I shouldn't really re-hash the past but, there's a lot I want to get of my chest. I suppose... that really this is my lament... my confession of my downfalls and triumphs... I think I want to start on the subject of friends.
In my few short years, I've come to the conclusion that friends, are not, going to be there forever. Family will love you regardless of the damage you have done. Life is precious. Pain is inevitable... but personal happiness is a choice.
I say that because, in all my years, I realize not only am I a horrible friend and that I have horrid people in my life. I am not one to call, text, or even want to hang out because I am too busy chasing my dreams and trying to right my life. It's not an excuse; it's a fact of my life. I would rather work than be with my friends. Why? Because in the end there is no one but me...
I came to that conclusion due to the fact of the things that people insist on doing to me. I've been raped ... sexually manipulated, emotionally abused, beaten as a child, tortured and ignored by my peers at a young age, discriminated against, miscarried my children, been left by a fiance, publicly disgraced, betrayed by my closest friends, and even been disowned at one point by my own mother and grandmother... and that's to name a few things.
I suppose it's not really that I want to spend my life alone, but rather.. I'm petrified of people. I'm afraid of the capabilities of people. I'm socially inept. When it comes to speaking with other people, I feel that I have nothing to say... so many times I keep my mouth shut and eyes down and move on because what can I say?
I've been known to be egotistical, self involved, conceited, and selfish...
I spend the majority of my life alone. For the longest time, I prefer the comfort of passing lovers over that of friends because there no longer existed emotion in my heart in regards to being used, abused, and forgotten. To be forgotten by a friend is so much worse than being forgotten by a lover. A lover's passing is to be expected but the betrayal of a friend is more than I can bear.
When I am hurt by someone, I rarely forgive. I cut my losses and severe the ties. I can say that I can forgive a person but in all honesty, I will always hold a grudge and the pain that has been inflicted will always seep through in my voice. It's so easy to say that the to forgive is to heal and that forgiveness brings you closer to God but I cannot bring myself to forgive because the scars seem to never heal.
I may be someone who appears to lay my heart on the line and in some cases yes, I do that... except you have to understand that I say a lot of things to a lot of people. You will never get the full story from me because I cannot tell you who I really am. I do not have a true sense of myself. I am lost. I thought I knew who I was, but that was before I lost it all.
When I entered college, I was a hellion. I was broken and rebelled trying to forget. My roommate that year within a month of living with me, had me facing expulsion from the school. I was told that I was the one who had created a "hostile environment" in the community. I never intended to bring harm to anyone and I didn't understand what was happening. All I was doing was having sex with strangers. On my journey to starting a new life, I felt that it had it all torn away.
That was when I met two, at the time I thought, amazing girls. I loved them so much. They came and embraced me, loved me, and stayed with me... for three miserable years of my life. The first four months with them was amazing. I never had so much fun or felt so loved.
Those fucking goddamn cunts destroyed my life. They spread rumors about me, talked shit to my face, hurt me immensely... After four months, I attempted suicide... three months after, I tried again. After another month, I tried again. That was when administrators of the school noticed a change in me. I was confronted and my life went down the shitter. I had to go to rehab in exchange of not being expelled from school. Thousands of dollars I didn't have later, I completed out patient rehab and dialectic behavioral therapy, two long years of my life down the drain. Two days a week, every week, and mind you I didn't drive, and still don't. Forty bucks round trip each time...
I arrived with enthusiasm, with hopes and dreams... but... it was gone in an instant. I had repetitive phone calls from strangers calling me a slut, a whore,. directly to my personal phone. I was told that I was worth nothing more than a common whore. I opened up my heart but my heart shriveled up after that. I became cold and bitter...I was told that I was a liability.
I had no will to live. I was ready. Life was more than I could handle. That stuck with me. Me, a liability. That kind of realization made me understand that... I lost my sense of identity, and was really just a thing that could damage the community. There was no "me." I became everything that everyone else made me out to be. I lost everything I had built on my journey.I
I remained on campus throughout all the breaks in order to meet the requirements of the program as set forth by school administration. I would say it was because I loved the campus and it was easy to just stay here for work, but I was too ashamed to go home and confess that i made a mess of my life. I attended individual and group sessions in order to "unlearn" my behavior and become a better person. I was diagnosed with multiple disorders and by this time.. I just didn't really care. I pretended to learn and abide by the rules but I did not actually learn because I played along and over time it became habitual half-truths in order to keep the sessions entertaining and to meet the minimum of the program in order to "graduate" and be finished with that segment of my life.
