Category Archives: Family

Full Cup

OMG, December is back. Another full year comes to a close and honestly, all the days just keep passing faster and faster. Next thing, I’ll be 65 years old with a head of grays!!

Let’s rewind just a tad: November was a crazy month. H and I were all set to close on our San Mateo townhouse listing, the second deal with a couple referred to me by my good friend T. The sale of their very nice townhome had its challenges. Sure, the owners had poured tons into this stunning end-unit, with thoughtfully-selected, high end elements and design. Unfortunately, the home sat at a busy intersection (4-lane streets) and on top of that major ding for buyers, the fire station was directly in front.

Needless to say, we prepared a strong marketing plan and got hundreds of visitors through the open house. In the end, we even received FIVE offers. The numbers were right on track with what we anticipated through our price research, and that was of course, still below seller’s expectation.

Nonetheless, they wanted to proceed. Long story short, a strong buyer represented by a flat-fee discount agent scored the win. I warned that working with a discount agent would have its complications but the clients wanted their number. So fine… we proceeded with the sloppiest, most frustrating buyer agent team ever… All was actually moving along swimmingly until suddenly, not.

The day after the original expected close of escrow, the sellers went from 0 to 100 on the “fed up” scale in a flash. There were threats of canceling the transaction, threats of legal action, constant insistence that they “need to be made whole” etc. In the end, we closed 5 days later (including the weekend) and Jesus Christ, for the level of escalation, extra calls, messages, negotiations, and work, it was totally moot.

But the good news is we got ‘er done. Too bad a blossoming work relationship ended with a bad taste. That’s the thing with people: they can still surprise you with their irrationality. Sigh.

Oh well, I only lost like five years off my life. SMH. The stress had gotten so high, I was nauseas for days and couldn’t sleep, no appetite, lost weight in a week. I got totally wrecked, not to mention the strain on my relationship with my biz partner. Live and learn, I suppose. I’m glad it’s done, and as J reminds me: none of the verbal accolades/affirmations are needed bc “that’s what the money is for.” I mean, come on, throw me a bone since I busted ass for you!! Whatever. I know deep down, we did a great job on this deal. Whether the client acknowledges, is their thing. For sure, I’ll make some tweaks for next time. Kaizen, baby!

So now we’re into mid-December, and I am actually blogging from Taiwan. Yup, here for my annual pilgrimage to see the parentals. This time I came solo, bc Bubs is taking care of Benny, whose hind legs no longer work. In most other regards, Benny is doing pretty good– deaf but still tracking us, still eating/drinking/pooping regularly. Unfortunately, getting him upright from lying position puts extra stress on this thighs and butt, so there ARE more accidents indoors now, but at least his stool is dry and we’ve managed. Sorry, probably TMI with the biohazards.

Day 1 in Taiwan went pretty well. This trip, I decided to change up my strategy. In the past, I was always very minimalist with my packing. Everything I transported had to fit into my carry-on, so my toiletries/amenities got stripped down to the bare minimum. This time, I opted for the opposite. Screw the carry-on only. I planned to check a bag, and more importantly, I was going to have all the amenities for that killer 13+ hr flight in economy. Yup, in anticipation of entering the Heart of Darkness without my Bubbey buffer, I needed to have my cup totally FULL, like overflowing in order to survive the next 10 days in Nagler’s Cove. Seriously, I gave it a lot of thought. In the past, going bare bones meant I slept like shit on the plane, my skin got dry and itchy, and then I would just arrive exhausted, tired, and super irritable. That served no one. Maybe Operation Full Cup would improve my comfort and resilience?

I’m now at Day 2, and I have to say, I’m feeling pretty good re: jet lag. It’s possibly too early to say, but I am hopeful that I finally cracked the code. If you’re curious, here are the components of my maximalist strategy:

  • Sleepopolis Jet Lag Calculator to establish a rough guide, combining lightbox exposure with sleep schedule shifts a couple days ahead of the flight.
  • large blanket
  • compression socks and slippers
  • J travel pillow
  • eye mask
  • non-skinny pants/jeans
  • moisturizer and water bottle
  • Bose noise-cancelling over-ear headphones (there was a sick/crying baby directly behind me!)

On arrival and after customs/immigration, I also used my travel towel to squeeze in a quick free shower. No one else used this amenity, so it was clean and ready. Special s/o to Bub for the discovery!

