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The Trap

19 Feb

My boyfriend reminded me of Appa in many ways, though I didn’t know why. It wasn’t anything physical about him, it was something in his personality. I didn’t know that what I was trying to grasp was a shattered vase with some of the pieces missing from it. My images of Appa, remembered by my subconscious were incomplete images. I only had one image of Appa in my conscious mind at the time.

I’d always admired Appa more than anyone. I had always held him up on a 5 year old’s pedestal of what a person should be like. I modeled myself after his expectations for years. I became who I was because I wanted to be like him. I saw him as a deeply moral man. I saw him as a man that could do no wrong. And from the five year old’s eyes I wanted to have the power to heal all his hurts and his pain. Because this was the last thing I had of Korea that I could hold onto. I told no one of this memory. I told no one, because I was used to them being taken away from me. From this image of holding his hand and wanting to heal the his hurts, I took this incomplete image into myself and how I treated the world.

This man validated much of my feelings and emotions which was the first time I felt that in my life. He believed in things like intuition and even things like ghosts and spirituality. Having those things validated inside of myself felt good. I had to admit it. He gave a sort of validation that I’d been craving. Because in some part I knew Appa gave me that validation. And I sucked on it.

I moved in with my Aunt in LA for a few months until I could find a place of my own, but I was lost in how one should find a job, how to find an apartment and I didn’t know what one should do to achieve those things. I floundered and I couldn’t find a place to live. So the time was up at the end of the month. I didn’t have a job, the savings my parents had given me was running out, but I was determined to make it. I knew instinctively the next step was to put pressure on myself and move into a hotel. My boyfriend objected.

I repeated it again and again, but he kept after me, and like my Dad I rolled over. I moved in with him, even though I knew that I shouldn’t do so. I tried for the first 2 months to pay him rent, but he refused. I tried to find my own place, but I couldn’t figure out how I should do so. I became stuck.

Without realizing it, he was starting to wear me down. He told me I was clumsy, that I should know certain things and started wearing on my self esteem. In turn I raised his self esteem because I felt that I should heal his hurts and his wounds, even the intangible ones that I could not heal. And most of all I was excepting this as normal. The more I stayed in that apartment with him, the more that I accepted that whatever happened was normal.

 
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