When I completed rehab, it seemed that my life had snowballed. I found out that I have poly-cystic ovarian syndrome and the reason I had no cycle for the majority of my life. At this time, I weighed in at 275 lbs and would cry constantly because I felt ugly and unloved, not to mention disgustingly fat. The people that I roomed with that year also marked another dark period of my life. I became overwhelmed and during that period I again tried to finish myself off because I couldn't handle the situation. I would get post-it notes on my door even when I was present when my roommates were there. i was never invited along when they left to go to parties and when I had mine I felt as if my activities were being "monitored." The one person I had actually chosen to live with me betrayed me within a short amount of time and abandoned me after she found someone new. She was the same cunt from freshman year I thought loved me as a friend. She chose to hurt me in more ways than one. She revealed things about my past and my deepest darkest secrets when she was wasted.
I lived in a home full of strangers. I could barely even sit in the living room without feeling like I was "invading" into "their" space. i felt so un-welcomed, like I did not belong. To make matters worse, I was non-compliant with my medications because I couldn't even being to afford them.
That December, halfway through the month long break, I finally went home and was pushed by a professor on campus to do a show. Between January and February 14th, myself and a assistant pushed out a series of work that defined me as a person and provided me with the new direction in which I wanted to pursue. I had to choose my life and I chose the one that has brought me meaning and joy.
The work became a representation of my overall life. I had struggled so much with my dual cultural identity. I realize I am a part of a confused and lost generation. I am among one of the first generation of American borne Cambodians who is making the decision to regenerate a lost identity through art.
For the longest time I did not understand the preciousness of education and of life. I was ready to give up and join the masses, do what was expected of me, and give in to being a part of the overlooked communities. Over the past year or so while researching to get a better understanding of self, I started working on a project called, Dystopic Apparitions. The project was for a solo exhibit, which was an experimental process as a learning experience in understanding time constraints and becoming an independent artist.
The exhibit premiered on February 14th, 2010 and it was much more than I thought it would be. As a part of the preparation I had interviewed my mother and asked about her life in Cambodia. I have throughout the years compiled bits of information here and there but this time I made sure to ask about my grandfather. I had heard the story of his death before but I never truly heard it; in the sense that I did not fully understand the circumstances in which my grandfathers death occurred or even listened with the ear of my heart.
When she began the story there were moments of faint smiles mixed with misted eyes, and frustration as she tried to remember the memories. Her voice quivered at times but she did not shed any tears. Rather, it was I, whose vision became blurred as my heart finally opened up and truly listened. By the time she reached the part about my grandfathers stroke. I couldnt breathe. My chest tightened as I listened to her describe how half of her fathers body had started to rot, became surrounded by flies, and encroached by maggots as he laid there dying. I did not realize that it was me who was crying as my breathing became ragged and deep heavy sobs began to rock my body. They were the same cries I had heard from my mother years ago when her uncle, who was the last connection to my grandfather, passed away. My heart cried out in pain as I sobbed uncontrollably at my grandfathers fate.
My mother started speaking to me again but it seemed so far away as I tried to regain my composure and stop the tears. Finally I heard, Baby, why are you crying? You see me, I dont cry anymore. You never knew him. Its okay, you can stop crying. Its okay. It happened a long time ago. In that moment, the respect and love I had for my mother grew exponentially in a way I never thought possible.
I finally saw with eyes that were clear. I truly saw my life's work before me. If I live not for myself, then I have to live for others. My goal finally became greater than myself. I could not and will not live the way I had. I refuse to be connected to those who bring me pain. I want a life. I want my own life filled with adventures and joy. If not with a select few, then alone. I have so much to offer but if no one wants me that's fine, because I am and will continuously chase after my new-found dreams. Since then I've done multiple shows and now an artist in residence at my alma mater. I graduated college May 2011 and now am employed by the college as well as the church on campus. All in all I work three jobs and try to live comfortably with the help of an amazing bf that entered my life when I exited that awful awful stage in my life.
I've come to realize that sometimes it's the bad in life that makes you a better person. I've been through more ish than I care for but in the end I'm still trying. It's about being able to let go and accept, to live in a way that is not about indifference... but rather living without attachment... and being in the moment.
