I am a Good Girl, But (and more)

Eye-Opening Moments are real-life stories of adversity, encounters, and perspectives intertwined. In this episode you will hear about I am a Good Girl, But & What is a Home.

Website: https://inspiremereads.com
Books: https://amazon.com/author/emily-kay-tan.2021_

Chapters

• 0:21 Introduction
• 1:00 I am a Good Girl, But
• 7:47 What is a Home
• 18:50 Key Takeaways

Transcript

Hello and welcome to episode #196 of Eye-Opening Moments where you’ll hear stories of adversity, encounters, and perspectives intertwined. They are moments that can lift your spirits, give you some food for thought, or move you. For the introspective mind that likes to reflect, discover, and find solutions or meaning in a complex life, this is for you. I’m your host Emily Kay Tan. In this episode, you will hear about I am a Good Girl, But & What is a Home?

I am a Good Girl, But                                                                  

 Grandma said, "Emily, be a good girl, study hard, and you will grow up to get ahead in life." I listened to my grandmother. I was a good girl; I studied hard, got a college degree, worked hard, and had a long and successful career. I didn't party a lot or do drugs and alcohol. I didn't fool around a lot and never got pregnant as a teenager. I hardly ever broke the law. I am a good girl in those ways. However, as good as I appear, some missteps or dark thoughts lurk inside me. You don't know because you never asked to know the other side of me. If you could see it, you might be shocked, but then you might begin to realize that I am normal.

My big sister, Rebecca, and I went shopping at the department store when I was twelve and she was thirteen. She liked to look at clothes and walked around smoothing her hands on silky or furry pieces. Then I saw her take a pendant off a jacket on display on a mannequin. I was shocked; I couldn't believe she stole something. Worse, she didn't hide it from me. She said we didn't need money; we could just take the little things. 

When we reached the  sports equipment aisle, Rebecca  pointed to a tennis ball and said, "Take it." She said it again and again. For fear that someone would hear, I took it. I didn't even want it. I knew I was doing something wrong, yet I allowed my big sister to goad me into doing it. I haven't forgotten about it since that day; the guilt is still in me. Maybe I am that good girl everyone thinks I am.

I have plenty of office supplies: pens, pencils, post-its, notepads, erasers, staples, paper, index cards, assorted tapes, and more. I stole them from my job. I have done it so often that I don't feel guilty. I need them. I am poor, and taking them helps me save money. I am proud of my drawers of them. Maybe I am a little bad.

It used to be that restaurants had free napkins and ketchup or left such items on a counter for people to take. I always took more than I needed. The extra I took was used later. I always used them and saved money because then I didn't need to buy napkins at the store. I was proud of finding a way to save money from buying napkins. Actually, I learned that from my grandmother, so I justified myself. Maybe I am a little bad.

I stole little things here and there. I even stole books from the library, which were the biggest items I stole. I said I hardly broke the law because I didn't get caught, but I did break the law. I have been a bad girl.

Stealing little things made me not such a good girl. But I think I have done far worse than that. I didn't tell because I knew it wasn't good. 

It was terrible of me, but I did it anyway.

My husband went to play baseball with his pals weekly. He usually came home around nine at night. I decided to get in bed early and pretend to be asleep so he wouldn't bother me. I closed my eyes in the dark, and in came my bad thoughts. I could hear the clock ticking; I hoped it would be nine-thirty or ten, and he would not be home yet. I hoped it was because he got into a fatal car accident. I wished the phone would ring and it would be the police informing me of his demise. I prayed and prayed for it to happen. I wanted to get rid of my anal, controlling, and emotionally abusive husband. I didn't have the nerve to do anything about it, so I only hoped a miracle would eliminate him from my life and bring me out of the misery of living with him. Luckily, I later found the courage to leave him.

I once told Uncle Rick that my in-laws lived next door. I felt like I was constantly being watched and had no privacy. My mom-in-law always knew when I got home because she would look out her window to see when I arrived. Uncle Rick said, "Why don't you just burn down her house?" He didn't sound like he was joking. I thought it cruel of him to say such a thing, but his words lingered in my mind. I told myself I didn't want to go to jail and ruin my life, so I wouldn't do it. Was that the good girl in me peeking in to see evil thinking cunningly?

Several decades ago, a fortuneteller told me when my mother and father would die. I didn't ask to know, but he told me. I kept it in mind. I was never close to my parents; they took no responsibility for me since I was five, and we saw little of each other. When Grandma Sandy, the one who raised me, died, I knew the connection with my parents would turn from one percent communication to zero percent. I was correct. 

