THIS IS THE DRAMATIC LIFE of a sole daughter—who should have known everything.
I grew up with a strong sense of independence. As the youngest and only daughter, I was never truly pampered. Instead of being showered with barbies and asked, “Do you need help?” I was given shovels and told, “Do it alone.”
And as wild as it might seem, I wholeheartedly embraced their rule.
Primary. I fondly recall my mother proudly recounting how I would repeatedly babble “ma” and “ka.” They never felt the need to teach me, as it hadn’t worked well with my brother; he still despises school. In that moment, I felt a surge of pride, realizing that amidst the foreign sounds, I had managed to grasp reality. Or perhaps it was my mother’s joyful gaze that made me feel as though I had just created something remarkable. Her proud eyes are what inspires me to do more, and be more.
Maybe back then, I was just a child determined to keep the sparkle in her mother’s eyes alive - even at the cost of dimming her own.
High school. They say this is the happiest time of your life. Yet, it took a different turn on me. My family was going through a dark period, and my academics were crumbling, but I still stood on my independence. In my young mind, these are just mere challenges— another test to brag about my capability. No wounds have cracked open because I managed to tend before it bleeds. I underestimate every problem, because I have surpassed it before; and I’ll do it again today. And this superficial independence has become my whole character—the sole trait I could literally fit myself in.
And when I could no longer hold it all together, I crumbled.
I was a young teen conditioned to rely solely on herself, and it was a huge deal to ask for help. Perhaps this was the consequence of being independent for too long; vulnerability had become so foreign it felt like an uncomfortable itch. But I was no perfect girl. Despite my attempts to beat the odds, failure and heartbreak are innate events. And when I felt my first serious failure (my grades went ill and my parents parted ways), I froze. My mind couldn’t handle the heaviness nor can it convince my body that this is just something I can easily manage. I am just there—mindlessly walking and living up with its self-sufficient name. And when everything really went dark, I looked for a reroute. A sudden change of environment—something I could gracefully hold.
I was engrossed with alcohol (perhaps until now). It was only during those moments that I could feel myself existing. No wary eyes questioning my life nor heavy feelings drowning me down. I know it is dangerous to be chemically dependent, but a bottle of it calms the chaos in me.
People heavily scrutinize alcohol-reliance (I was one of them before) yet we find it inconvenient to delve deeper into pits of what’s really behind every shot. We easily give them the glare and side glances, perceiving their rough edges we picked as dirt. Choosing unhealthy mechanisms is not the greatest way out, but heavily blaming the person for falling victim would not soothe them either.
College. Life remained chaotic, and I am still trapped in my fiercely independent existence. People often admire those who are self-sufficient; it’s an admirable trait to begin with. However, when that independence becomes a mental prison, it can shatter you. Immersed in this ideology, I felt distant from others. While I may have had friends with whom I claimed to be close, our conversations always halted before they could dig deeper. No one had felt the weight of my burdens simply because I assumed I could navigate them alone. Even romantic feelings were pushed aside, as no words seemed worthy of breaking the solitude I had created for myself.
At the end of the day, you will be pushed to walk away, and I will remain an efficient independent woman—just with teary eyes and a heart still hoping to feel love.
These sentences might feel like an open book, but these are just fractions of my unsaid thoughts. Because again, no individual would be close enough to know it all—my solitude is my mere witness.
Published in the June 2024–May 2025 print release.