To my surprise, I was able to last the entire first day, touching down at 5am Sunday and going to bed after dinner around 7pm. Let’s see how I feel as the trip progresses.

Mechanics of Abuse

My father recently purchased a new car. Before he took the plunge, he briefly asked for my input, which I thought was surprising. I mean, he’s been a life-long Toyota/Lexus guy, but then again given that his last car (Toyota Altis) was a total lemon, maybe he finally decided to look elsewhere. I went down a short list and said something like, well this one is probably more comfortable and quiet, but this other one is more fun to drive. His reply? “It’s not about fun.”

Welcome to the immigrant struggle bus and the motto of my Family. No wonder J calls us the Monks! God forbid we select something just for the damn fun and indulgence of it. Honestly, these choices are so damn ingrained I didn’t even flinch at his response. And to be honest, I’ve done something similar myself with my car. God forbid, I lease a BMW, bc I love how it drives. There has to be a practical reason, right? The 17 cf of trunk space. Goddamn, the apple does NOT fall far from the tree.

Anyway, we were talking about his new car, and apparently, once my brother got wind of what my father purchased, my aunt (the messenger) got an entire earful about why/how could he purchase that brand. I dunno what the details of his gripe are against the Beamers but yadda, yadda, my brother had an opinion. So then my dad, who is currently estranged from my brother, delves into the whole indirect conversation between him and my brother that’s being done through my aunt!! Not only is it ridiculously gossipy, it’s like, why are you putting her in that uncomfortable middleman position? I mean, granted, the culture there is much more collective, and everyone is nosy and up in your business but geez, for me it’s such a turn off and it’s so inappropriate for fucking adults. Like, if you have something to say, say it directly to the person. Ugh. I started getting agitated and my dad gave his usual BS response: you’re not a parent, so you won’t understand.

I recently saw an Instagram video where a lady my age busted out a bunch of lines her parents used in her childhood with her current 10-year old to see how he would complete the sentence. I found it so telling. Have a look… it just reminded me of just how much parenting has changed. Are the changes usually this dramatic from generation to generation?

Maybe but I was thinking the other day that perhaps one reason I decided NOT to have kids was bc I was so sick of hearing from my parents, “When you become a parent, you will understand…” And I never wanted to understand their perspective bc in so many ways, their technique/approach just NEVER made sense to me.

Anyway, all of this got me wondering: how the fuck did my family get here? To this place where the generational trauma evolved into resentful, rage, anger, violence, and control.

I’ve been reading bits and pieces of this Diddy trial involving Cassie and her abusive relationship with him. It’s terrifying to think that people so intricately put fear and love in the same sentence. And yet, as kids, isn’t that what we did? We were afraid of my father. He had a temper, and he believed in punishment. But somehow fear went hand and hand with love… Should it? Are there circumstances where it’s ok? I definitely don’t subscribe to the current parenting style where your kids are similar to your peers. In my value system, there is definitely a hierarchy between the kids and parents. But I dunno: is there a way to maintain the authority without fear?

And of course, that scenario is different between adults… there was a statement in the trial where Cassie explained that she really loved Diddy. And it just made me so sad to think about so many women out there in these relationships where they are controlled and hurt by the person they love most. I haven’t been feeling very optimistic these days about humans. We really do some of the most hurtful and brutal things. I can’t help but think of the pain that’s between my father and brother. They will take that shit to the grave.

Starting Fresh

TBH, I am appalled by how many of us continue to put up with relationship drama in adulthood. When I was a kid, social dynamics occupied an inordinate amount of my adolescence, I mean seriously, between being bullied, myself being a bully, evolving friendship circles, jockeying of status, all ON TOP of my family drama between my uncle who blamed my grandmother for leaving him in China during the cultural revolution to my other uncle who put my father’s family in extreme debt to navigating life as a child of anxious, paranoid, demanding, perfectionist parents. It was a lot, and looking back, there was constant anxiety about who was upset and complaining and having a total blowout meltdown.

