That ending paragraph. Chills he wasted his entire life, my mom said to me, the evening we found the love letters. his entire life, and mine as well. The author didn't write too much about her own...
That ending paragraph. Chills
he wasted his entire life, my mom said to me, the evening we found the love letters. his entire life, and mine as well.
The author didn't write too much about her own sense of betrayal or if she feels any anger. Probably her feelings are more complex because she is a gay herself and understand more of struggle.
But speaking only as a child, I would be completely seething with rage inconsolable. No disrespect for author's father, the feelings below are towards my own father; in my story, my mom died young and never got to experience freedom, whereas my father continued to fuck around like he had done for decades, until his health fails, and now he confides in me and extracts emotional support the way he has always done.
I will be angry forever. For my mom, for myself, and my sibling. That he didn't sort out his own shit, that he was a coward who lived by allowing others to bear his own pain from anxieties, and for having the audacity to live joyfully outside but not to share with us.
I had been cordial to at least one of my Edwards for his sake. I would be cordial to my Edwards when my dad dies; they deserve closure, and if they appear to still grieve knowing there's no money in it for them anymore, I will move past my cynicism into kindness and appreciation. I would appreciate the opportunity to share stories, mark anniversaries together; I would be glad to gift keepsakes, and I would ask if they have any preferences for remaining artifacts and stick my neck out to try to get them into my half to pass onto them. Certainly there will be nameless Edwards who might come out of the woodwork later; I shall strive to remember to keep extra items for them. If they wish, they will forever have a friend in me. I would also feel pity, because my Edwards would never have recieved the promises, however long my father lived; they would never be legitimized, because my father is a selfish coward who prioritizes his security and joy while choosing to ignore the suffering of both spouse and affair partners, prolonging them with sweet nothings and extracting sympathies with how torn he feels if only I could but I can never for my children's sake blah blah blah bullshit.
But for my own part, I will live on in anger towards a selfish man who hurt others without remorse. Remorse, having found love and music and wine finally, would have looked like an apology, setting mom free, and offering genuine friendship in Hagen daz, city explorations, and nice shoes. This has nothing to do with being gay. It's about decency.
From an ultra short story by Margaret Atwood, Happy Ending (fulltext pdf):
[...]Mary is hurt.
Her friends tell her they've seen him in a restaurant with another woman, whose name is Madge. It's not even Madge that finally gets to Mary: it's the restaurant. John has never taken Mary to a restaurant.
That a father is absent, austere, and silent, I can forgive. That he is only like that with us, I could never.
If I were the author's mother, I would fight for the ownership of the ashes. Not that I'd want them in my house.
Curious about Style. Why did the author choose "no caps"?
Reading this makes me feel glad to live as part of a socially liberal culture and family, where I did not need to fear coming out in the same way that the author’s father did. Not being part of a...
Reading this makes me feel glad to live as part of a socially liberal culture and family, where I did not need to fear coming out in the same way that the author’s father did. Not being part of a diaspora, I couldn’t possibly know, but I do wonder how living abroad might have increased the strength of conviction in “traditional values.”
What an achingly sad story. There are no winners here. Not Edward, not the author, certainly not the mother or father. I’m glad he got to spend at least a few years with his own xin fu, however snatched those moments of happiness must have felt. I wish he had had the courage to spare his family this trauma.
It's an observable "thing" that happens somewhat regularly to migrants. Not 100% of the time, of course - blanket statements help no-one - but regularly enough that this isn't out of context. It...
I couldn’t possibly know, but I do wonder how living abroad might have increased the strength of conviction in “traditional values.”
It's an observable "thing" that happens somewhat regularly to migrants. Not 100% of the time, of course - blanket statements help no-one - but regularly enough that this isn't out of context. It can also happen in reverse, like becoming more progressive over time as you've moved away. Depends on the person and the context due to which they moved away.
For the people becoming more traditional, well, migrants - especially long-time ones - sometimes may develop a tendency to "over-romanticise" some things about their home country. Those can be either positives or negatives.
Part of it is the feeling of "de-rootedness", and as such, internalising or adopting "traditional", conservative, or nationalist ideas is a way to feel like you still have a sense of your national identity.
Part of it is that, as someone who migrated away, you have no real clue what is actually happening there day-to-day. All the little problems and day-to-day stuff are not something you experience, so you really only have the more "big" stuff to think about. Things like culture (or stereotypes), religion, elections.
And also, life moves on. If you moved away from your home country in 2005, it likely has a different sociopolitical climate now than it did back then. If you only lived through the sociopolitical climate of, say, 1985-2005, that's the one you'll have internalised and the one you will associate with your home country.
A nice fictional example of this in my mind is Worf from Star Trek. My guy only experienced his society as a kid. Then, for lore reasons, he was raised elsewhere, and he grew up only with (older) stereotypes of what Klingon society is like, to the point that, when he eventually got in contact with other Klingons again, they thought he was somewhat "weird" and "un-Klingon"
But, again - the opposite can still be true. You can move away from your country and become a lot more progressive instead. It depends on a lot of factors and it's not possible to make a blanket statement that's at least semi-accurate here
Every once in a while you read something short that really catches you - Did that for me. Obviously this is true, but I've never sat and really thought about it deeply before. I've moved around a...
Every once in a while you read something short that really catches you -
"If you moved away from your home country in 2005, it likely has a different sociopolitical climate now than it did back then. If you only lived through the sociopolitical climate of, say, 1985-2005, that's the one you'll have internalised and the one you will associate with your home country."