In my few short years, I've come to the conclusion that friends, are not, going to be there forever. Family will love you regardless of the damage you have done. Life is precious. Pain is inevitable... but personal happiness is a choice.
I say that because, in all my years, I realize not only am I a horrible friend and that I have horrid people in my life. I am not one to call, text, or even want to hang out because I am too busy chasing my dreams and trying to right my life. It's not an excuse; it's a fact of my life. I would rather work than be with my friends. Why? Because in the end there is no one but me...
I came to that conclusion due to the fact of the things that people insist on doing to me. I've been raped ... sexually manipulated, emotionally abused, beaten as a child, tortured and ignored by my peers at a young age, discriminated against, miscarried my children, been left by a fiance, publicly disgraced, betrayed by my closest friends, and even been disowned at one point by my own mother and grandmother... and that's to name a few things.
I suppose it's not really that I want to spend my life alone, but rather.. I'm petrified of people. I'm afraid of the capabilities of people. I'm socially inept. When it comes to speaking with other people, I feel that I have nothing to say... so many times I keep my mouth shut and eyes down and move on because what can I say?
I've been known to be egotistical, self involved, conceited, and selfish...
I spend the majority of my life alone. For the longest time, I prefer the comfort of passing lovers over that of friends because there no longer existed emotion in my heart in regards to being used, abused, and forgotten. To be forgotten by a friend is so much worse than being forgotten by a lover. A lover's passing is to be expected but the betrayal of a friend is more than I can bear.
When I am hurt by someone, I rarely forgive. I cut my losses and severe the ties. I can say that I can forgive a person but in all honesty, I will always hold a grudge and the pain that has been inflicted will always seep through in my voice. It's so easy to say that the to forgive is to heal and that forgiveness brings you closer to God but I cannot bring myself to forgive because the scars seem to never heal.
I may be someone who appears to lay my heart on the line and in some cases yes, I do that... except you have to understand that I say a lot of things to a lot of people. You will never get the full story from me because I cannot tell you who I really am. I do not have a true sense of myself. I am lost. I thought I knew who I was, but that was before I lost it all.
When I entered college, I was a hellion. I was broken and rebelled trying to forget. My roommate that year within a month of living with me, had me facing expulsion from the school. I was told that I was the one who had created a "hostile environment" in the community. I never intended to bring harm to anyone and I didn't understand what was happening. All I was doing was having sex with strangers. On my journey to starting a new life, I felt that it had it all torn away.
That was when I met two, at the time I thought, amazing girls. I loved them so much. They came and embraced me, loved me, and stayed with me... for three miserable years of my life. The first four months with them was amazing. I never had so much fun or felt so loved.
Those fucking goddamn cunts destroyed my life. They spread rumors about me, talked shit to my face, hurt me immensely... After four months, I attempted suicide... three months after, I tried again. After another month, I tried again. That was when administrators of the school noticed a change in me. I was confronted and my life went down the shitter. I had to go to rehab in exchange of not being expelled from school. Thousands of dollars I didn't have later, I completed out patient rehab and dialectic behavioral therapy, two long years of my life down the drain. Two days a week, every week, and mind you I didn't drive, and still don't. Forty bucks round trip each time...
I arrived with enthusiasm, with hopes and dreams... but... it was gone in an instant. I had repetitive phone calls from strangers calling me a slut, a whore,. directly to my personal phone. I was told that I was worth nothing more than a common whore. I opened up my heart but my heart shriveled up after that. I became cold and bitter...I was told that I was a liability.
I had no will to live. I was ready. Life was more than I could handle. That stuck with me. Me, a liability. That kind of realization made me understand that... I lost my sense of identity, and was really just a thing that could damage the community. There was no "me." I became everything that everyone else made me out to be. I lost everything I had built on my journey.I
I remained on campus throughout all the breaks in order to meet the requirements of the program as set forth by school administration. I would say it was because I loved the campus and it was easy to just stay here for work, but I was too ashamed to go home and confess that i made a mess of my life. I attended individual and group sessions in order to "unlearn" my behavior and become a better person. I was diagnosed with multiple disorders and by this time.. I just didn't really care. I pretended to learn and abide by the rules but I did not actually learn because I played along and over time it became habitual half-truths in order to keep the sessions entertaining and to meet the minimum of the program in order to "graduate" and be finished with that segment of my life.