As an adult, my way of simplifying my life (besides hunkering down on work) was to be more selective about who I let into my inner circle, and, related to that, to “set better boundaries.” Then I heard something recently, esp among modern-day psychologists, where they claimed people were using “setting boundaries” now as a guise for not putting in the work, not developing more sophisticated ways of interacting with others… On one hand, I definitely attribute my scorched earth policy to these past dramas/traumas (with a little t) that I encountered as a kid and perhaps I also developed it as a control mechanism. If I cannot alter other people’s behaviors and actions, my last resort is self-preservation. Maybe that was my rationalization. On the other hand, is there truth to what these psychologists are suggesting?

So a few weeks ago, I came across information online about Canadian physician Gabor Mate and his work around trauma and more recently around adult parent-adult child relationships. I immediately purchased his workshop called “Starting Fresh“, thinking I didn’t want to be guilty of “not putting in the work.” God forbid, anyone ever tell me or even suggest in the slightest that I don’t work hard enough… It’s a serious trigger (i.e. daughter of demanding parents). So fine, purchased the modules and worked through them in about three days, watching probably 10 hours of material. My conclusion is that Dr. Mate takes a very psychoanalytical stance to behavioral issues including addiction science. ALL of it points to childhood trauma. And when parents are in any way lacking in supporting/loving their child, THEIR behavior actually points back to their childhood trauma, what they call generational trauma. It’s all connected.

I suppose part of the answer in a path forward lies in awareness and a keen reminder that when people become parents, they are also going through the process blind. There is an element of doing it for the first time where you just don’t know what you don’t know. Honestly, for that, the real answer is to stop having kids so you let the generational trauma end. That said, I know there are still great parents out there who somehow have figured things out BUT more often than not, geez, what I personally observe is smart peers, colleagues, and friends trying their damnedest and it’s still NOT ENOUGH. The kid still has issues and is broken. And no matter how hard you try with research, studying, experts, counseling, CBT, DBT, whatever… there are just people/factors that you cannot control, and you cannot protect these delicate flower children! The workshop was realistic in that from the beginning, Dr. Mate and his son who co-led the workshop, said it’s called a Fresh Start, and don’t expect a resolution or fresh ending. I think for many participants, having the space to share their feelings and to hear the other side’s perspective was helpful, and actually, there was value in uncovering the histories… so many times, the adult children assumed they knew their parents completely, and they read them accordingly. But, they were inaccurate, bc they didn’t know the whole backstory. For myself, I realized that I have an incredibly strong desire to be right, to be justified in my thoughts and my judgements. I often felt that I knew enough of my parents’ history and that was sufficient for me to judge them and vilify them. My brain so wants to be infallible and omniscient.

The workshop certainly wasn’t a magic pill that resolved everything, but it gave me some new insights about my family. I saw how many times the kids feel that part of the resolution is demanding some kind of apology from the parents. In the end, Dr. Mate says you can’t apologize if the choices/decisions you made were what you honestly deemed best given what you knew at the time. And so there is a shift now towards the future, rather than always looking back. The past explains a lot of things, and maybe knowing more of the past is a form of generating empathy and more understanding to ultimately let it go. Then, we can focus on how to move forward and interact differently with the time that’s remaining.

Stay in Your Goddamn Lane

My brother left me a 25-min long voice message trying to convince me that he knows the best way to care for our mother who suffers from Alzheimer’s. I didn’t even listen to the message in its entirety, bc he lost me when he touted RFK Jr. as the new head of HHS. This is my reply below. Do you see now why I hate going to see my family? Dysfunction in every fucking direction.

It makes me sad that your mental illness has only caused a lifetime of trauma and pain for you and our entire family.

Rather than focus your efforts on getting help to bring peace, balance, and emotional regulation, you direct all your energies to something that only continues to cause conflict and drama.

Spare me the debate on the health wars. I can think for my own damn self, and unlike you, I don’t get swayed by lifelong CON-MEN even when they have manipulated the system to get into a position of power. And I will never agree that you have any right to influence or direct mom’s care. You have brought enough pain and destruction to this family.

Let it go, bc you will never win this battle. And I’m tired of seeing your repeated abuse and wielding of fear to terrorize and bully the family. If you continue on this path, where you are deluded by grandiose visions of healing and thinking the ends will justify the means, be prepared to be thrown into fucking jail. You may get away with tormenting others who let you into their lives. Those people are weak and unable to set boundaries. I will not tolerate your fanaticism, erratic moods, instability, rage issues, and overall energy suck/emotional vampirism.

