I love and respect my father so much, but I do not know how to show vulnerability to him.
He has done so much for the Vietnamese community, and he always lived a bigger life than what his family wanted or needed. He wasn't there for us when we grew up, not in the way that we wanted as children. He provided us with all the means in the world. A full stomache, a home, but no love and compassion. He was, by the archiac definition of a world long gone, a true man.
My father checked all the boxes for being the Patriarch; the Alpha Male. He was a charismatic leader, he brought wealth to the Vietnamese community, he brought joy to people, he welcomed people and made them all feel like family, except for his family. He only consistently treated us well in front of guests.
Who was my father when the guests were not around? The broken man that has been running away from his fears and insecurities since his childhood. I can relate to that, Dad. He, too, feared vulnerability. Feared being weak. Feared the judgmental eyes of his peers that he isn't the perfect man he has always tried to project into the world. It was weird seeing this duality as a child. I guess you can say that this became the root to my discontent and distrust with Authority. I got first hand experience with seeing how one can abuse their Authority, and its all so human.
My father lost his mother when he was at a young age, I want to say between 3-5 years old. He had two siblings at that time. His father remarried and had 8 more children. He was angry, jealous of the love his younger half siblings received. He also didn't feel love. He ran away to Saigon, and based on context clues, likely joined a gang during his younger years. I don't know if it was during his life in Vietnam or his early years in California. Regardless, the world he grew up in nurtured him into a hardened soul.
My father and mother escaped Vietnam thanks to the help of my great-uncle. Our family was lucky enough to have the gold to pay the boats to ship my father, mother, and her three brothers to California. They all worked at sweatshops and other jobs immigrants tend to "steal" when they settled. We were dirt poor until we moved to New Jersey. We grew up in homes with 4-5 families crammed into a house.
It was then, that we began to find wealth. My father was able to spark up partnerships among his friends, expanding nail salons all across northern New Jersey. He brought wealth to my family, my uncles, and other vietnamese families. But none of that came without costs. His past was catching up to him. The stress of keeping this growth was catching up to him. His family deteriorating was catching up to him. He escaped through the bottle like he usually does. His family felt the consequences of how he dealt with his inner demons; anger and violence.
Vietnamese men are taught these tools to survive their community, their world. But we aren't at war anymore. We don't need these tools anymore. It took a lot of tears from our family for my father to finally let his guard down. It took his son almost dieing several times for him to finally accept accountability. He finally admitted to himself, he isn't perfect.
My brother only wanted my father's love, he wasn't weak. The irony of it all is that I feel deeply inside me that my father seeks my love. I've come to terms with my father a long time ago, but I still have a chip on my shoulder on how it affected my brother.
My brother and I stood up to my father in different ways. My brother was loud, combatitive, and very transparent. I closed my mouth and I closed my heart to him. He never saw real emotion from me again for a very long time.
My father is still not perfect but he proved to me that people can change in this world. That you can still learn to improve yourself. I'm proud of my father for breaking through his inner demons and getting closer to finding peace. I'm fighting my own demons now, and it's something I can look to for inspiration and motivation.
Perhaps my purpose is to heal and evolve the generational trauma, hurt, and sadness that resides in the soul of our Cao DNA. My brother and I share many of the strengths and weaknesses of our father, and our father gave us the blueprint and opportunity to heal earlier than he has had.
I guess it's time I show my brother and father love again. I don't know how but I guess it can start with a phone call.
Thursday, April 3, 2025
My Place in Infinity
What is the purpose to life? What is the meaning to life? Is there a meaning or purpose?
It may be cliche, but I suppose I've wrestled with those questions a great deal of my life. Wrestled with ideas like destiny or nihilism. Nitpicked religion and the dogma in science. Came to conclusions like wanting children because they inspire ego death.
I've come to accept it all, or at least I'm trying to. It helped me a lot by recognizing the idea of infinity and my place in it.
Just me and the trees, the forest and the leaves. A piece of the Mandelbrot, and I'm okay with that.
There's going to be people poorer than me, richer than me. Cooler than me, geekier than me. Dumber, smarter, skinnier, fatter, prettier, uglier, meaner, nicer.
I aim to wake up with love and not violence. I aim to find balance.
I forget what podcast I was listening to, and whether the guest was Gabor Mate or Jordan Peterson, but they made a statement that was so powerful to me. "A person who dealt with trauma lives in a landscape of good and evil."
After I almost lost my brother to heroin, my world was consumed by good and evil. Actions spoke louder than words to me; it's either you do or you don't. All the words used to define why you "don't" was bullshit to me. You do or you don't. My life became black and white..
Watching our family dynamic devolve my brother to such dependency on heroin destroyed my soul. Being manipulated and gaslighted by my brother destroyed my soul. Watching the bright and joyous face of my brother love bombing me and realizing it was hollow because the heroin he injected finally kicked in destroyed my soul. Seeing the brightness from my brothers face transform before my eyes into a crying and agonizing sadness begging me to drive him to Newark to help him pick up drugs or else he might kill himself because he doesn't feel loved, it became Tuesday.
It became a joke to me. It wasn't. It fucked me up. I didn't offer my trust to people so freely anymore. I recognize that now.
Life isn't black and white. I knew that but I lost track of it. I took a back seat and chose the path of least resistance. I simplified the world to 1s and 0s. But the scale you choose is the scale you live by.
I'm unbinding the knot I shackled my soul behind, but it's hard for me to approach. I built a lot of "protective" measures without realizing it, and I think it'll be a while for me to recognize and find them all. But I find that the more I deal in the memories that hurt me so much, the more I'm able to find peace again.
And recognize my place in infinity.
Thursday, March 20, 2025
Where are the fireworks?
I'll ramble on in this one.
I have a coworker who deals with deep depression. He's been through shit. We've shared our war stories. We were both born into traumatic homes. We both came to the conclusion that if you experience enough fucked up shit in your life, you're content with having very little when you come out of it.
The silence was enough.
I was content.
But...
Did it ever get silent, though? Where did the fireworks go? When you're raised around fireworks, I guess you grow up looking for them.
Fuck it; let's do talk therapy.
I think around 7-8 years ago, I was having dinner with Wendy, Jenny and Shelley. I remember bragging that I was able to cry on command. In retrospect, I shoulda figured out I had issues then and there.
The problem, though, was that I never used that simple trick again... that is, until I used it on my therapist.
What's the trick you ask?
To be continued...
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