Post-Processing Beer

After sleeping too early last night and waking up at about 1am (and failing to go back to sleep), I met the sunrise by taking some of the trash out, tidying up the first floor, buying vegetables and coffee for both me and Mark, and settling into Thursday before I tackled what I always thought was a daunting task: processing my dad's memorial plan claim for my mother.

I told myself that I would face this task not without taking my time, but also not procrastinating on it. My mother needed to open a bank account for this but was only able to do so during those days when I was busy and tired from shoots and barely had time to even clean up the house. I met her news and request for help with an emotional outburst, unfortunately. I know, it wasn't fair. It came from years of emotional pain, and I punched (emotionally) the nearest person that I could at the time.

So I talked to friends halfway round the world over coffee, read Ara's cards, lit some incense.

And then I went for it. I filled out forms asking for my father's date of birth, place of birth, date of death, cause of death, and I thought about how little we both knew of each other save for facts like these. I wish he told me what he felt when each of us were born. Was he happy, was he scared, was he worried that here came another one? What was his life like growing up, what did he dream of becoming? Did he get what he wanted and needed?

And then I thought of how a part of me is constantly resentful whenever my biological parents ask or demand assistance. All the emotional outbursts I let out at them in the past, how confused and angry they must have been about those. Me too, ma and pa. Me too.

When I finished all that I could do about it for the day, I felt the need to talk to myself: Chai, don't be guilty that you're doing this just now. You barely had any finances or the mental health capacity for this in the recent past, and your mother only opened her bank account just recently. You're doing as well as you can manage. 

I started thinking about that resentment, why I find it emotionally difficult to lend my time and energy in times of their need. I thought about why my friends and I think I should learn and relearn how to ask for help. And it dawned on me: it's because I never trusted my parents as among the primary people I could rely on even in the smallest of emotional needs, so I learned how to keep to myself and never ask for anything as much as could be helped. I think the same might be true for my siblings. So malain ko kung mangayo sila'g tabang kay wa man sila para nako sa una, kapila, gawas sa mga basic nga panginahanglan sama sa kaon ug pliti ug renta sa boarding house samtang nagskuwela pa. Mura ra mi'g obligasyon nila, ug sa susamang hisgutanan, sila pud nagtuo nga obligasyon ra namo sila.

Betrayal was the word that came to mind.

That all helped me forgive myself for all of my outbursts because of the constant tug-of-war between guilt and obligation; meanwhile, I did not understand why I was angry and resentful in the first place. It was, after all, because I have, multiple times, felt abandoned and betrayed. Was abandoned and betrayed.

I'm just waiting for a response from my sister about a few details I need to complete the forms. For today, I've done enough, and fruitfully.

And for this capacity for clarity that I used to not have, I am enjoying a can of beer.