my mother's sister. I graciously asked her to wait while I called for my mother. My mother came down and when she saw her sister, she was mad and she made sure her sister was well aware that she was pissed! I don't remember who opened the door to let her in but I sat and watched in amazement. Not knowing the significance of what was being transpired infront of me. I was caught completely off guard.

Her sister at some point explained why she hadn't contacted my mother earlier. She was married young and had children. A lot of children and she didn't have the resources to reconnect with my mother. Now that her children are older, she was able to trace my mother and made her way there. My mother certainly did not welcome her.

After her departure, my mother spewed venom of hatred. She claimed that as a little girl, she had written countless letters to her sister, begging for her to save her from her adopted family, and she didn't. My mother was so angry that she disregarded what it took for her sister to even find her. She disregarded her sister's own struggle.

According to my mother, her earliest recollection of her childhood was being taken to a market to be sold. Her father married off the eldest daughter (the aunt that visited) and sold the younger 2 girls to a family. My mother was sold  to a single nurse as a daughter while her 2nd sister was sold to be the family helper. Apparently the 2nd sister eventually eloped with the one of the sons and left. As for my mother, her fate apparently changed when my grandmother got married and have children of her own. My mother was to quit school and care for her younger siblings, which she resented. She claimed that at the age of 18, she was kicked out of the house and she ended up staying with a missionary until she met my father.  

I used to attribute a lot of her foolishness to her past. But as the years went on, I feel less and less convinced. I catch myself doubting her story. She was so good at lying and making convincing claim, who knows where the truth lies, or even if any of it is the truth.

A few years later, after I left to join the airline. My mother actually made a trip to visit this sister. Sounded like she had a good time visiting with her sister and her family. I don't believe there was another trip after that. But it was soon after that, my parents moved in with my oldest brother to help him with his children. That was the beginning of a downward spiral.

He was a missionary. He read and spoke Chinese and he was my mother's "true love" or at least that was what it seemed. They met when she was living with another missionary. She talked affectionately about their car ride and how she used to tease him. Calling him a monkey because he loved peanuts. I must have been in one of those car ride as she talked about an incident where I fell asleep with my doll in the backseat when a cop pulled them over and mistaken my doll as a "baby." Who knows what happened?  Sounded like they both really liked each other. Either he did not pursue her or she got impatient and married my dad. He stayed in contact with us almost our entire lives. He tried to make the best of things. Getting my father to England for a missionary class. Hoping that my father would do better, believing that my mother was unhappy in her marriage. He visited us whenever he could. He would hug my mother so tight and couldn't let her go each time when he said goodbye. He bought us presents and I still have the doll he got me almost 40 years ago. My mother in turn, named her first born after him. My father simply sat in the way side and watched. Scandalous!!

He did eventually get married and have children of his own. I visited him when I was in the airline. He was more than thrilled to see me. I met one of his son and his wife. He impressed me as a kind man. He was so tender to his son. I learned one of my very first life lesson that day. A simple nonchalant response to a wrong turn was how this man showed me that things did not have to be blown out of proportion just for the heck of it. During my visit, I also saw in his eyes that he saw my mother in me. 

For years, I would tease my mother about why she didn't marry him. She always said that things have passed and she's now too old. Looking back, she really did that man a favor. She would have destroyed him.She would have found reason to hate him and make her children hate him. She would have done to him what was done to my father. But I can't deny that she maintained a little girl dizziness each time his name was being brought up. Perhaps things might have been different if she would have ended up with him but I seriously doubt it.

I'm learning new terms each time I read a blog or article about Narcissistic Personality Disorder. The one that caught my attention is Triangulation. The control of the flow of information. So true in my family. I have been told to keep secrets all my life. Only my mother's version can be heard. Only her interpretation holds the truth while manipulating every person and situation. She makes it her mission that we hate our father. She succeeded with all 3 of us. None of us are close to our father. We have nothing to say to him and when he has an opportunity, he did not know what to say to us. We were all caught in her cycle of manipulation. When we were kids, being the youngest, I was told time and time again to withhold what I know because she "didn't want my brother to worry."

