I’ve seen you, so I own you.

Essays in Love – Alain De Botton

I started reading this book 2 days ago. It is a novel about two young people, who meet on an airplane between London and Paris and rapidly fall in love.The structure of the story isn’t unusual. What lends the book its interest is the extraordinary depth with which the emotions involved in the relationship are analyzed. It’s an excellent read if you asked me.

About mid-way in, the author has discussed about the ownership of each other after coitus. The simple sentence: ” I’ve seen you, so I own you” strikes me the most.

I finally found the answer to the statement that my partner made recently during one of my distress then leads to heated discussion. This is the 3rd time, he has used this sentence with me. Yes, I counted. I let it slide the 1st time, then the 2nd time, and then I fought back the 3rd time. I still don’t know how to set boundary, except reacting when pressed so many times.

The statement goes like this: ” Em lớn rồi, không thể mỗi lần có chuyện là ước bố em sống lại để giúp đỡ em”. In English it would go like this: “ Your father is dead, really dead. Don’t ever dream to ask for his help again. Nobody’s gonna every help you again.”

First and foremost, this statement has crossed all the possible lines and boundary that can be possibly imagined. In my weakest and most vulnerable moment, he has single handedly crushed my heart into a million pieces by reminding me about my father’s death – or my ultimate permanent pain. Not once, but 3 times.

If a stranger found out that my father has passed away, when they asked. They will say sorry, some will give me a hug. And we never discuss about my Dad again, unless I brought it up. A friend will never even thought of talking about my father to me, unless I mentioned him first. But as lover, suddenly, he has the right to use my very personal pain to attack me. “I’ve seen you, so I own you”

“Anh à, em đã cảm thấy mình không thể thở nổi. Anh đã tự cho mình quyền để làm tổn thương em. Em chưa bao giờ nói rằng em ước gì ba mình sống lại, để giúp em. Em cũng chưa từng bao giờ nghĩ như vậy hết. Em chỉ muốn được gọi điện thoại cho ba thôi. Chỉ cần là gọi tới số mà không có người bắt máy cũng được. Từ ngày ba mất đi, mẹ lúc nào cũng giữ điện thoại của ba, em chưa lần nào có thể gọi tới. Thỉnh thoảng, mẹ lại dùng điện thoại của ba gọi cho em vì “tiện”. Lần nào, trên điện thoại hiện lên “Papa” em cũng thót tim, phải hít thở mấy lần mới dám bắt máy. Em đã không hiểu vì sao em phải đấu tranh và cố gắng giải thích cho việc mình đã buồn như thế nào. Quyền để nghĩ tới ba lúc em buồn, lúc em bối rối không biết làm thế nào cũng không được sao anh? Điều gì đã khiến anh nghĩ là mình có thể nói như vậy? Em phải nghĩ như thế nào đây?”

Secondly, I never wished for my Dad to be alive again to help me. Never have I ever thought about it. I did, wish for something else though.

I wished I could switch place with him.

Ever since the day he was so sick in bed, I wanted so badly to switch place with him. I want him to be the one who’s sitting on the taxi going back home from the hospital. I want to be the person who’s suffering from so much pain in the ICU. I just want to switch place with him. I want to be the person who’s dead, and he’s still alive. I bargained with God. I was ready to die so that my father can live.

I continued to wish after he was dead, that for some magical solution, the photos on top of the urn transformed into my face, and then I vanished, so that he can appear, like those movie effects. As times goes by, I began to understand, wishing for the opposite is actually more hurtful to him.

A child who lost a parent is called “the orphan”
A wife/husband who lost their partner is called “The widow”
How come a parent who lost their child doesn’t have a name? In all the language I knew, there’s no such thing. I personally think it’s because the pain is far greater than the above 2, no word can describe it.

If I were dead, and he’s alive to type these words like me, maybe the pain will increase 100 times. I wouldn’t want him to go through the pain of losing someone forever. He would lose the sparks in his eyes, he would be so sad. So I stopped wishing. I stopped imagining the the pictures on the urn to change to my face. And I accepted it. I accepted the pain, and I’m living with it.

Today, I started watching the series “Hi, Bye mama” on Netflix. It just turn it on to start cooking food. There was a simple scene, when the father of a dead daughter, hugging his grand child, and said: ” My grandchild looks exactly like my daughter”. I broke down into tears, out of nowhere, right in the middle of me cutting food. A lot of tears!

My father didn’t have the chance to be “ông ngoại”, because I wasn’t ready. I know he will be a fantastic “ông ngoại”. I know he will enjoy it so much. I have imagined it a long long time ago. Growing up, my “ông ngoại” was sick, he suffered from 2 strokes, so he couldn’t play with me or make those wooden toy for me. I remember feeling so jealous of my friend after the weekend, bring back to school a very beautiful elephant made from bamboo. It’s probably not beautiful in term of looks, but she loved it, the love made it beautiful. I used to think, my child’s gonna be really lucky, she’s gonna have the best “ông ngoại”. But he didn’t have the chance, and he will never be. I miss him dearly.

I sometimes imagined he’s standing next to me, seeing me so sad, would make him very sad too. He would put his hand over my shoulder, and said: “Con gái trưởng của ba, không có sao đâu mà, có gì đâu mà con phải khóc dữ vậy. Ba vẫn ổn mà. Ba già rồi, ba lớn hơn con, ba biết nhiều hơn con. Ba cũng đã sống đủ hơn con.” He would say like this.

So I tried, really hard. I try to just be sad for a little while, then up I’m happy again. I’ve grown so much since he passed away. I’ve learned to be in touch with my emotions, I’ve learned to grief, I’ve learned to cry whenever I’m sad, I’ve learned to express my sadness, I’ve learned to talk to people when I’m sad. I’ve spent half of my life perfecting my happy skills, but if there was no darkness, how could we see the light. Though still a learner, but I know I’m on the right path to emotional maturity.