Though my parents were rarely in my life, I wanted to know if the fortuneteller's prediction was correct. Dark thoughts crept in to tell me to go online to see if there was an obituary stating that my mother died. According to the fortuneteller, she should be dead by now because she is seventy-eight years old. I wanted to know if Mom was dead. Once it is confirmed, I would say, "Good riddance, a horrible mother died. I am glad." I am still waiting for the confirmation.

You probably say I am a horrible person now. I don't care anymore. You don't know the pain she has inflicted on me. From tossing me over to my grandmother because she couldn't handle motherhood to pitting siblings against each other with her judgments, comparisons, and unfair treatment, Mom created much strain between us. It has taken a lifetime to alleviate the misery and find peace. The devil jumps inside me. I am still checking the obituaries and hoping for a confirmation. In a few years, I will also check for Dad's name.

I am still a good girl. I have done many good things overtly.

I am also a bad girl. I have conjured up many dark thoughts covertly.

I accept it, and it is soothing that I need not be perfect.

What is a Home?                                                                                   

When you don’t have a home, you want a home because you want what you don’t have. When you lose a home, you want one; when you are almost homeless, you want one. You could say it is a human basic need like food, water, and air. I profess that having an abode is more than its physical structure or beauty. It is about having a place that makes you feel warm, comfortable, safe, and free. 

The largest home I ever owned was nearly 2600 square feet. I thought I had arrived and was lapping in luxury. We had five bedrooms, three full baths, and a three-car garage. We were ready to start a family together, but it was not to be. 

I enjoyed the master bedroom, which had a seating area for two by the window, but it was not a love nest. I luxuriated in the master bathroom, which I didn’t need to share with my husband. He was happy to have his bathroom next to his home office. The bathroom had a large walk-in closet, bathtub, separate shower, and toilet area. I enjoyed this area immensely, as it was my private space.

The kitchen had lots of counter space and plenty of cabinets for storage. I was uncomfortable in it when my husband watched me cook and criticized me when he couldn’t cook himself. I couldn’t grab a snack to enjoy as he would knock me down by saying how I would gain weight from any snack, and he’d laugh at how he could eat like a horse and stay skinny. The garage housed only two cars, as Hubby needed the third spot for all his repairs, maintenance, and construction tools. He was proud of his handyman abilities. I was glad my husband was handy, but he criticized me for not knowing how to fix car problems, appliance issues, or other broken things. The garage space only reminded me of the place where he enjoyed ridiculing me.

Too many rooms in this big house only gave me misery. It was a minefield because my husband had an explosive temper. I was unsafe from his dynamite. I could not sit comfortably and enjoy a snack once in a while because he would soon appear to criticize me for it. I could not wear comfortable lounge around the house clothes because he would tell me to dress up to please his eyes. I could not be comfortable in my own home. I was not free to be myself. I wasn’t as handy as him, so it was not okay with him. Walking around the house in sweats was not okay with him. I cooked, cleaned, and took care of the bills, but it wasn’t enough for him; he wanted me to help mow the lawn, wash the cars, and water the fruit trees, which he did, but he wanted me to be with him to do it too. I could not be free to be me, or I was never good enough. My big, beautiful house was a house of horrors.

I grew up in a three-bedroom apartment with eight people in it. I had to sleep in a bunk bed and share a bedroom with my uncles because that was the largest bedroom. There was only one bathroom for the eight of us. Cockroaches crawled all over the kitchen, and rats came out at night when we ate dinner. With its extensions, the kitchen table filled the kitchen when it was dinnertime, and we needed to take out the two extension pieces every time it was not dinner time. But all this was not the worst.

The worst was being told by my uncles that I didn’t belong. They were right; I didn’t belong in that family. Mom tossed me over to her mom, Grandma Sandy’s family, when I was five because she was an overwhelmed young mother who couldn’t handle three kids at once. Living where I was an unwelcome addition to their crowded home was hard to bear. I endured and tolerated the pain of being an outcast for ten years instead of roaming the streets, doing drugs, robbing, or killing people. The apartment with eight members living in close quarters could have been cozy, but I found no warmth in it. 

Finding my way to college to escape and graduating, I finally had a place of my own. It was a small two-bedroom apartment in the big city. It had orange shaggy carpeting in the small living room and bedrooms. It had ugly butcher kitchen countertops, dark brown cabinets, and mustard-colored hexagon-patterned linoleum flooring. The windows slid sideways and could be lifted and removed by anyone. I didn’t feel safe from a robber, but hopefully, a piece of wood that stopped the sliding would help. I could hear an occasional squeaking sound and feared seeing the rats. Despite all that, I was happy to have a place where I paid rent, and no one could say I didn’t belong. 

