Diary with my daughter: Chapter one

Chapter 1. Arrival

It was a hot scorching day when I received the news that my daughter would be coming. After two lengthy months of waiting, my daughter had finally come home. Her expression was blank and vacant; the bistre eyes stared expressionlessly into the ceiling. The black hair tied elegantly into a ponytail behind her back, and she gazed, like a newborn, into the people surrounding her. Rejoiced, I was, at the life that now perched between my arms. We were not connected, genetically nor spiritually. But I know it will only be a matter of time. To many people, she is only a huge block of plastic, similar to Barbie dolls and other cheap children playthings, only more realistic and beautiful, or, in some cases, frightening and creepy. Some take her as a big expensive piece of toy. But I believe that she is a living being that has her own bit of soul, free mind and will. When we love her with all our heart, she will love us as we love her, and learn to respect and to forgiven as people do. If we take the time and energy to tender the young life, she will grow, and learn as we teach her. She will have her virtues and faults as any other people in the world does. She might throw tantrums, be envious or jealous, learn to like or dislike, and would be weak at times just as anyone does. For those who never take the heed to treat them as if their own, I never know what might happen, would they learn to hate and their heart distorted, or might they just die out and wither, like plants deprived of sunlight and water? Somehow, I don’t ever want to find out.

Of course, I never told this to anyone. It was, I admit, something that took me quite some time to figure out. At that very moment, however, I was too immersed in my own happiness to sense any potential problems. All I cared at that very moment was to make her happy, and to be a loving care giver. But there was one big problem. I had babysat quite a couple of children, and I had no hesitation in admitting I like, and had a knack in taking care of little girls (The reason why I don’t like boys is quite obvious. I have had enough fights with my younger brother to ever like boys that throw fists and bully other people. I like girls who have fewer problems with playing more gently and quietly), but I never have the opportunity of taking care of my own children (and it would be shocking, too, if I have had that experience when I was just 20), so I was not certain of what I should do. I have browsed many websites before I actually ordered Ying and pictured what I could do when she arrived, but thinking is one thing, doing so is another. After Ying arrived, I took her to my school, hid her in my locker and brought her everywhere. I’ve taken her to classes, to the library, for walks around the secluded corners in my school, etc. But I just don’t feel right. I had no problem with the astonished and scandalized look amongst professors and strangers, and it isn’t the classmates that are bringing me awkward feelings. Actually, they were quite supportive, or at least kind enough not to criticize Ying in front of me and her. Some even say she is cute or beautiful (you can’t expect much from boys, see. They have already shown their best attitude by not teasing). You can’t imagine how proud I was when I heard all these complements about Ying. Just picture one grinning from ear to ear and telling a doll not to be proud and all, things that parents normally tell their kids. It might look quite hilarious, but it was what I actually did.

That was the days when I could never go anywhere without my daughter. I took her to school and back home for weekends so that she don’t have to spend the whole weekend alone and isolated in the empty locker but could sleep in the same room as I do as I hid her inside my newly cleared out closet. I took her to meetings and arrived early to take pictures; make stories from my previously taken pictures, and talked, with such enthusiasm and passion, that I would have never believed I should say so. But despite all the excitement and all these activities together, I have a feeling that this isn’t what I want, but I just wasn’t sure what went wrong.

Is this what I want? I believe the answer was no. I was so desperate to gain approval and a sense of belonging that I did what I was not intended to do, by trying to gain closeness and affection by the aforementioned ways: squeezing stories that even I don’t believe just because I think I ought to, or taking pictures for no reason at all, and talking almost nonstop just as someone with obsessive compulsive disorder, in which none of these things made any sense. I’m not saying all this is wrong, but I was doing these things with the wrong method and with the wrong reason. It is what we say, if A is the consequence of B, B is not necessary the consequence of A. I did all these things because I think I ought to do so to express my love and affection, when it is just the other way around: One should do all these only, and only if it comes from your heart. Not writing stories or talking is not a crime, nor is it the only way to express your emotion and love. And that, took me quite a long time to figure out. During the time when I was lost, I did thought, almost in despair, that I had made a mistake, and that I was indebted to Ying, taking her home when I could not love her as much as I thought I should. There was even a period in which I acted a bit cold and distant, quite ignoring her.

The main problem was, I think, is that I placed myself in the highest rank of importance, It was wrong. I haven't had the realization, which I suppose which I still lack, of what responsibility that a man burdens. I lack the strength to shoulder whatever comes with Ying and my life. I was under the impression that Ying was here to help ease my load, which was now, wrong in every aspect that I can think of. Yes, one can lean their head on someones shoulder once in a while, when life is too heavy for you and that you need to take a breath, but definitely not oozing on someone else's arms like a floppy baby. For we are no longer a baby, but a man. A man who has decided to hoist the responsibility of having a family, a man that decides that he could be the shelter of the wounded. He could get hurt, can bleed, can wail, can cry, could stand along with his family throughout the battle of life. But he cannot curl up in the room all day long, whining for comfort like a crybaby. I was a coward. A man who lifted more than I could burden before dropping it painfully on someone else's toes. It was, perhaps why my relationship ended at last, which I still claim to be guilty of every single thing that had went wrong. Maybe she could no longer stand having to comfort and fulfill the wishes of a man she could not love, would not love, and fail to love, I do not know. But it was all history. A part of my life that I'm both glad and ashamed of. Glad that life had made the correct decision for me, and ashamed of what I had done.