I am very clear minded. You are NOT going to impose your bullshit narrative onto me. You create ill health, pain, and destruction to all lives you touch.

Your own health is in absolute shambles, and yet you continue to insist that you have the answer for mom??? Please. Do you think your own miserable, isolated, friendless, unhinged life is a testament to this relentless pursuit towards “health” and longevity? Back the fuck up, or suffer the consequences. You’re not a goddamn martyr.

Worry about your own damn self, and stop robbing others of their sovereignty and agency. How dare you.

The Drama Lives On

When I was in Taiwan last November, my brother had come down from Taipei to stay with my parents. Actually, he’s been spending more time in the southern part of the island for a while now since he’s no longer employed and bc the weather down south is warmer. The general family “belief” let’s call it, is that it’s good for him to spend more time with my mother.

Mind you, my mother at this point can not stand. She cannot have a conversation. Her Alzheimer’s has absolutely progressed to the point that she requires every bit of care from our full-time, live-in caretaker. So I don’t really see why my brother’s presence is needed or beneficial, but as the saying goes, “I’m not a parent, so I will never understand.”

So basically, my brother forces himself onto the household, and then he behaves like a militant drill sergeant barking orders to my dad and the caretaker with very specific instructions on my mother’s care. In case you’ve been living under a rock, my brother does not believe in Western meds. In fact, he is convinced it’s all a conspiracy theory for the financial benefit of the pharmaceuticals. Ironically, he believes the companies selling deer placenta, Himalayan mud (there’s a special name for it that currently escapes me), and similar random supplements are doing all this out of the pure goodness of their hearts…

From my trip, I knew nothing had changed in all these years. You know, I’ve been mostly estranged from my brother, and my father and I don’t talk much about him. But from my brief stay in November, it was clear Dad and J were continuing to butt heads. And I would hear bits and pieces from my relatives that J did this and J did that and there was an explosive fight here and there. In the 10 days I was on site, there were at LEAST two explosions. In addition, my brother had also lost his shit with the caretaker (who is younger than us) and made her cry. He is a goddamn maniac, and honestly, it’s a blessing that I decided to cut him out of my life decades ago. Bc I am not up for this level of daily drama with a capital D. If my parents are up for it, so be it. I am NOT.

The point is, I witnessed that NOTHING had changed. My relatives were still hanging on to every tiny glimmer thinking my brother would one day wake up, see the error of his ways, and decide to be a “good human.” So a few days ago, while I had out of town visitors, I saw an email from my brother to my dad’s account (which Dad has me screen for legal/financial stuff). It was entitled “Diary.” And it was pages of bullshit… blaming my mother’s condition on my dad, blaming everything on my dad. Saying my brother knows how to cure her, and my father is thwarting him from REVERSING her condition and extending her life. I mean, my parents have led miserable, unhappy lives for as long as I have known them. At minimum, they have been miserable for the last 15 years. Part of it is their own insistence on perfectionism and reputation/prestige and the other is this lifelong disappointment in J, in me, in just life as a whole. Anyway, the irony is that they live like monks (no carbs, no oils, no sugars, no fun) for the purpose of longevity, but what’s the point of living forever when you’re miserable?!?! I don’t get it, but what do I know: I’m just a stupid Americanized cat lady. So back to the email: it’s just littered with all this rage and then he talks about killing my father. There is one tiny paragraph where he suggests that maybe he is projecting his own disappointments and insecurities but main theme? Everything is dad’s fault, and he wants to kill him.

Naturally, I receive this email and call Taiwan. My dad answers and tells me that in the middle of the night, he and J got into a huge fight and my brother pushed him (my dad is 80; brother is 50), and threatened to kill him. He thought about calling me but didn’t. Ok, great, thanks for the consideration. What. the. fuck. So by the time I see this email, it’s late morning. Brother is now in his room. Brother has been coming and going as he pleases, bc clearly my parents don’t know anything about boundaries. I text my brother a piece of my mind and no reply. I call twice. No pickup. He is a mother-fucking asshole, and now I’m super pissed about this bullshit drama predicament we are in. My dad tells me he doesn’t know what to do, maybe he will move to a new place and not tell my brother. Hello, CLASSIC SIGNS OF ABUSE. I tell him he needs to get my brother out of the goddamn house. I mean, they already bought my brother a condo, why does he need to stay with them? My aunt also has a vacant house where he sometimes stays. There are so many places he can stay, why do you let him come to your house?? The same bullshit over and over. I can’t bar him from seeing his mother. YES, YOU CAN. Especially if he doesn’t stay in his fucking lane and shut up about commandeering her treatment plan. WTF. I’m from a family of retards.

