I live and breathe and it matters
Whether it is to blog, vlog, or live-stream, I think for me, being "visible" online is deeply attached to the desire of being known.
Sure, one can be known through their family, friends, workplace, neighborhood and in-person community, but somehow, I have struggled with feeling fully myself in those contexts. Or at least, I'm still figuring out how to unmask enough in those scenarios. Online has provided a sort of permission slip to be a bit more courageous, to let those walls down a little bit.
As I'm grieving my dad's death, and quite sleep-deprived due to the insomnia that it has thrusted me into, I wonder the subtle and quiet ways my dad has influenced me just as much as the direct and obvious ways.
Everything is swirling when I think about his death -- how sudden it was, and how final it is -- but I am determined to make something out of this devastation. To honor him, to wake up from this internal slumber, this fear that has paralyzed me, and go out and do something loudly and proudly in the world.
The day before he died, I spent a few hours vlogging, daring myself to be raw and vulnerable about the abuse I endured (unrelated to family) and what has kept me silent and small in my creative endeavors and passions. It felt like an important declaration: to choose to show up scared and imperfect.
It was important, because I was suffocating. I held my breath for far too long -- a futile attempt to avoid the attention of my ex-abusers and other unwanted harassment. And if I'm being honest, I was afraid of disappointing my loved ones and relatives. As if surviving abuse was a moral failing of my character and it would lead me to being shunned, pitied, and branded with the "scarlet letter".
Despite a loving, supportive husband and two adorable kitties, I was still struggling with my tendency to self-isolate which often left me empty. A recipe for extended loneliness.
I knew I needed to face the world eventually. That vlog addressed that point. I told my husband about my vlog that night, and he embraced me so tightly, so sincerely. I cried hard out of relief, shoulders buckling and snot dribbling out sideways. We both agreed it was a small but mighty breakthrough.
I haven't looked at that vlog ever since I received that phone call from my brother -- "Dad is no longer with us". In a desperate attempt to make meaning out of everything, I somehow decide that I have to be more bold. More forward, more unapologetic, and willing to be wrong and disliked in the favor of being known.
That somehow doubling down on facing the world in this public yet (maybe) inconsequential and asinine way will make a difference. A form of wishful thinking -- a drop of hope in a sea of darkness.
What's the importance of being known, and how does this tie to my father?
It pains me to say, but I have had always wished to know my father more personally. He had a light and air about him that always exuded kindness, humor, and a happy-go-lucky demeanor. When he was alive, I always described him as more of an older, irresponsible brother than a father figure.
I tsk at myself, because after going through his belongings, his sentimentality of keeping every card, every letter, every developed photo, revealed how deeply he felt about life. After learning more about what he survived, how he kept showing up as a father even when he lacked resources, support, and was silently suffering, is incredible. Even miraculous.
He was being the best father he could despite all odds. My poor dad. I wish I could embrace him and thank him for everything one last time.
Scrolling through his phone's camera roll, I glimpsed into what he saw as significant. Endless photos and videos of us -- me, my sister, and my brother. They were often candid shots, some with us waving and aware, and some where we are blissfully ignorant, which bursts with fondness and sentiment for his kids.
It was a shock to me to see all the holiday decorations he snapped a pic of. All the famous landmarks in LA, the city where he worked for 37 years. The impulsive nature shots he took because he thought it was beautiful. The family, friend, and coworker gatherings he attended and recorded but never talked about (at least to me). My dad documented so much through his camera!
These are the things I didn't know about my dad but wanted to know all my life. I finally get to know my dad more personally. It feels like a cruel joke... to finally become closer to him as I have yearned for all my life, after his death.
The stories from his second wife (he just remarried last year, we were supposed to meet her and see our dad's new life in the Philippines over the Christmas holidays this year) surprised me -- he was so expressive and open with her.
