Family? What family?

Everybody have a dysfunctional family and that's where we sees ourselves, really sees ourselves and learning who we are. If you're lucky, you get family that you can talk about, be proud of. If you're not, you'll want to get away from your family. I'm the latter. I'm not just getting away from my "family", I'm cutting ties with them completely. And thanks to my mom's divorcing my dad, soon, I'll be completely off from them, never to be seen or heard from again.

Having being born and grew up in Viet Nam, I'm not really familiar with my dad's side of the family, except that I know I have about 9 aunts and uncles, give or take. Most of my dad's side moved across the sea and relocated in the U.S. before I was born, so I don't meet them much, except for my paternal granparents' yearly visit to Viet Nam, and even then, I only get to meet some of them, whomever was doing the escorting job, but mostly my 10th aunt, Aunt Linda.

As a child, the oversea aunts and uncles left me in awe, as they would come visit and bring gifts every year, though most of it went to my mom so she could take care of our family. It was not much of noticed to the little me, since I was basically always made to go whether I want to or not, and the little tomboy me would greet the oversea relatives, then promptly scampered off to climb trees, pick fruits and vegetables, or fishing and catching field crabs. Or harassed my poor cousin's chickens.

Roughly when I was 11, I was told that my oversea family is sponsoring us so we could move to America, too. It was exciting, though the exchanges between my relatives remained the same. The only difference is that they told our family to learn nails before we came over, because doing nails is big business in America, and you can earn a lot of money. I could care less, because I was only 11 at the time, and 5 years sound like a long time to wait.

A few months before we were to fly over, my Mom and sister went to nail classes to learn at least the basics. I was exempt because I was too young to work. But it was clear that when I'm older, the same thing would be expected of me. I didn't think about it much, because I was still a tomboy at 14, and only care about having fun. Also, being raised in a strict, traditional Vietnamese culture household, the thought of speaking against the elders has never occurred to me, and basically, I would have to do what the elders wanted me to do. If that means they decides my future for me, it was their right to do so.

The first time I thought of something different for myself was when I was 16, not getting anywhere with high school. My life then was decided for me by someone else. Someone that doesn't care if I will be happy with my future or not, someone that was trying to dash all my hopes and dreams for my own future aside and told me that I will always be a nail technician. That someone was my aunts and uncles, with kids of their own to care about so they didn't have any energy to care for those not of their own. My parents was helpless, as they didn't know any English, and was under the control of the "family" that brought us over to the United States. They were busy trying to make a living, busy trying to pacified relatives that only care about money. My parents could only give me physical support, a roof over my head and food to eat (to which I was grateful), and nothing else. They go to work in the morning, and come home at night, tired. It's not that it doesn't matter to them about what I thought, what I want, it just...they didn't have time. At 16, I have no idea of who I am (or even thought of thinking about who/what I am for that matter), I wanted to be a photographer, an actress, or just travel the world. Those dreams was deemed unpractical, and unnecessary, especially with my aunts and uncles' plan of teaching/getting me qualified as a nail tech and work for them. That was their plan, and mine doesn't matter. It was decided, and I felt trapped then. I wanted to do everything but nails, yet I didn't know what to do to change the fate that was decided for me. My own sister had already fell into that trap, and she could never get out of it. I used to worship my sister, and thought that if a strong, smart, and wonderful person like my sister couldn't get out of it, I certainly will be living a life just like her. I felt trapped and helpless, but there was no room for hate. I was too young to have my own thinking just yet, and beside, I settled into the stability of walking the path of my family, after all, being a nail tech earns a lot of money. I didn't think more on the matter.

At 17, I went into cosmetology, figuring that I might want to do something else other than nails. With the economy then, nails was a treat, and there was a cut in the amount of customers comparing to the previous years. I figured that maybe not everyone want to have their nails done, but almost everyone will need to have their hair taken care off; and by the time that I finish beauty school, the customers will surely increased. It was my first step in fighting back.