Long story short, I (who cannot read Chinese) find a website about senior abuse with some information and forward it to my dad. I call my aunt and tell her to pick up my brother and take him away. I unload all this shit to my visiting friend who happens to be a mental health nurse practitioner. She’s been hearing about my family bullshit for a few years. She suspects my brother has borderline personality disorder, and based on the escalation, he’s potentially dangerous. So, as I’ve suggested to my father before, get him out, get your keys back, and/or change the goddamn locks! I mean, for a person that believes so much in self-determination and action, he moves so fucking slowly on this shit. It all should have happened years ago but no, every time there’s a fight, they go back to their bedrooms, cool off, then there’s another rage event a day or two later. REPEAT. So this time, brother got removed. Supposedly, he gave dad his elevator fob. My dad had the locks changed. Brother is now staying at my aunt’s house 50 minutes away. I tell my father he needs to tell the doorman not to let my brother in, and I suggest he speak to the police about what happens should there be another incident. He refuses to do either.

In my mind, my brother can just go to the park where the caretaker takes mom twice a day. Then, he can start bullying her again about mom’s care/medications, and she is already afraid of him. And potentially, he can follow her and mom back to the house. What’s the plan then? My dad responds that J wouldn’t do that. Ok, well did you expect him to push you and threaten to kill you???? I told him to know the police phone number. He replies that he’ll do that when he needs to. I mean, you don’t know how to get ANY information!!! I am the one who found the service online. You are paralyzed and NOT resourceful. Do you even know how to get the number for the police? You need to have it ready on your phone. He gets all annoyed, saying J won’t do that and he doesn’t need that info right now. Ok, what the fuck ever. When you get pushed again and injured at the hands of my brother, don’t call me. He always says he doesn’t want to bother me. Um, well since you decided to live halfway around the world to save on expenses/taxes but continue living a life of misery and have me handling all your administrative/financial shit, you have already bothered and inconvenienced me. Just so you know. I tell him that things are escalating, and if J doesn’t get help/meds, he might have to be institutionalized. Then, dad says they can’t just lock someone up. Um, do you fucking know the process in Taiwan? No. He insists there has to be a history and evidence. Ok, well all of the sudden, you know the system. The proof is, he pushed you and threatened to kill you to your face. Then he emailed the same thing. And the caretaker is a witness. Fuck all this bullshit. I’m out.

Annual Pilgrimage

This fall, as the elections came into full swing, I really tried to maintain some positivity before my annual pilgrimage to Taiwan. I was feeling hopeful and encouraged by the groundswell of the Harris Walz campaign… she had somehow managed to turn this sinking ship around from the doldrums of watching two grandpas duke things out to infusing the efforts with so much promise, vibrance, humor, wit, energy… I was feeling so good about where we were all headed.

Meanwhile, I couldn’t help but feel that my inner circle had reservations. Even friends who I considered to be more positive than I, expressed reluctance and skepticism. It was starting to irk me, tbh. I mean, seriously, we had Beyonce and Taylor Swift… ridiculous donation bucks. What was it going to take to get you people to be convinced?!?!?

Well, turns out I was the dumbass left holding the bag. The intelligentsia around me had all been holding their breath, and goddamn, I went to bed that night so defeated and so disenchanted wondering what on Earth just happened.

The next day, we were slated to fly out to Taiwan. Every year the trip to see my parents is riddled with stress and dread. I had really wanted to exuberance of the elections to fill my cup and get me emotionally/mentally ready for a stressful 12 days in Asia. No. such. luck.

While we waited on the airport lounge for our flight, I was obsessed with reading the news, trying to understand what the fuck just happened. Who did this? Why did the Dems fail so miserably? What I found echoed some similar phrases I had been hearing among the local elites (which I consider my inner circle to be): The Dem’s have no strategy. Their marketing sucks. Their messaging sucks. There’s no plan. WTF are you talking about?