He talked about us all the time to her, it was clear that he was very proud of us (which, fortunately, I did know because he told me many times). But an ache of jealousy crops up within anyways. Why didn't I get the opportunity to receive this version of him? I was trying to hide my bewilderment as she was so familiar with us while we knew nothing of her.
Thankfully, she is kind and generous. She was willing to share all the memories -- their day-to-day life, their videos, pictures, letters to each other, and his advice and insight about many topics. She allowed me to know my dad more deeply through their bond and love.
I see why he fell in love with her and chose her.
I wish I knew them together before he died.
My dad deserved this romantic love all his life. It feels like another cruel joke that he got such little time to savor it before his heart attack. I then try to reason at least he got a chance to know it at all before he passed.
There are no neat beginnings or endings. I resolve that human life is incredibly messy and painful but yet still filled with so much joy.
My parents divorced at an early age, and whenever it was his turn to have custody of us kids, I would ask many questions. I missed him and wanted to know what happened since we last saw each other. He never revealed much.
Asking him how his day was meant an automatic reply of "the same old, same old". I was unsatisfied with this answer and told him that. But prying over the years never yielded much results. After some time, I learned I had to respect his choice. This is something I regret. I wish I demanded and extracted stories out of him. Then I remember that I can't change the past and that grief is so different than I thought it would be.
So, instead of diving into the emotional waters, my dad opted for being fun, light-hearted, and going straight to activities to bond instead of verbally communicating.
We went to the mall, we went to parks, museums, movies, restaurants, theme parks, all the things that a family could want and do. A more unique upbringing that I experienced was becoming a regular to multiple computer gaming cafes.
That is where my love for gaming was nurtured and encouraged. This is how I eventually fall into streaming games, which enabled me to be independent and move out on my own. I have my dad to thank for that -- which he knew, because I told him many times -- but looking back, it feels like I didn't celebrate this milestone and his contribution enough. This spawns as another regret, something I wish I could thank him more sincerely for and how grateful I am for his motivation and support.
I've jumped all over the place in this post (which makes sense because grief doesn't follow much of anything, let alone a tidy 'this, then, and that'), but I'm trying to get to the point, I swear.
Or at least, I'm trying to figure out the point.
Perhaps the desire that drove me to be visible online became a sort of balm for not knowing my dad the way I wanted to. By not having an open feedback loop with him (and to be fair, I lack this with my mom too, but that's a different story), I lacked the open feedback loop within myself.
Somehow, I felt compelled to create and "establish" myself online -- it helped me feel more tangible. More real. Like a rebellious display of graffiti, "I was here". That "I live and breathe and it matters". A sort of message to say that we all matter, and that people do care and want to know us, our stories, to be part of our lives.
Maybe I saw too much of myself in him, given the fact I developed the same habits of self-isolation and loneliness. Being in online communities helped combat that sense of loneliness and disconnection.
His reluctance of vulnerability with me made me want to be more openly vulnerable. His tendency to self-erasure meant I had to make my mark.
My desire to have any sort of "legacy" might have stemmed from not wanting to be forgotten, but in order to be forgotten you had to have been once known.
Perhaps I want to be known, because all the love in my heart and my very existence is evidence of being loved by my dad -- of being loved by my family, friends, and many people throughout my life and people who have yet to come.
I don't want that love to be forgotten or to crumble away to the dust (even though I understand that all things die eventually, even memories). I still want to try to make a mark anyways.
I want love to be known and accessible and shared freely amongst all peoples. I want us to be liberated from loneliness, liberated from our insecurities and traumas and healed so we may love one another more readily. To support one another and uplift one another because we suffer but we don't have to suffer alone.
We are filled with goodness -- the desire to give and receive love. I want to nurture that goodness in me. I hope that I can encourage that goodness in others.
I am beginning to view life so differently now that my dad has died. I wonder, what do I want to leave behind when I die?
Love you, dad. I miss you so much.
Thanks for for being here. Write again soon.
Nadine ♥