A sequel

I wrote my parents that letter not to bring them shame or cause them frustration the rest of their lives. That was farthest from my mind. I endured countless hours of anguish and pain putting together that letter to save myself from living in a perpetual lie. I wanted to be honest with them, I yearned to be close with them, and I longed to free myself.

The letter was long overdue. The truth of the matter was, my memory fails me now trying to remember how far back in time had I tried composing a letter or how many attempts I have undertaken all in all. It must have been a thousand already. But the more I tried writing one, the quicker I would be swayed from going any further because I didn’t want to cause unnecessary harm and discomfort, not so much on my part but for them. I have hesitantly agreed to let things be the way they have always been so as not to trigger any unpleasant confrontations or set off my parents to suddenly become mute.

For the next several years, I blinded myself to believe that this was the most practical thing for me to do --- keep silent on the subject, don’t cause needless harm, do “normal” things, stay out of trouble, be as inconspicuous and unnoticeable as possible. I have been good at keeping things quiet and even perfected the art of feigning my real self. It troubled me doing that, but it was the only way I can keep those around me. It was horrible. I cannot imagine giving almost all of my life keeping alive one lie after another. I have grown tired living as somebody I am not. I refuse to deny myself of the joys of being free. I wanted my parents and other people close to me to stop being entertained by an illusion.

And so, several days before my mom was set to fly back last year to the States where she now lives with my dad, a strong feeling came suddenly burning in me. I thought maybe it was time for me to do the letter. I thought maybe the three years that they have lived there somehow opened their minds a bit to things. I don’t know what made me think that way, but I convinced myself that that was likely, a risk worth taking, something that was more practicable than anything.

I think the risk paid off. Although it’s not really something we talk about lengthily over the phone when they call, we have become comfortable joking with each other on many things. We don’t feel awkward on long pauses and momentary silences anymore. And most of all, the words “I love you” have acquired more meaning.


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I just thought, maybe one or two young readers may find their way here in my blog and, like me, have always planned on writing that letter. Here are some helpful ideas.