She had a plan. She proposed specific initiatives. What was HIS plan? I was so pissed that once again the woman was somehow to blame. What did you need to hear? Tell me exactly what it is you needed to hear to be convinced that she was the right candidate for the job, and he wasn’t. I’m not satisfied with any of it. And so I sat at the lounge table eating my free but tasteless snacks, my eyes welling up. I sobbed. It was the worst day. And now I was headed to see my family and I was possibly to be in the presence of my anti-vaxer brother. All my plans to fill my cup crashed and burned.

Overall the trip went fine. Better than expected. It helped that John did some last minute finagling to score us biz class tickets on the ride over. Fucking 14 hours and the lie-flat seats were freaking amazeballs. He had been talking it up for years, and it just felt like such an unnecessary luxury. Well, this time it was essential. Flight over was great.

Visit with the parentals went fine. Thankfully, Mom had recently entered a quieter phase, so instead of all her angry outbursts and toxic accusations last year, she was pretty quiet. During the 12 days, she still had her moments and she still bites and pinches, but she seemed more tolerable. My brother was there, we had some civil conversations, but he doesn’t look well. He’s too far in on these bohemian health tonics and supplements but I just have to let it go. It’s not my job to save him. There were a few eruptions between him and my father that I had to break up and talk them down. You know I’ve had some kind of massive breakthrough when Vicky Volcano is the calm one.

Interestingly, I visited with a few of my cousins and my oldest aunt. My one cousin who is 52 y/o had the nerve to tell me it’s not too late for me to have kids. I can still get it done for the family. My aunt then proceeded with her annual message: You know, if you were a typical daughter in Taiwan whose father begged/asked her to have children, 99% of them would have acquiesced to their parents’ dream. No one would deny something that their parents wanted so badly. Gee, thanks. First, I’m not a typical Taiwanese daughter. Second, I’m 48 y/o, why are you telling me this, as if I had ANY regrets about my decision? As if I’d even consider changing my mind. Jesus Christ, stay in your fucking lane already.

Needless to say, 12 days was a goddamn eternity but I survived thanks to the amazing buffering power of Bubs. I came away from the trip thinking maybe I would try checking in with my brother every once in a while. He clearly has mental illness issues (maybe borderline personality), but since he doesn’t believe in meds (but he does believe in unregulated, non-FDA approved pills/supplements), nothing is going to really help stabilize him. And so it’s an entire life just filled with trauma, pain, depression, self loathing… I’ve never really understand why people stagnate in misery. They insist they have no choice. They insist they don’t choose this kind of paralysis. But I’m not the best at empathizing on this. I’ve always believed in some element of self-determination and choice. At least for anyone who grew up with privilege in the US. It’s a core belief, and I will always believe there’s a way out. But I guess the reality is, not everyone agrees.

The journey back was a beotch. Partly bc we were back in economy. Yeah, I knew biz class travel was going to be a Pandora’s box. Fucking A. The 12-hr flight back in economy sucked much more than I ever remembered. But holy fuck, it was amazing to be back home.

Fortunately, the dog sitter we hired was a legit adult with real accountability and responsibilities. Benny still had his poopy problems and accidents, but she took them in stride and best of all, she was a homebody who liked to hang out with the dog. I was relieved to see them bonded. It’s nice to know we have an option now that we didn’t have before. But I still think he’s on this last year, so there’s that. Only happy thoughts here, can you tell?

Bread Not Brownies

I’ve had a few emotional conversations lately with my buddy T. First, I was crying after the passing of my friend N. Then last week, I was crying about my family. John and I had recently watched a documentary about the NBA star Giannis. His is a moving and compelling success story about overcoming adversity plus all the good stuff of loyalty, integrity, hard work, and love of family.

I have never understood people who are close to their families– people who want to spend all their free time or PTO with their families. People who have to go home for all the holidays and speak to their parents on the phone daily. It has NEVER made any sense to me. But Giannis is a part of one of those families. In escaping poverty and immigrating to the US, as his success grew, his adamance for having his family with him only amplified. I cried so much in that documentary, bc it made me mourn what my parents do not have. And so that entire evening, I couldn’t sleep bc I was disappointed in myself… I had so many more advantages and privileges than Giannis in my childhood; yet I lack his level of loyalty and love.

