Saturday, April 01, 2006

Bobble Head

My dad is a saboteur out to ruin my life! He's a ponchy Green Goblin with a satchel full of flammable misinterpreted phone conversations. You'd think he'd be more supportive of my summer internship in Beijing, working the news department at CCTV. Yet, my mother frantically calls every week asking me if what daddy keeps telling her is true, if I'm confused and wishy-washy about the plan.

"You go or no? I buy ticket now and your ba say you no know."

My dad keeps asking me why I can't stay in Canada and work for the CBC or the Montreal Gazette. Hmmm ... CBC only has two intern positions a year, and the Montreal Gazette is a local paper with no clout. I have my theories as to why he's being such an ass though. I mean, he did scrap my trip to North Korea for fear that I would get arrested for my opinions. Maybe he thinks the commies won't enjoy my presence in China either. He doesn't see it from my perspective, which is to get my foot in the door and make contacts who are experienced in the field of journalism. My dad says if I like to write so much, why don't I just pen a novel? He doesn't seem to like my up-for-anything, risk-taking attitude. (Not many people do now that I mention it.) Everyone's always giving me the "What if this happens?" lecture, never thinking that perhaps I might have considered it already. It's like I struggle more to reassure friends and family than I do convincing potential employers of my abilities. Forgive me for sounding like a hotshot. I just don't feel like I'm being trusted to take care of my own business.

Like yesterday, I was hanging out with my neighbours and rebuffed another proposition to smoke a joint. Cedric grabbed my buddy's hand and said, "She aleady said no. She's been saying it all night." That, in itself, wasn't offensive. (How could it have been? He was being a gentleman.) But I bring out people's protective natures and rarely feel protected in turn. I feel like sometimes my qualities aren't so much accepted, but slated for sainthood. So the Madonna/whore dichotomy punctures other areas of my life beyond the sexual. The idealization of the sum of my parts creates this aura of fragility that ignores the fact that I have arrived where I am by my own accord. Sometimes I think people want to cloister me for their own peace of mind, selfish or otherwise. The bearer of bad news, the perpetual sandman, they hinder my personal progress by being so damn "well-intentioned". I could understand their logic if I have a history of making self-destructive decisions and creating rifts the size of the San Andreas fault. But I'm not.

Too many contradictions, too little understanding. It's a foreign language I'm not apt to approach. At least this means I'm not deriving validation from sources beyond myself anymore. That's a victory all by itself.

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