Whatever comes will come, one fine day, I cut ties with my family.
After I was discharged from the hospital, I returned to Vietnam with a feeling of extreme failure. I shouted to everyone, I said I wanted to drop out of school, I couldn't take it anymore, I don't know how long I have to live, what is my college degree for? I need to be healed, I need to be left alone, the tension is killing me. I don't want to go back to the school where I hated it so much that for four years, I only identified my classmates by the nape of my classmates, went to the first grade and left last just so I wouldn't have to talk to anyone. If I talked to someone, I was afraid I would beat him up, I just figured out how to kill myself or kill people around me all day.
My mother said, "It took us a lot of money, go to school."
I called Thao, Thuy, Nam, Duong to the house to cry with them. My mother chased them home with the reason: "You guys are not worthy to play with my children"
How many years, how many years, nothing has changed. It simply changed from one dead dog form to another. So I bought a ticket back to Singapore that day, cut off all contact with my family, which meant living a well-supported life, I was empty-handed. Everything was changing so quickly like dominoes, things poured in continuously and steadily, as if I had arranged my whole life to just flick it apart.
One fine day in late 2013, I decided to start bulimia treatment. For so many years, so many pain, many times thinking that I could not get better, I ignored it like a ghost wandering in the corner of my eye. However, it was true that a drop of water overflowed the glass, the story I started hospitalized with started very simple: During a time to drink iced tea with Thao, Thuy, Nam and Duong, I could not sit on a plastic chair because the butt hurts. The hip bones had nothing to support, poked hard like plastic, I fidgeted and turned around, and that simple discomfort made me realize I was no longer capable of doing normal things like drinking iced tea. again. So on the first day back in Singapore, I bit my teeth and took out all the money I saved to see a doctor.
Prevention of the eating disorder is like a comedy studio. There are young girls who are so thin that you can understand the pain just by looking at them, and most of them are forced to be hospitalized by their families and parents. The girls sat in the room, gulping on water, hiding the weight in the bag to weigh. The hospital's treatment program is to prescribe depression medicine, see a psychiatrist and weigh weekly, and you must reach the target of gaining weight every week as your doctor requires. I went into the examination, the doctor pulled the plate and put it on the table, and asked me if you know what a normal person's diet looks like? I shook my head. The doctor shook his head. The doctor pulled out plastic dishes such as children's toys and put them on a plate: "Here, this meat, this much vegetables, this much rice." I looked at it and thought, it's the same amount I've eaten all week.
Just like that, I abide, don't argue with anything the doctor says. Regularly, every week I gain half a pound, every week I want to die more than double. Each meal is a pain, I am used to eating baby food, drinking only juice all week, just a little sugar or starch makes my skin ache every time I touch it. Taking a bath was a painful experience: I burst into tears every time I touched the thickening fat and closed my eyes most of the time in the bathroom for fear of seeing myself in the mirror. But I still do. I have no hope, I don't know what is right, what is wrong for me anymore, then I must listen to the most knowledgeable person. The most painful thing here, is that the thing I'm most worried about is not weight gain, but hospital bill, it thickens with weight, same pain.
I started working overtime to pay for living expenses, after never having to worry about money even once in a lifetime. Students in Singapore are not allowed to work part-time, even if they are found out that they will be sent back to their home country immediately with no way to return. Because of that, the only jobs I can do are things that are so bad that no one needs to check papers and names. Sell crap in Chinatown, go clean the house, post on Craglist, wash the dishes and cater for the wedding, and so on and so for. I did all the socks and didn't even have the moment to think about whether it would be too low for myself to do these things. From a child lying down to eat and having the television controller fall to the ground, i also had to call someone to pick up without even lifting my own butt to stand up, I became a mobile table, every night holding a tray three times the size of a person. Walk around for VIP guests to eat little things on a toothpick, pick up leftovers and clear up the drunken vomit. Perhaps because English is not so bad and also "easy to talk", I kept the longest job as a waitress for all kinds of parties in a four-star hotel, ten dollars an hour. When I got home from school I would go to work, starting from 3:30 PM to 4AM the next morning, and then waking up to school again.
At that time I could not expect that I was the one standing on the sidelines, in the dark, watching "the rich" hugging and dancing "for a long time" after tiring auctions. I wonder, not knowing who in the old days stood where I was standing, looking at the old me with the same eyes? A romantic dinner on a yacht worth 10,000, 20,000, 30,000 dollars, an antique wheel is more expensive than a 2015 car, special wedding party fish are worth more than a course of tuition, probably a scale Its also enough to buy textbooks, while the party costs enough to build an entire property for any ill-fated people this charity auction is donating to. Sad that, I think so but I immediately understand that I am simply jealous of eating and living, I still think in the way of having money in the past and I know if I was sitting across the room raising the price list, I never even glanced over here. Suffering, you still paranoid you are someone while people just call you "waiter staff" only.
I learned about two dozen new cheeses for each media company buffet, almost becoming fluent in French, Japanese, and Korean in the way of showing customers directions to the toilet. Once in a while when I see a child with Miu Miu bag sitting on a chair, feet not touching the ground, I wonder if he will grow up to be seven inches high in red lipstick or, to scrub the toilet floor?
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Lỗi - Error 404 English Translation
Non-Fiction"Finally, my autobiography book, Error 404 is out, after 2 years of work. It actually took me only 6 months to write 99% of the book, but couldn't write the ending for a long, long time. I wrote a book about a child who was sexually abused, unhappy...