And so I cried. I cried that I couldn’t be as good as Giannis. I cried that I lacked the filial piety he clearly possessed. I felt so much disappointment and shame and sadness for my family. And then my friend asked me: How and why does Giannis feel that way about his family? It’s bc his family spent time and energy to cultivate that feeling of belonging and cohesion and love. You were just a child… you can’t be expected to know how to feel about the relationship with your parents.

Your parents mixed the ingredients and created the environment to bake an amazing loaf of bread. At the end of it all, they can’t wish for or expect to get a tray of brownies. It was such a simple and yet powerful analogy. They were the bakers. They had a hand in all of this. There’s a reason why it’s so damn hard for my brother and me to really feel or express love for our parents.

I remember during COVID when my father met my friend T. After she left, he said to me, “She seems like such a positive and optimistic person.” And I remembered thinking to myself: Yeah, well she didn’t grow up with two anxious, neurotic, and perfectionist parents who are fear-based about EVERYTHING!!

I guess the good thing is that T’s comments absolved me of some guilt. But she also reminded me that I have limited time now, and if dad is making bids for a better relationship, there is still time for me to try. The relationship will never reach the heights of Giannis’ tight-knit family, but at least I can say, I braved the discomforts of change to forgive and to try again. After all, nothing they did came from ill intent: they genuinely did the best with what they knew.

Tax Tedium Times Two

Every year around tax time, dad gets all stressed out about “all the things” he has to do. Um, I’m the one collecting and collating all your damn papers for the accountant. I’m the contact person for your estate attorney, accountant, banks, and financial advisor. Sure, I just grab the paperwork, he does still sit down and fill out forms from the CPA… Nonetheless, it’s a bitch and a half. And mind you, I don’t even do my own taxes!!

Needless to say, we hit May and I was feeling home free knowing his tax stuff was done for the season. Nope, not so fast. Apparently, dad recently got wind of some new tax deductions that he can claim on his Taiwan taxes. Yippee! So I got another couple of calls the other day. First, he was insistent that he needed files from the IRS. I’m like, you have all the e-files from the CPA. Just use those. Your 1040s are in there. No, it can’t be something I submit, it has to be official from the IRS. Huh? Who is telling you this? He can’t explain, but just do what he says. Meanwhile, I’m thinking what the fuck is more official than your 1040 with CPA signature– the same doc that lenders use for loans??? He was insistent, so there I go again being sent on another fucking wild goose chase. Normally, whatever, create an IRS account for him and drill down the menus looking for these records that he needs. Well, the IRS recently cracked down on security, so the old account I created for him years ago is no longer valid. Now they require live camera/video verification of identity where you have to take screen shots of your ID, upload, and then verify with a LIVE PERSON. Sounds like a reasonable enough protocol except that my dad doesn’t know how to use the fucking camera on his phone (I still get Facetime videos of his inner ear canal) much less his computer camera. Like he keeps telling me his computer doesn’t have a camera. Dad, I bought you that computer two years ago… it has a goddamn camera!

Anyway, through a miracle of God and a combination of being on his landline, remote tunneling into his computer, and using his iPhone, we were able to jump through all the hoops and get the account created. Then, I find the forms he needs. Grab everything, move it to his computer, print it out for him from my computer tunneling into his computer. You have no idea how tedious these tasks are. Finally, it’s done. And I’m thinking, ok it’s good we have an updated IRS account for him, and now I can pay his taxes for him through that portal.

Two weeks later, another call. I need your help and it’s very important. Of course, all your shit is “very important.” Now instead of the documents back to 2021, he needs all the way back to 2017 AND he needs for Maryland and Federal. What. the. fuck. How much are you saving with this bullshit? Another $5? No, no, it’s more than $5. Yeah, let’s save more money that you’ll never use. I’m like, just contact the CPA and request the files. No, it’s in the two suitcases of tax papers that I stored at your house when I moved back to Taiwan. Oh, the suitcase that you originally wanted me to FLY to Maryland to retrieve from your friend’s basement? I mean, surely the CPA has electronic copies. No, no, you just have to go through the two suitcases and find the 1040 and the Maryland tax return and send them to me. Oh, that’s all???? And hmm, how come last time you told me the 1040 tax returns weren’t what was needed and now all of the sudden, the 1040s suffice? WTF, I’m not a damn idiot just executing on your busy work.

