The Pinky Promise

I have been too busy not-failing school to post. That is my only excuse for my excessive absence. I’M NOT APOLOGIZING BECAUSE I HAVE A CHANCE AT GRADUATING ON TIME NOW.


Thanksgiving break is coming up soon, so I’ll provide junior year updates then hopefully. For now, since I’ve been stuck “supporting” Manny at his League of Legends for the past nine hours, I’ll just use this post to answer the questions left at the end of my last post.

According to the end of that last post, that should mean I died at the hands of my parents after telling them about the boyfriend I’ve been hiding from them for over 2 years.

Except I didn’t die!!!11!

Or not really.

I think our parent-child relationship died a little, maybe. Let me explain what happened.

I only told The Old Man in the summer in order to fulfill the terms of the pinky promise, and his reaction dwindled my willingness to tell Mama to .00000001%.

I thought he was supposed to be the tolerant one.

He was calm about it, at least. The first time we discussed it, I mean. I caught him alone during lunch and told him. He’s not happy and I had predicted exactly why. I knew he’d be upset that I kept this from him for so long. Mostly, though, it’s the race issue that’s bothering him because that was the first question he asked about Manny.

The first conversation (the big reveal) was short because my mom came home from work and it had to end. That went okay. The second big conversation was a few weeks later and it consisted of me screaming my liberal arts education in his face.

Here’s the gist of how that went: I honestly have no respect for racist fucks — or just baseless intolerance in general — and my parents are racist fucks. My dad is just more subtle about it than my mom on a daily basis. IT IRKS ME TO NO END that the main problem here is Manny’s skin color. It does not matter (ignoring the alcohol and sex addiction) that he’s a good and wholesome kid. It does not matter that he treats me well. It does not matter that he’s an engineering student who cares about his grades. It does not matter that he possibly played a hand in saving your daughter from herself.

All that matters is something he can’t control. His skin.

Asshole parents who share these sentiments are not worried about the safety and happiness of their child despite claiming otherwise — they are utterly selfish, overly concerned about what friends and family will think of their daughter associating with someone so “ugly,” and how, God forbid that if she marries the guy, their children will be hideous because anything darker than snow-white skin automatically makes you disgusting.

It is not fair, it is not right, and it is sad, so sad, that a majority of Asian parents feel this way. I remember my mother even told me to stay out of the sun because she didn’t want me to be too tan and therefore look ugly as a bridesmaid.

(I ended up being the palest one in the wedding party. -______-)

My dad told me I changed. I didn’t change. I’ve always been this way, and I was always too much of a timid little girl to express my love of fairness and acceptance to two people who can’t ever understand.

After that late night talk with The Old Man that resulted in my crying harder than I’d cried in the past year, he acted all friendly-like as though nothing happened. I refuse to bring up the topic now, but he sometimes will. He once briefly asked me about Manny on the phone. I tried to be civil but only ended up getting pissed off and ranty again.

…Then I told my mother.

I expected the world to end. And it sort of did, because she started crying.

I’ve seen her cry only twice before in my life: once when my grandma died, and once when my dad did something atrocious and she wouldn’t speak to him for a month (I’m assuming infidelity). It is a terrifying thing to witness, Mama crying. I would have handled it better if she had chosen to scream at me.

She asked questions, of course. Basically the same ones the Old Man asked. My first conversation with my dad was cut short when Mama came home from work. Coincidentally, this conversation with my mother was cut short when my dad called home from work like he always does.

She revealed more of her emotions through that phone conversation, since now both parents knew and they could openly discuss it. Unlike the Old Man, who actually asked me if I could end the relationship, Mama acknowledged that as much as she didn’t like it, she can’t do anything about it. It’s been going on for two years, and I have the right to choose what happens in my life, she told my dad.


When did the Intolerant One become the Understanding One? Granted, she wouldn’t talk to me over the phone for a while, but then she regained her friendly tone after two weeks and she revealed she bought me like eight pairs of earrings so I figured she loved me again.

Okay, she did put my relationship on the same level as my brother’s obsessive compulsive disorder when talking to my dad. Yeah, bitch compared my happy and healthy relationship to a mental disorder that considerably complicates one’s life, but whatever, the above understanding seems like a milestone for her so I let it pass for the time being.

So obviously I’m angry at how they reacted almost exactly how I expected them to react. But most disturbing of all to me is that they never once asked for Manny’s name. As though he’s not even a person to them.

“Here are his demographics. Can I date him?”

Thanksgiving break might be interesting because the two of them might try to talk to me. What if they ask to meet him over winter break or something???? I don’t THINK the Old Man owns any firearms, but Mama is a cook and is super skilled at wielding a butcher knife. I’ve seen what she can do to the insides of fish.

I’ll end the post with this relevant thing.


This League tournament needs to die now plz.

Until next time,

~ Mimi

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