As shared live on stage for Stoop Storytelling Series (click to hear the audio!):

Look at me. What do you see? You’ll probably say a middle-aged Chinese woman who has worked very hard for every single one of these gray hairs on her head. And you would be right. If any of you are leaning into stereotypes or implicit biases, you may be thinking you’re looking at a rule follower, a promise keeper, a good human. And you were right. I was. Until I wasn’t. Turns out there was a mix-up of sorts, if you will. 

I am a child of immigrants from Hong Kong. The best thing you can be as a Chinese child, is to be “Gwaai.” That is the Cantonese word for Good. Obedient. Do as you’re told. So I was good and obedient and followed all the rules. Also, as a child of immigrants, you’re always ‘On.” You’re always scanning the room, feeling the temperature of the room. You don’t even realize you’re doing it, but you’re soaking in all the messages society sends you, because it’s how you learn the rules of engagement. The bonus side effect of this state of constant observation? Is that you’re so busy noticing, you don’t have time to say anything. This too, is Gwaai.

So I continued to grow up, get older, yet still so obedient and good. And I started dating. And wouldn’t you know it? Men would, unsolicited, tell me that they could not marry an Asian woman. They could not have mixed-race children. They would tell me this on the first date. Or the third date. One gentleman had the good timing to tell me this after 6 months. 

Who said I wanted to marry you in the first place? Who said I wanted kids at all? And why were these the two things that outraged me the most? Probably because I didn’t have the words then to call racism for what it was. And probably because I was in denial that they were only looking for situationships. So I started to hope for someone who wouldn’t leave me. I was hoping to avoid nursing yet another broken heart. People told me to date a nice guy.

So I met a guy. He seemed nice. We got married after a couple years of dating because that’s what we were supposed to do. Right? After all, I’m no dummy, my friends asked all the time, “So, how are things going with ____?”  I’d watched all the movies, read all the stories, it was supposed to be happily ever after. This was the next logical step after dating for years. And he hadn’t left me. We were good to go?

Turns out we were NOT good to go. I won’t go into all the issues that came up in the marriage, because this isn’t about him. There’s lots of tales, but at the end of each tale, it turns out that I was never lonelier than in that marriage. At the end of each tale, it turns out that we did not share the same values. At the end of each tale, it turns out that he refused to show up and do the work to make the marriage work. 

Because I was Gwaii, I tried to do all the work to make the marriage work. I tried ignoring the issues, I was good. I tried working on the issues, I was a rule follower. We tried going to therapy for the issues, Gwaai. I tried changing myself, Gwaai. I tried changing everything around me, Gwaai. With every change, I died a little inside every single day. But I got what I wanted. I got someone who would not leave me. 

It got to the point where I couldn’t recognize myself anymore. And I had two young children. Maybe I could slow down the dying inside a little to raise these two humans? But the thing with children is that you are reminded of their innocence, their potential, their possibility. Their joy, their curiosity, their goodness. Children are good, without being obedient. 

And children look to you to learn what they’re supposed to do. I didn’t want my children to think this was a good marriage, a fulfilling relationship, a worthy goal. I did not want them to feel trapped and lonely and dead inside in a relationship that was not respectful and fulfilling. 

And in one moment, I knew. I knew I had to end this marriage to save myself. Because I’m a rule follower, I listen to the flight attendants before every flight. I remembered that they tell you when all hell breaks loose, you need to put on your oxygen mask before you help others put on theirs. To make sure these children would thrive and live their best lives, I had to take care of myself first. I had to save myself in order to save my children.

But if I ended a marriage, I was no longer Gwaai, obedient, and doing what I’m supposed to. I struggled with how to reconcile this with myself. I struggled with the fact that I made vows. Till death do us part. I promised, happily ever after. I meant that. I’m not a liar. I’m responsible. I didn’t take this lightly. I said I’d love you forever. Forever.

Turns out forever is a very long time. I struggled with being a liar, someone who breaks promises. How do I ever trust myself again? How do I ever tell anyone else I will love them forever? How do I disappoint my parents, my children, everyone, in such a deep way?

And then I was reminded of my parents. They had a couch in the living room by the front window when I was little. I knew all the contours and lines of the couch, the texture of the upholstery, the colors of the fabric. One day when I was older, they asked me to help move that couch. I could see where the sun had faded part of the upholstery day after day, for years. But I didn’t notice it until then, years later. That was me. I was still recognizable, but so, so faded.

I had to raise my children so that they could live their best lives, but here I was a faded shell of a memory. I had to break my promises before I had the answers to any of my struggles because to raise them, I had to not only find myself, I had to decide who I wanted to be. I had to decide what colors I wanted to be. And to do that, I had to try lots of new and terrifying things to see what resonated, to see what would stick. Some of those things:

Drumming, still terrifying, but that stuck. Flying a plane, so terrifying, and did not stick. Running really long distances, that felt good until it didn’t. The flying trapeze, that was a literal disaster. Belly dancing, so not pretty. Handling a gun—I should not be armed. But the scariest thing I did was dare to have the audacity to fail.

I had to do all of these things because I needed my children to learn they can do hard things, they can be scared and brave at the same time, that they have Mary Oliver’s one wild and precious life to lead. I needed them to know they aren’t passively who they are, but instead have the agency to decide who they want to be. I wanted my children to learn to trust themselves, figure out what resonates with them. Because I didn’t. I hadn’t trusted myself, I hadn’t trusted all the red flags about my ex-husband, and instead I held on tight to the narrative that I was supposed to be married. I know my children will make their own mistakes, but I do not want them to make mine.

I had to save myself to save my children. Turns out that people thought I was a promise-keeper, a rule-follower, but they were mistaken. I am instead, a lifesaver.