post past-closet explosion clean out

“eew. i don’t even want to say the word.”

my therapist waited patiently as i probably made faces and struggled to make the word come out of my mouth.

“it’s just…unnnngh. these clothes i found, the ones that i’ve held on to for so long, they made me feel…precious.”

"precious?”

“precious. i know. i KNOW! i know. gross.”

“why is it gross?”

“because that’s not me! it’s never been me! and i wanted it to be me SO BAD.”

at this point i had no idea what my face was doing but I let it contort and go through the motions as i felt my throat tighten and let the waterworks and snot machine kick into high gear.

“these clothes made me fee so precious, so, so…small.”

”ahhh,” she said. “i see.”

“i mean it just feels very asian,” i continued. “this kind of asian i never was.”

“was this in san francisco?”

“yeah. and i was never ‘asian enough’ for san francisco. or filipino enough for daly city. or the ‘right’ kind of asian.”

“right for who?”
”i don’t know. people who really wanted me to either be mainland asian or mexican.”

“oh, so you mean ignorant people.”

“you could call them that, yes.”