At the end of her life, she definitely established the Golden Child versus his 2 younger Scapegoats. She succeeded in causing much feud between my 2 brothers. Over the years, she managed to raise my eldest brother to the pedestal of glory. Making him believe that he bears no responsibility as they live with him and he "took care" of them. Glorying his act of irresponsibility by giving the most ridiculous justification. I was slammed time and time again for asking why my eldest brother was not working. She said "if he works, who will take us to the doctor if we fall?", "Who will take the kids to school?" When he did work, he didn't work enough hours to make for the bare necessity and she was so offended when I asked why he did not get a 2nd job. She said "he's tired enough when he gets home." She was super protective of him. My mother led him to believe that he is so kind and good for putting a roof over their head when in reality, he hadn't been paying his mortgage for months or any bills, and my mother had to lie, beg, and steal to get money to pay the mortgage off. She led this the favored child believe that he is special for they have disowned us....not once, but time and time again. And when we have the nerve to mention his wrongdoings .... like f*&%$*^ a prostitute while his wife was pregnant, emptying dad's equity, stealing from his children, etc., she led him to believe that all is forgiven because only he is by their side "taking care of them." In reality, he bum off them with our hard earn money. But don't we dare mention that. She dismiss any money we gave while having the nerve to claim that we owe her money that she has front up for raising us.

My brothers never got along for as long as I can remember but towards the end of my parents lives, the two were exchanging nasty emails going back and forth while our mother cheered them on. Providing fuel to the fire. Giving reasons to point fingers at each other. Leading the two preacher's sons to use plenty of expletives in their exchanges. I took side, I admit but I managed to distant myself and did not actively participate in the nonsense.  I didn't feed into the unfounded accusations displayed on social media by my brother. But that is not to say that it didn't anger me or hurt me. All these unnecessary discord, only so that she can feed her desire to have us in our place. How cruel of a person.

 

While I am untangling this within me, I see my oldest brother, who became The Golden Child completely engulfed by our Narcissistic Mother, and his life became emmeshed in hers. My oldest brother was one of the smartest and most talented person. As a puppet of a Narcissistic Mother for so long, he has been reduced to nothing. He has no identity to call his own. He is still seeking and searching to define himself as a person in his 50s. He holds a strong sense of entitlement. He expects others to pay for him. His wife is his bank. He has no boundaries. He does not know how to love or appreciate his children. He alienates them but gains comfort from those who can't judge him, like his puppies and children of others.

Being the scapegoat in contrary, is indeed a better place to be. Being one of the scapegoats allows me to break free from her control. It drove me to analyze her unfounded truth and create a healthier life.

I also want to have a healthier relationships with both my brothers now that she's gone. For years my 2nd brother and I were not in touch. Her act to alienate us was so successful that it took a good number of years for us to re-establish our sibling relationship. With my 2nd brother, it was not hard. We just needed time to get to know each other as adults and I like who he is today and who he has become. I look forward for his return and be in our lives more frequently.

One would think that I would disown my eldest brother after all the hurtful things he had said. But truth is, I was his baby sister and deep down inside, I know that I still am. He adored me for as long as I can remember. As a little girl, I remember sitting by the window sill waiting for him to come home because he'll be the one that brought me candy. I still have the pendant he bought for me years ago and the figuring he gave me on Valentine's Day when we were little kids. I hate what was done to him and what he is now doing to his children.

My oldest brother defriended and blocked me on facebook soon after my mum's passing. It's almost amusing because it was so childish. I spied on him via my friend's log in. It was stupid! But I did it. It was also distressing because he was the one link to my side of the family. I can't imagine having no contact ever again with my nieces and nephew. Or going back and not having a brother to welcome me. It caused more stressed than I had imagine. I spent countless sleepless night, thinking and plotting. In the end, all it needed was a phone call and that was what I did. He answered. We talked like siblings. I told him of my plan to bring my family to visit. He was thrilled. Before long, we were friends on facebook again. 

We made the trip back this past summer. My brother could not wait to see us. Without my mother, the tension in the house was gone. We were able to visit. Say what we want to say without worries. My son was able to play with his cousins with much ease. We ate, we laugh. My husband and brother hung out together at the local coffee shop. My son got to meet his uncle and it soothe my soul to see my son in his arm. It was a trip that I didn't know what to expect but it turned out the way I had hoped for. So, it was good afterall.

Diagnostic Criteria


 
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She has 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, & 9. That's more than five!