The Story of My Life

What's the story of my life?

Is it my relationship with my Father?  Having so many years where I tried to make him proud and tried to become a person that was in direct conflict with myself so he would be proud. 

Is it the relationship with my sexuality?  Being so clearly gay and exuberant and creative and individual.

Is it the relationship with my Mother?  Mirroring her nurturing nature at the expense of myself.

Is it about being a Writer?  I have experiences that I have to write down.  This is the lens through which my world exists.  Sometimes my world is fantasy because I'm living in the dream I am writing.

Is it about being a mixed race person?  I'm Chinese and Mexican and sometimes that says everything and sometimes that doesn't even scratch the surface.  It's meaningless.

I'm thinking about writing a memoir.  I wrote fiction as a child.  I wrote short stories in college.  But I haven't written prose in years.  And I never thought I would be the sort of person who would use direct autobiography.  I have actually steered clear of it for a long, long time.  When I started writing prose as a kid, I wrote things that were direct autobiography.  But I never considered that writing.  My evolution from poetry to dance theatre to narrative theatre/film/TV writing it seems has taken me back to writing about  my personal experiences. 

I thought about writing about my Dad's illness and eminent passing as a play.  Mainly because I've been writing plays lately.  Then it seemed to be about writing something that would take me away from the story of dealing with the idea of my Dad's death.  I wanted to get theatrical and crazy on it instead of tell a real story.  And writing a memoir would give me the chance to write a real story and my real feelings about my real Father and preparing for his death.  It's something that seems so foreign, yet it seems like exactly the way I should write about him.  But I know I can't write about my Dad without writing about another relationship that ended, the one with my Ex. 

A friend had suggested in the early days of me writing this blog that I write a book about the break up.  Again, since I abhored the idea of writing an autobiography I continued writing the blog and figured that that was enough.  Let's be honest, this is autobiographical, uncensored writing.  And it's been a great release (and great relief).  But still that didn't seem like enough of a story for me.  But when I thought about writing about what's going on with my Dad and his illness, it seemed like there was a part of the story that allowed me to write about the break up.  All along, I've said that I was grateful to my Ex because the break up and what I discovered about myself gave me the strength to deal with my Dad's illness and now his death which seems to be approaching quickly.  I know that I would not be handling my Dad's illness with any sort of strength if I hadn't survived this break up.  If we were still together, I would be managing my Ex's selfishness.  If we were still together, my Dad being sick would have caused my self-destruction.  I would have been so far gone.  I know that I was destroying myself by being with my Ex.  He wasn't destroying me.  I was committing some sort of spirtual suicide.  And I was killing everything that was beautiful and unique about myself because I had offered myself up to him like a lamb to the slaughter.  Strong words, but completely accurate and not overexaggeration at all.  But I was responsible for that, not my Ex.  I know that now. 

But this story isn't about the break up.  The break up informed how I have been handling everything.  It has let me know that I have strength and power I always knew was there but was not accessing.  Some people would say that they had strength they didn't know they had.  I have been fully aware my whole life of that strength.  I just haven't used it.  It has been there in moments, but I took it for granted.  I thought it would always be there.  Then that relationship almost destroyed my spirit, as did the job I held for seven years.  And I was perfectly aware and perfectly all right with it all going away.  I have more to give and if I don't give it, then I am the fool.  But the story isn't even about that.  Well, it IS of course to some degree.  But it's about giving up and letting go and experiencing my Father for who he is. 

I don't like food with a lot covering it up--gravies, sauces, etc.  And I'm not learning to appreciate life without a lot covering it up.  I want food to taste like food.  And I want life to taste like life. 

That's the story.