Well, surprise, surprise. Every time I go back to Maryland, I fall into an abyss of overthinking and paralysis. Invariably, at some point during my visit, my brother calls to do three things: feign concern for my parents, proselytize the merits of his quack science and quack religion, and ask for more money. Mind you, homeboy lives in one of the most expensive cities in Asia rent- and utilities- free, and he STILL can’t manage his fucking budget. My brother is just so damn off kilter that I can’t help but cull through our entire history to figure out what the hell went wrong and where.

It’s so weird bc you know all those studies about child development and how people say character/personality is some combination of genetics and environment? Man, with so many friends and acquaintances now with kids, I hear so many thoughts on parenting styles and tactics and in creating the right environment for kids. Honestly, it only reaffirms my own child-free stance: the juice just ain’t worth the squeeze!

A few years ago, I remember one coworker was on like her third year waking up in the middle of the night for her crying child. When I mentioned the Ferber method (where you train the child to cry it out and self soothe), she was convinced that the technique would create trust issues and irreparable psychological damage. Really? Something as basic as letting them cry it out?

Thinking about my own parents, their methods were definitely stress inducing. I mean, dad had a temper, he was impatient, and they were both obsessed with school and achievement. When my brother couldn’t solve a homework problem and he didn’t get it after dad tried to explain a few times, dad would lose his shit and call my brother “stupid.” All while growing up, we were constantly compared to their friends’ kids. I suppose the intention was to motivate us to step up but…

And whenever people praised us, my love-withholding parents would tell us people were just sweet-talking us and pulling our chains. We weren’t really that good, they’d insist. I’m telling you, it was exhausting trying to meet their high standards while also dealing with their moving goal posts. During our entire academic careers, they just harped and harped. When my brother struggled with his grades at Duke, my dad would just keep freaking out: “You can’t lose your scholarship; otherwise, what will people think?” Um, I mean, my brother was one of ten students in the entire class of 1,300 people who was awarded the merit scholarship. If he were to lose it, he’d be like the rest of the students at the #4 college in the country. I mean, how about “What can we do to help you feel more motivated and focused? Don’t worry: just try your best. We still love you.” Goddamn. I feel so anxious just recalling those memories.

My senior year in college, I wanted to get out to the work force and join an environmental engineering firm. The thought of me not going straight into grad school was so unacceptable to my father that he cut off communication with me. Jesus Christ. My mom talked to me and tried to be more encouraging: “He just thinks you have so much potential. He doesn’t want you to waste it.” Yup bc if I just join the work force, I’m all washed up. Wtf.

In the end, I conceded and applied to grad school to have the possible option. Of course, that only meant I had to start the program right away after my acceptance and graduation. After two years working in the solid waste lab and out in the field, I was exhausted and then immediately, I had to get a job and keep going. And then all this crap about why wasn’t I going to get a PhD? A master’s degree is nothing. Everyone has a master’s degree these days. Nevermind that I just graduated from the top landfill research program and managed to get my tuition paid for. Nevermind that I scored a decent job right out. As it turned out, after two years in the real world, solid waste engineering wasn’t what I had thought it would be. Honestly, had I been allowed to work right after undergrad, I would have discovered this and not suffered through two years of grad school. Of course all of this is water under the bridge, but goddamn, my parents just pushed and pushed and pushed. And everything was so all or nothing. Either we excelled or we were failures. There was nothing in between.

And on this last trip home for dad’s surgery, he twice mentioned the importance of AI for the future. Maybe I can learn that field– it’ll be so relevant going forward. Yeah, while I’m trying to build my real estate business and live my life with all this dysfunction and baggage, let me learn another career!! Even mom suggested that I go back to school to study AI. The fucking buzzword of the year, I tell you. I mean, whatever though. Parents make mistakes. It’s not like Bubbey grew up in the most encouraging or supportive environment either. He’s not all messed up like my brother and I are. But sheesh, when dad makes those comments, I just think to myself: You know what? Dad, why don’t you learn to use your computer. Like print shit, email me an attachment, and send me a picture from your phone. Maybe learn how to text message. And mom, why don’t you try to create a new habit. You know what I mean?

I sometimes think about my college roommate. She’s a physician, and her brother stocks shelves at Staples. For years, she and her parents tried to encourage her brother with his academics but in the end, they realized, not every kid is going to go to a top ten school and become a doctor. And they let it go and let him be. And they have a decent relationship with him. Their parent-child relationship isn’t defined by his achievements. Whoa, what a concept!

These days though I just bite my tongue. It’s fucking hard as hell for me, but I just resist losing my shit with my parents. John keeps reminding me that aging rots their brains. Still though. How are other people parenting and doing this? I mean seriously, how the hell do people know what to do and how to respond?

On Thanksgiving morning, I awoke full of anxiety. The first thought that popped into my head was memories of my brother and me riding our bikes through our old neighborhood. If I go back far enough, we shared good times together as kids. But now, here we are… we could not be at greater odds.

I feel sad and sorry for the times when I was such a mean little sister. I would snoop around in his shit and then threaten to destroy his comic books or artwork later when we were fighting about something. Where did I learn to hold things hostage like that?