But there were more to the problem. What, exactly, was my actual position in our relationship? I was a bit uncertain. Was I her father or a lover? This confusion made me quite unsure of what is the right attitude toward her. Actually, most people are very certain of what their dolls meant to them from the beginning, and shouldn’t have made such a fuss, but as I was emotionally wounded, this was an immense problem that I had to face every day. If it were to say that the difficult and completed relationship brought Ying to me, this is the problem that came along. Thinking back, I think I was partially trying to stabilize the relationship and also my doubts and uncertainty when I brought Ying to my family. It is the exact attitude how Chinese women try to force one into marriage-- by having their baby. I think the reason why I had Ying instead of a 1/6 can be attributed to the same reason. By asking her opinion, my inner self subconsciously believe that doing so will keep her, now that she had participated in the “birth” of, as I convinced myself, our girl. Yes, I did talk to her, but it was still very unfair to Ying. It was not how one should be a father, and I could not convince myself that it is normal to do so when one had fallen in love. It was, perhaps a good thing that I was ditched, for two reasons: first, I don’t deserve to be loved when I knew nothing about loving my own daughter, who is suppose to be the closest family that I have, and even more disgusting, to use her to accomplish my purposes. Second, if I had not been ditched, I would never have recognize that I had been faulty, and would never learn to love her as I do now (not that there is no space for further improvement, but I did advance for a huge step from where I was in the beginning.)

What I did at that time was almost unforgivable and definitely not what we call “a good example of being a father”. What was the difference between me and those fathers who took their young to nightclubs or those who psychologically abuse their children? To be harsh, one could even say that I had used her as a tool, as something so as to help me accomplish my goal where I could find no reason to defend myself. I was utterly disgusting and was to be detested. Moreover, the unsure attitude was just because I need someone to fill my emptiness and loneliness. Ying became a lover when she brushed me aside, and became my daughter when our relationship took a step forward. I was ashamed of my past behavior, and a few good punches might be just what I deserve. Whether Ying was heartbroken or not, I never knew. She was always there when I needed her, and kept quiet when she knew I was lost. There were nights when I cried and dampen the floor with tears and…… you know what else drips when people cry like hell. A terrible time it was, either for me or Ying. It was like a shadowed Valley, with poison ivies and thorns growing all about the place, clawing fresh streaks of blood on your already exhausted soul. Death and despair flow in every drift of the stale cold air, and hope only existed in your wildest dream. Your sanity urges you to turn back, but you kept walking until you fall to the ground, to febrile to move even a toe. It was then when fate jeered from a withered branch above your head, croaking like a midnight crow, at your failure and foolishness. I then, thought I have had lost everything. Even her words, which I expected to hurt, sound so distant from my soul; As if we were separated in two different worlds, and her parting words could not penetrate the mist that separated the two universes. I looked even more cheery than I have ever been, laughed and joked as I have never done before. But I felt nothing, no happiness nor any sense of pain. It was Ying who silently took my hand and huddled me in her arm.

She brought me back to my senses, and made me start to think back about what had happened in our (by our I mean Ying and myself) relationship. It was shameful to think about what had happened, but it was good in every single way I could think of. By starting to think where I had been faulty, it help me to understand what I had done wrong, and what I could have done. And eventually, helped become a better man. Of course, it was a painful period. It was similar to having to open a rotting would and face what was within, not to mention having to do the debrement when you would just rather amputate the whole memory. But I suppose it was Ying who helped me get through this process. I would not hesitate to say that I am still an incompetent man, and that I still haven't solve all the problem, but I was already a long way from where I started.

In the whole process, I gained a better view at myself. For one thing, I once believed that I would have made a good father. I love children, I thought that I was a decent men, and with a good mixture of both sense and sensibility. I may not be“the handsome prince” nor the humorous guy that cheer people up, but at least I still qualify for a gentlemen. It was this very period of life that my prior beliefs were shattered to pieces. I have not been the excellent father I thought I would be, but ignored my own daughter, and left her to suffer from neglect and loneliness. More unforgivably, it was I who created all this ordeal for her to been through. I was not the respectable gentlemen I thought I was, but an asshole, a spoiled child screaming for treats. I had been everything I detested, and therefore was not deserved to be loved. For I knew, deep inside my heart that I could easily harm whomever loved me.