When I completed rehab, it seemed that my life had snowballed. I found out that I have poly-cystic ovarian syndrome and the reason I had no cycle for the majority of my life. At this time, I weighed in at 275 lbs and would cry constantly because I felt ugly and unloved, not to mention disgustingly fat. The people that I roomed with that year also marked another dark period of my life. I became overwhelmed and during that period I again tried to finish myself off because I couldn't handle the situation. I would get post-it notes on my door even when I was present when my roommates were there. i was never invited along when they left to go to parties and when I had mine I felt as if my activities were being "monitored." The one person I had actually chosen to live with me betrayed me within a short amount of time and abandoned me after she found someone new. She was the same cunt from freshman year I thought loved me as a friend. She chose to hurt me in more ways than one. She revealed things about my past and my deepest darkest secrets when she was wasted.
I lived in a home full of strangers. I could barely even sit in the living room without feeling like I was "invading" into "their" space. i felt so un-welcomed, like I did not belong. To make matters worse, I was non-compliant with my medications because I couldn't even being to afford them.
That December, halfway through the month long break, I finally went home and was pushed by a professor on campus to do a show. Between January and February 14th, myself and a assistant pushed out a series of work that defined me as a person and provided me with the new direction in which I wanted to pursue. I had to choose my life and I chose the one that has brought me meaning and joy.
The work became a representation of my overall life. I had struggled so much with my dual cultural identity. I realize I am a part of a confused and lost generation. I am among one of the first generation of American borne Cambodians who is making the decision to regenerate a lost identity through art.
For the longest time I did not understand the preciousness of education and of life. I was ready to give up and join the masses, do what was expected of me, and give in to being a part of the overlooked communities. Over the past year or so while researching to get a better understanding of self, I started working on a project called, Dystopic Apparitions. The project was for a solo exhibit, which was an experimental process as a learning experience in understanding time constraints and becoming an independent artist.
The exhibit premiered on February 14th, 2010 and it was much more than I thought it would be. As a part of the preparation I had interviewed my mother and asked about her life in Cambodia. I have throughout the years compiled bits of information here and there but this time I made sure to ask about my grandfather. I had heard the story of his death before but I never truly heard it; in the sense that I did not fully understand the circumstances in which my grandfathers death occurred or even listened with the ear of my heart.
When she began the story there were moments of faint smiles mixed with misted eyes, and frustration as she tried to remember the memories. Her voice quivered at times but she did not shed any tears. Rather, it was I, whose vision became blurred as my heart finally opened up and truly listened. By the time she reached the part about my grandfathers stroke. I couldnt breathe. My chest tightened as I listened to her describe how half of her fathers body had started to rot, became surrounded by flies, and encroached by maggots as he laid there dying. I did not realize that it was me who was crying as my breathing became ragged and deep heavy sobs began to rock my body. They were the same cries I had heard from my mother years ago when her uncle, who was the last connection to my grandfather, passed away. My heart cried out in pain as I sobbed uncontrollably at my grandfathers fate.
My mother started speaking to me again but it seemed so far away as I tried to regain my composure and stop the tears. Finally I heard, Baby, why are you crying? You see me, I dont cry anymore. You never knew him. Its okay, you can stop crying. Its okay. It happened a long time ago. In that moment, the respect and love I had for my mother grew exponentially in a way I never thought possible.
I finally saw with eyes that were clear. I truly saw my life's work before me. If I live not for myself, then I have to live for others. My goal finally became greater than myself. I could not and will not live the way I had. I refuse to be connected to those who bring me pain. I want a life. I want my own life filled with adventures and joy. If not with a select few, then alone. I have so much to offer but if no one wants me that's fine, because I am and will continuously chase after my new-found dreams. Since then I've done multiple shows and now an artist in residence at my alma mater. I graduated college May 2011 and now am employed by the college as well as the church on campus. All in all I work three jobs and try to live comfortably with the help of an amazing bf that entered my life when I exited that awful awful stage in my life.
I've come to realize that sometimes it's the bad in life that makes you a better person. I've been through more ish than I care for but in the end I'm still trying. It's about being able to let go and accept, to live in a way that is not about indifference... but rather living without attachment... and being in the moment.