I earned a cosmetology licensed, and it was valued above the nail technician licensed, as I can do more than nail tech does, I can do waxing and massaging. My mom was planning to open a spa shop with her and my sister do nails, while I do hair. The plan was talked over and decided without my input, because really, with my mother and sister always doing the deciding, I only had to follow what they tell me to.

I think that's where my rebellious phrase is really coming into effect, and I felt that it was not fair that I am not in control of my life, though there's nothing I could do. Or so I thought.

After graduating high school, I went to work with my sister at her new shop, and I hated every minute of it. I hate touching people's dirty feet, I hated the smell of the chemicals that was used in the nails shop, I hated being told what to do every day of my life, I hated the hours (workign from 9 a.m. to 8 p.m. is rough, especially when I started to developed breathing problems, and would be up all night most day because my nosed was not working much at all). We didn't have health insurance, and while I was hating it so much, I have to continue working and earn money enough to buy allergic medication (it was around $200 monthly in prescription drugs a month, as Allegra and Nasalcort wasn't over the counter yet).

After a few months of hating everyday that I have to work, and was ashamed of being a nail tech, I finally called it quit and told my parents I will go to college, just so I don't have to do nails any more. Just like all Asian parents, mine wanted me to be a doctor. I wanted to be a game designer/programmer, and I told them computer science does earn money, too. They let me took a year of it, before I told them I was bored and wanted to become a photographer. They put all four feet down and told me I need to learn something that would let me get a real job, or else. I did gave into their pressure and went to medical courses, only to find out I have no inclination towards that at all. I told them I just can't learn, and my mom pushes me to take pharmacy tech courses. Predictably, that also went over my head, and the name and long ass chemical makeups of medicines just fly over my head. That took a year and a half of my life from me. I was dejected.

I was 23, almost 24, with no degree, no job that I'm interested in, and trying hard to get control of my life away from my parents and my sister, and the sneering, bad treatments of my brother in law. I felt like I have nowhere else to go, no one I could rely on, and no one that I could talk to and vent my troubles away. And before I knew it, I had grown to be a loner, too used to being a lone while others go to work, too scared to let others know what I thought, too scared to find myself, and feeling like I'm going to be trapped like this for the rest of my life. I wanted to break away, but I have no means to do so.

To make matter worse, my sister and her husband cut ties with my parents and the 'family', leaving me to brace the anger and hurt of my parents, with the responsibilities of taking care of them. I took that on, hating every moments that my parents rehashed things that were said and done, my anger builds and builds with all the times that they compared my sister and I, and be even stricter with me "just in case" I turned out like my sister. I ground my teeth and bears it when they told me that no man from the provincial that my brother in law came from is good, and put up with their generalization of how men is terrible (Excuse me, dad, you're a man, too, and not a good father nor a good man, so why are you talking about how others are?). I have all this anger and pain building up at a fast rate in me, with no way of venting them. I turned to video games, and become obsessed with it. I would play games any time I can, all the time if I could. I forsake sleep, exercise, human interaction so I could immense myself in leveling, having friends online, and killing monsters to get epic loot. Gaming was my life, my real life, where I can be free, where I don't have to do anything I don't want to, where I could interact with others and have fun, and for the first time in my life, to have my own opinion valued. In short, gaming was where and when I was a person. I was my own person in a virtual world.