After getting married and living in that nearly 2,600-square-foot house for years, I divorced and bought a three-bedroom townhouse. I liked it. I got to choose my furniture and decorate it as I pleased, and I planned to stay in it even if I remarried. However, things did not turn out as planned. The house felt too big for me, and I spent most of my time in only three rooms. It was a safe and comfortable place, but there was no warm feeling. After ten years, when I went out of business, I sold it and moved abroad when I could no longer afford it.

From a 1600-square-foot townhouse, I moved into a 350-square-foot studio apartment. As a teenager, I dreamed of having a studio apartment and finally got one. One wall was all windows, and it faced south, where the sunlight blasted in to light up my entire room, with the slight opening of my curtains. I could often feel the warm sunshine. Sitting anywhere in the room, I could see all four corners, and nothing was out of sight; it was safe and cozy, and I enjoyed living there for six years until I decided to move back to the USA.

I now live in a bigger studio apartment with 700 square feet. It feels so peaceful; it reminds me of my time in Bhutan, where I found profound peace and happiness. The light blue walls remind me of my daydreams, where I float in the clouds, enjoy the soft, cottony clouds, and dream anything I want. The light gray curtains diagonal to two walls add a calm and relaxing sensation each time I come home. Though there are no doors besides the exit, bathroom, and balcony doors, each area appears divided by two recessed walls joined by one protruding wall, and there is a free flow of energy from one area to the next. It feels so warm, comfortable, safe, and freeing that I hate leaving it daily. I almost feel guilty spending so much time at home, but it feels so good to be in this home!

When a friend came to visit with her three-year-old daughter, it occurred to me that my apartment could be “possessed.” My friend said her daughter was shy and didn’t know how long she could stay to visit with me. It was her daughter’s first time in my abode, but she quickly plopped herself on my three-seater couch and sat there quietly with one of my stuffed animals. My friend and I sat at the kitchen table chatting with hardly any interruption from her daughter; she was shocked at how well-behaved her daughter was. 

After a few hours, the little girl started moaning, so her mom sat her on her lap. She moaned again, and my friend said, “Okay, we will go home now.” Her daughter objected by grunting and then crying to demonstrate that she didn’t want to leave. Her mom motioned to leave, and she groaned and cried louder! My friend and I were both confused and surprised as to why she wanted to stay or didn’t want to leave! Can you imagine a three-year-old sitting quietly for several hours? I witnessed it! My friend credited it to my power as a teacher because I am known to have kids behave in my presence. But I hardly interacted with her daughter! It could be that my place has good feng shui or a positive energy flow because of its position. Like my friend’s daughter, I also didn’t want to leave my apartment! 

Because it is an apartment, I think I will not stay too long, but as I think about what it does for me, I may stay here a long time until I have to move. I am filled with the joy of feeling calm and peaceful when I am at home. After a long day of work, I arrive home and immediately begin to relax. After a bad day of work with events that anger or annoy me, I get home, and instantly, my nerves calm down. In the privacy of my abode, I write words, and my words turn into stories. A stream of ideas flows effortlessly to keep my fingers tapping on the keyboard to write two books a year and even three one time. Could it be the energy flow of this studio? Whatever it is, I am happy I can write and speak my stories here with no writer’s block in sight. My creativity gushes out to fix or change anything in the place, including changing my showerhead, dismantling an old desk to store away, and buying a new and bigger one to replace it. In this space, my head clears to find time to enjoy my hobbies or spend much time on my passions. I am calm, safe, and comfy; this is the best kind of home to have.

A big and beautiful house may not satisfy the desires. A larger house is not always better. Even a home you own may not fulfill the heart. A house full of people may not make it warm and cozy. Whatever the home looks like is not as important as how it makes you feel living there. The next time you go house or apartment hunting, aside from looking at its physical features, think about how it makes you feel when you enter the space. Does it spark the feelings you want? Does it feel safe, comfy, warm, carefree, and worry-free? That is the home you want. When you feel it, grab it!

Key Takeaways                                                                                               

Though I am a good girl, I am also a bad girl!

Though I have lived in big and small homes, the best one is how it makes you feel.

Next week, you will hear two real-life stories called The Wedding Gown & My Failure in Network Marketing. If you enjoyed this episode of Eye-Opening Moments, please text someone and ask them what they think about this podcast, or go to www.inspiremereads.com and leave a message. Thank you for listening!