I know it wasn’t easy being the firstborn of the firstborn. My brother was only 6 or 7, and he was very artistic early on. Dad would come home and find him drawing intricate pictures and then flip the hell out. Bc why was he spending all his time and energy on “useless” stuff? Art has no practical value. You can’t have a career in art. Again, we were only six or seven years old. I know that as kids, we could never fathom the difficulty and stress of being an immigrant in a new country with no support, no friends, and a family back home in tremendous debt. But shit, we were just innocent kids trying to do happy things. Our souls were crushed repeatedly with criticisms and expectations to do more and do better.

So many times, I remember people complimenting my brother or me for something. Rather than allow us to bask in the glow, dad would just tell us not to believe those people and their lies. I would argue back: they’re not lying. If they have nothing nice to say, they’ll just stay quiet. There’s no reason for them to lie. He said we were being naive. Whatever. I dunno why he behaved like that. But like I said before, my parents were love withholders. Maybe they never wanted it to get to our heads. Maybe they were secretly competitive and didn’t want us to be better than them. Who the hell knows. Chinese parents, SMH.

It’s all moot now and yet I still cry thinking about it. My brother used to be a very sweet and loving child. Somewhere his spirit got broken. Or maybe he was always destined for this path. I don’t know, but I still mourn the loss. How did it all come to this…

Interestingly, I had a recent revelation. My dad’s family idolizes him. I’ve always noticed that pretty much everything dad says or does is deemed right and perfect. No one ever criticizes him. No one ever questions his judgement. Already, his personality is very decisive and self righteous. He’s always been confident and clear with his compass. But that doesn’t mean he’s infallible. Yet his people never call him out on any flaws and mistakes.

Was it always like this or just in his adulthood? It’s a very weird culture. For someone who is always so picky and so critical, he only receives encouragement and support from his parents and siblings. Isn’t that interesting? Dad was telling me one time how he bumped into an underclassman from medical school, and the guy just kept going on and on singing my father praises, telling him how much he looked up to him when they were in school together. Hmm that’s interesting. Anytime someone else receives that level of praise, you tell them people are just being polite showering them with exaggerated compliments. But when you’re the recipient, suddenly the people are so genuine and sincere.

I have different expectations now for all of us. I’m currently the age my parents were when they were trying to navigate all of this career and parenting shit. My parents now are elderly. Their capacities have slowed and weakened. And my 43-y/o brother continues to act like a goddamn entitled asshole.

He doesn’t love them and he has his reasons. That’s fine. So then why not just leave my parents the hell alone. Why bother calling to trash talk western medicine, tout the deer placenta pills, colonics, and keto diets, and then ask for money? Why? Just go live your life with free housing!

I started writing my brother a letter while I was in Maryland, but it just meandered. I haven’t really known my brother for many many years. And on top of that, he is brainwashed. Is there any point in trying to get him out of the cult? Is it worth a try? I will say, my drafts always start off calmly with slight feelings of nostalgia and sadness, but then somewhere they take a dramatic turn and I lose my shit all over again. My friend N pointed out the last time I saw her that I convert my pain into anger. And it’s so true. When you hurt me, I get totally pissed off. Which makes me think: Maybe I just don’t have the constitution to take this on. I mean, my brother is 43 y/o. Between dealing with my business (which is a people business) and my parents and my relatives, this is still an uphill battle. Can anything good come out of this letter or any letter?

Needless to say, I got zero rest while in Maryland. Not only was I mentally weighed down by this bullshit, my parents didn’t even have decent sheets for my bed. And they used to have high quality sheets and comforters! Where did all the nice stuff go??? I have no idea, but seriously, it’s all cheap, scratchy scraps now. Like random fabrics that don’t even fit western mattresses. Omfg. I was so annoyed. I’ve already ordered my own flannel sheets and duvet cover for next month when I’ll be back there again for the other eye surgery and for Christmas. God help me.

Anyway, I know in the grand scheme of things, my parents were good parents with good intentions. Without question, they really worked hard to provide us with so many resources and opportunities. The past is painful, but we have no choice but to look ahead.

I have a friend: his parents are staunch Trump supporters. I remember when I was working in the early 2000s at the political advocacy organization outside DC, I could not stand that my parents voted Republican and every chance I had, I would jump down their throats about it. Now that I’m older, I’ve become less insistent about my parents aligning with my politics. Still, I was curious how my friend handled his relationship with his extreme parents. “Were your parents good parents?” I asked. After a brief pause, he said, “They did the best they could with what they knew and with what they had.” At first, I thought this was some bullshit PC/diplomatic response. But later, I came to realize that this is the way to move forward. What’s the point in holding grudges and having resentment? They did the best they could, just as I did the best I could. In all candidness, we disappointed each other. So I try very hard to hang less on their past mistakes and misaligned words (like the AI thing) and just focus on my own mindset. Whatever factors may have contributed to shaping my brother into the person he is today, none of those incidents can be reversed or retracted. In life, sometimes there are no second chances. Regardless, we continue forward doing our best with what we know and what we have.