Meanwhile, my parents and I moved from state to state, where we have family members (that was on my dad's side), and where my mom's friend moved to, trying to settle and find a home again. That didn't work out, and we have to move back to Indiana. Then my mom had three open heart surgery, and once again I have to be constantly at her side, essentially living int he hospital with her for 28 days, constantly hearing about my sister. When she was released, my dad quit his part time job so someone could watch over my mother (just an excuse for my dad to not work). My hate for the family, my parents, and my situation only grew, because then it was even worse for me, for everywhere my mother goes, I have to go with her, essentially becoming a hostage for whatever she needs, and listening to her complaining nonstop about how she's not going to make it (she have a heart valve replaced, with a pace maker put in, and according to the doctor, she's better than new, but she would acts like she's so weak she can't even talk one minute, and the next minute chatting on the phone for hours about how heartless my sister is to abandon her at such a critical time, and how it pains her to be alone, with no thought of how I feel, no mention of how I was almost always have to stay by her). All doctors that have my mother as a patient (heart doctor, blood doctor, family doctor, and Coagulant clinic that monitor her weekly) was all saying that she's at the peak of her life, that she's doing much better than she ever was, but to my mother, she's this frail lady with a bad heart, who wouldn't probably make it to the next year.

I was fed up. I wanted an escape. I wanted to be free. I have had enough.

Without telling my parents first (because I know they'll stop me), I signed up for the Navy. Anything to leave, anything to get away. A month after signing the documents, I told them. I felt safe then, for the first time, as there's nothing they could do about it. They can't mess with the government :) I was actually happy, and counting down the months left to boot camp.

In public, and to others, they would act so proud and bragging that I'm a good child for wanting to serve the country we moved to, but in private, they would chide me about my choices, and complain that I was abandoning them, just like my sister did.

I couldn't wait to leave.

Boot camp was bad, as I have never heard so much cursing in my life as an hour in boot camp, and I've never saw so much naked bodies in a bathroom before, but I was doing well. It wasn't easy, as a day in boot camp feel like years, but I eventually learn to ignore everything else and focus on the graduation day. Looking back now, those 2 months was actually not bad, as I was exposed to different people from different age groups and backgrounds, and I learned a lot from them, from loving the diversity to how I was not the only one suffering (which did me good, and help me learn to open my heart). It wasn't bad, and by the time I reported to my first duty station after boot camp, I was a bubbly, smiling five feet three inches of shining sunlight. So much that my chief keep teasing me about my happy personality, and jokingly teasing me to stop being so cheerful in the early morning at least XD

My first duty station was great. I drew the golden straw in "A" school and got assigned to a shore duty on the east coast. It was not just a piece of cake, but the whole cake was handed to me with that assignment. East coast was about chilling and enjoying life, much more so as a shore duty, and thick icing on the cake was a special op duty station. I was given a golden egg laying goose, and nothing else would ever be the same. I was spoiled rotten, as far as the military was concern.

I was not the youngest personnel, but I was the lowest grade personnel the command ever have. Reporting in as an E2 in a command where Senior Chiefs, Master Chiefs came to retired as well as O4 being promoted to O5 was somewhat of a first experience that everyone would dream to have. Being spec ops, they know how valuable life is, and they have an appreciation of personnel that normal commands doesn't have, and I was being treated as an equal instead of an underling (with the exception of my 2 YN1s that was jackass through and through, but even then, my mentor YN2 was there to shield me from most of the explosions and barbed wires that those two dishes out, one after another, and to which I'm ever grateful for). I learned to be a human at that command, I learned that not all people are bad, that there are beautiful things in life. I learned how to find myself, how to think for myself at that command.

I was 25, and for the first time in my life, I learned that I was, am, and always will be a person. I learned that I can make my own choices, I learn lessons that my parents didn't teach me, I learned lessons that my so called 'family' didn't teach me.

It was where I learned that I could do anything I want to do, that there is hope in life. I learned to opened my eyes, my mind, and myself. I learned how to stand up after a fall, to sooth my own tears. I learned to reach out to who I can rely on, despite my fears.

I learned what I was not allowed to before: how to be free.

I was only at my command for two and a half year, but I gained so much from them. I have so much fun, I laugh almost every day, I have new experience every day. I learned so much it feels like that was my family, where I began.

I will always be grateful to my first command, to my mentors; they have done more than anyone have ever done for me; they have given me the knowledge of myself, and the perseverance of learning to be more. I'm always going to think of them fondly, with a smile from my heart, and that's the only family I considered mine.