Two plus hours later, I’ve pulled out all the paperwork, disassembled the tax binders that are held together with insanely strong staples which require John and heavy-duty pliers to remove, scanned, and sent the files over. Oh now in addition to the Maryland tax returns, I need proof of all payments made to the Maryland Comptroller. Back to 2017. Yeah, fuck my life!

And btw, the Maryland website is some Frontpage bullshit. The farthest online records go back is 2021. Oh, well can you call and ask about the earlier ones? No. I can’t. Requests for anything beyond requires a special form and NOTARY signature. Thank fucking god, For once, this notary requirement saved my ass. I can do no more on this task. The rabbit hole stops here.

Tunnel Vision

I haven’t called my parents in about two months. The last time we spoke, dad needed me to handle tax items for him (every year). In the process, I got a weird suspicion that he is a victim of elder fraud. Meanwhile, as I was on the phone discovering this, my mother was in the background causing a goddamn fuss. Her condition has continued to deteriorate and honestly, she’s burning out every damn person around her. I know she can’t control her condition, but Jesus Christ, she gets nasty. I was there in November and five days after my COVID quarantine was already too much between the constant outbursts, the nonsensical ramblings, the neuroses, the anger, the biting, the pinching… many people have advised that my father put mom in a memory care home. Through the years, she came close at least twice to getting moved, but she/dad changed their minds last minute.

Anyway, I was trying to access emails/files supposedly sent by his broker in Taiwan. One minute the email was there, the next minute it was gone from the inbox and very quickly, I started to see that it was super sketch. First off, the email came from some random gmail address… something blatantly egregious like partyhome254 or some shit. No scottrade.com or ameritrade.com domain. Then, dad’s yahoo kept flagging it as weird too, hence it was automatically getting moved into the spam folder. Third, the “statement” dad needed for his taxes was just a series of screenshots of graphs. WTF. I told him this was very odd, and that legitimate professionals do not work like this. Instead of him agreeing with me, dad just dug in his heels insisting that he’d known the guy for years, he just talked to him on the phone, and just do it.

When I escalated to express the urgency of this, he basically told me, “Just do what I say, bc I need to finish my taxes.” Meanwhile, remember the multiple times when dad stressed to me how important all his affairs are, and he even suggested once or twice that *I* somehow infected his computer with a virus?!?! I mean, who do you trust? Your daughter who works as a fiduciary in an industry involving multi-million-dollar transactions and who has also managed your complicated financial and legal shit for years, or some rando who can’t even provide a legitimate monthly statement? Holy fucking god.

I was so pissed, and then he just burst into tears talking about how stressed out he is and how miserable his life is. This is where I really see my own personal limitation. If you are miserable and you aren’t doing ANYTHING to improve your situation, do NOT come to me with your sob story, bc I will not empathize.

I get it, for “normal” people, their sobbing father would cause them to back down immediately, apologize, and de-escalate. But for me, I function in the opposite manner. Why? Bc you know what you’re supposed to fucking do! You are in this predicament, bc you are failing to make the necessary changes.

The only thing that was within my capacity was this: I shut up about the scammer, sent dad his goddamn files, and then John submitted his FBAR taxes or whatever the thing is. I then called my aunt and unloaded about how frustrating my family is, and about how terrible their decisions are. All this trouble moving across to the other side of the word so you can save more money that you will never spend anyway. Yes, I get that Taiwan is your “home.” Except that you never leave the goddamn house, so what’s the freaking point, really? And that was the last I talked to him.

No, actually, I did speak with him once after that. A week later, dad called again finalizing his tax stuff and then he did what he always does: “Is there anything else you want to say to me?”

I don’t know why he does that. No. I mean, what more is there to say? You’re miserable and you do nothing, so just continue being miserable. He asks me what he should do. Ugh, for starters, LIKE I SAID, 1) therapy, 2) reach out to the senior center, 3) move mom to a facility, 4) get out of the damn house…

Here’s the thing. I can’t be everything to everybody. As much as I sometimes aspire to be well-rounded with high EQ yadda, yadda, this is just too damn much. If you need someone to just listen and say empty responses like, “That sucks, I’m sorry”, I am NOT that person, and you have to find that service in someone else. I will do so many other things for you, but that’s not one of them.