"Finding happiness is like a needle in a haystack. That doesn't change the fact that the needle is still there. It's just up to you to put in the work and find it." His hand slid over mine and in his grasp, he gently closed my hand into a fist, "and...
Is that too formal? Yeah, I guess so considering who might be reading this. Let me try that again. To whoever is reading this letter. . .to YOU, I am sorry. If you're reading this, then I'm pretty sure the outcome of my life was not the happy ending I always longed for. This isn't necessary, but I'd like to tell my story from the beginning. . .the very beginning.
My name is Hayley Peterson Jeong. I was born on December 18th, 2003 in Winchester, Virginia. At the time this is written, I am 16 years old. I'm half Cameroon and if you're still confused as to where that is, it's a country located in Central Africa. Not only am I African, but I'm also Korean (of course you knew that) Now that we've established my background which many of you already knew, shall we move on to the next?
My hobbies, perhaps? I don't really have a lot other than riding my skateboard and gymnastics. As you all know, making it to the Olympics had always been my dream. I was going to not only make my country and town proud but especially my parents. . .especially my father! However, we all know how that's turned out. My dreams eventually faded away along with everything that's made me remotely happy in this world. I am not happy.
Okay, maybe giving you an introduction to the obvious aspects of my life was a waste of time. But I just didn't want to get to this part. The sake of this letter is not to hurt anyone but in a twisted way, it's to give you thanks. So, I apologize in advance, because before we get to the thanksgiving part, I need you to know why this letter was even written in the first place.
When I was 10 years old, my best friend killed himself. He went down to the basement of the house one night but his lifeless body is what resurfaced. I guess I'm blessed to say that I wasn't the one who discovered his body but that did not lessen the impact of his death on me. Who was my best friend? My father, of course.
Who was my father? Valdez Ebonge Peterson: an immigrant from Cameroon who fled to America for a reason he never disclosed to the family. My father was a brave, caring, loving, and supportive man. I could list every positive adjective in the dictionary to describe him and it still wouldn't be enough to encapsulate the type of man he was.
He was the dad every child deserves...the dad that deserved a child. But, could I argue that a dad who took his own life with zero regard for the impact it would have on his child makes him a bad parent? I could, but the situation has never changed the way I perceived him.
So, that's why I blamed myself for his death.
It's why a part of me still does.
See, my father was a good man and good people are oftentimes driven to do horrible things. I've convinced myself that what I did just a few weeks before his death pushed him further into the darkness that already surrounded him.
And God did I beat myself up for it. As time passed by, I thought the pain would lessen. I was young! Everyone kept saying that eventually I'll heal and get over those deep emotional scars embedded in my soul. They didn't understand that those scars were also embedded in my memory.
So, no matter how much time passes or if I've already 'healed' from the situation: I'll always remember. I deluded myself into believing that I could forget and at a time when my healing process should have been not only mine but my mother's priority, she left.
Jeong Hyeon-Jae or simply known as Elizabeth Peterson (her English/Maiden name) Born and raised in Daegu, South Korea. She immigrated here at the age of 22 with her 6-year-old son Jeong Kyung-Lee or simply known as Drayton: my older brother who is now my legal guardian. There aren't a lot of words to describe a woman who grew up in a house with "allegedly" no love who in retaliation then sought it out in men in order to feel validated.
The mentality that a man is the source of her happiness never faltered even after leaving South Korea to pursue a life here and because of it Drayton and I endured the aftereffect of a woman unable to portray affection on a normal spectrum because she was too occupied in her world of raging narcissism and perfecting the American dream.
However, she never got the life she thought she deserved so the moment the opportunity to obtain her idea of the American dream came knocking at her door, well you already know the story!
I often laugh at the irony of the situation. My mother abandoned me for a wealthy man when the definition of her name Jae means wealth and riches. The blatant foreshadowing is what sets me off all the damn time and I have to take a moment to applaud my estranged grandparents.
My mom made me a promise that I'll never forget.
She promised to come back for me after getting her life settled and of course, even with my doubts I still chose to believe her. I thought that there was no way she'd truly abandoned me. No matter how much her love for me is strained: I'm still her daughter! But I was wrong. She left and never looked back. At first, I blamed Drayton for it and completely isolated myself from him out of anger. But I soon came to realize that it was just my denial forcing me to blame someone other than my mother. Drayton was always right. Even without him threatening her, she never planned to return.
I then turned the blame onto myself.
Did she leave because of me?
Was she tired like dad? Were they both sick of me!? Did I do something wrong? Why didn't they want me anymore? Why was I not good enough for them? Could I have been a better daughter? For six years those questions had plagued my mind every single day. If only I knew at the time that not all questions are meant to be answered. Because when they are, the repercussions tend to be more painful than anything you could have imagined. But for the sake of this letter, I had to ask myself one last question.
What did I do to deserve being abandoned by the people I loved and trusted the most in this world? If you're reading this then there's a possibility that I found the answer to my question that should have remained unanswered. And maybe the pain was too much...maybe it wasn't. I may have finally understood the fact that none of this was my fault and my parents were both emotionally scarred beyond repair or I may have blamed myself more.
I'm sorry. I don't know the outcome of my life, especially after writing this. But if by chance it does not pan out the way I want it to, then I apologize. My intentions were never to hurt you. I just want you all to know how much you meant to me.
Over these past few years, I allowed my father's death and my mother's abandonment to shove me into this dark hole I never seemed to be able to climb out of. But you guys were the streak of light that allowed me to see a possible escape from that hole and whether I took it or not, I just want you all to know that your efforts surely did not go on blind eyes.
This was not your fault. Don't be like me and go blaming yourself for something you had no control over. Could I have saved her? Did she do this because I didn't try harder? Where did I go wrong? Should I have been a better friend? A better brother? A better boyfriend?
No.
You all tried your best but even your best is not enough to save someone who does not want to be saved...who doesn't have the capability of saving themselves. I won't end this on a note that makes you feel responsible because the only thing you're all responsible for is giving me the opportunity to live a little longer. A little longer to write these letters to you to show my gratitude for all your love, support and effort.
I love you all and these are all the things I wish you knew...
.
.
.
When I was alive.
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