Did that for me. Obviously this is true, but I've never sat and really thought about it deeply before. I've moved around a lot, and, wow, this really, really resonates with the discomfort I feel sometimes going back to places. Especially my hometown. Everything is familiar but uncomfortable. I am not the same person - and never will be. It's all so transient, uncomfortable, painful, and beautiful.
This is growing up. Time is a wonderful and terrible force that consumes everything. I grew up in Las Vegas, and going back there is a surreal experience. It’s a place that was always changing...
This is growing up. Time is a wonderful and terrible force that consumes everything.
I grew up in Las Vegas, and going back there is a surreal experience. It’s a place that was always changing even when I lived there but going back around 10 years after I left all the parts that I remembered were almost entirely gone.
When I was growing up I had a painful childhood. The one bright spot I had was the LGBT community center, to which I would visit every Wednesday I could to join up with the youth group. When I came back it was gone. Not for lack of community; it had simply moved to a much better location. I didn’t even bother to come in because I no longer had any connection to the people I met at that time.
People talk about their feelings changing over the years, but I think that’s not really what happens. Our feelings remain fixed with our experience; they just get layered with new feelings as they age. That doesn’t water them down; it makes them stronger.
Just saw this as well over on Bluesky and checked to see if it had already been posted here (I love Tildes’ speed on new posts sometimes). What an, I don’t even know the words for it… powerful story.
Just saw this as well over on Bluesky and checked to see if it had already been posted here (I love Tildes’ speed on new posts sometimes). What an, I don’t even know the words for it… powerful story.
This was such a sad story It made me think of my mom... While I think it was a love match, or at least a consensual match, taking care of her in her old age revealed a lot of things that made me...
This was such a sad story
It made me think of my mom... While I think it was a love match, or at least a consensual match, taking care of her in her old age revealed a lot of things that made me think she would have been much happier if a divorce had ever happened. Sadly never came to pass, and I don't know if she ever even thought about it. But those last few years with her have really affected how I see relationships and the prospect of marriage
That ending paragraph. Chills
he wasted his entire life, my mom said to me, the evening we found the love letters. his entire life, and mine as well.The author didn't write too much about her own sense of betrayal or if she feels any anger. Probably her feelings are more complex because she is a gay herself and understand more of struggle.
But speaking only as a child, I would be completely seething with rage inconsolable. No disrespect for author's father, the feelings below are towards my own father; in my story, my mom died young and never got to experience freedom, whereas my father continued to fuck around like he had done for decades, until his health fails, and now he confides in me and extracts emotional support the way he has always done.
I will be angry forever. For my mom, for myself, and my sibling. That he didn't sort out his own shit, that he was a coward who lived by allowing others to bear his own pain from anxieties, and for having the audacity to live joyfully outside but not to share with us.
I had been cordial to at least one of my Edwards for his sake. I would be cordial to my Edwards when my dad dies; they deserve closure, and if they appear to still grieve knowing there's no money in it for them anymore, I will move past my cynicism into kindness and appreciation. I would appreciate the opportunity to share stories, mark anniversaries together; I would be glad to gift keepsakes, and I would ask if they have any preferences for remaining artifacts and stick my neck out to try to get them into my half to pass onto them. Certainly there will be nameless Edwards who might come out of the woodwork later; I shall strive to remember to keep extra items for them. If they wish, they will forever have a friend in me. I would also feel pity, because my Edwards would never have recieved the promises, however long my father lived; they would never be legitimized, because my father is a selfish coward who prioritizes his security and joy while choosing to ignore the suffering of both spouse and affair partners, prolonging them with sweet nothings and extracting sympathies with how torn he feels if only I could but I can never for my children's sake blah blah blah bullshit.
But for my own part, I will live on in anger towards a selfish man who hurt others without remorse. Remorse, having found love and music and wine finally, would have looked like an apology, setting mom free, and offering genuine friendship in Hagen daz, city explorations, and nice shoes. This has nothing to do with being gay. It's about decency.
From an ultra short story by Margaret Atwood, Happy Ending (fulltext pdf):
That a father is absent, austere, and silent, I can forgive. That he is only like that with us, I could never.
If I were the author's mother, I would fight for the ownership of the ashes. Not that I'd want them in my house.
Curious about Style. Why did the author choose "no caps"?
Edit: pronouns
Reading this makes me feel glad to live as part of a socially liberal culture and family, where I did not need to fear coming out in the same way that the author’s father did. Not being part of a diaspora, I couldn’t possibly know, but I do wonder how living abroad might have increased the strength of conviction in “traditional values.”
What an achingly sad story. There are no winners here. Not Edward, not the author, certainly not the mother or father. I’m glad he got to spend at least a few years with his own xin fu, however snatched those moments of happiness must have felt. I wish he had had the courage to spare his family this trauma.
It's an observable "thing" that happens somewhat regularly to migrants. Not 100% of the time, of course - blanket statements help no-one - but regularly enough that this isn't out of context. It can also happen in reverse, like becoming more progressive over time as you've moved away. Depends on the person and the context due to which they moved away.
For the people becoming more traditional, well, migrants - especially long-time ones - sometimes may develop a tendency to "over-romanticise" some things about their home country. Those can be either positives or negatives.
A nice fictional example of this in my mind is Worf from Star Trek. My guy only experienced his society as a kid. Then, for lore reasons, he was raised elsewhere, and he grew up only with (older) stereotypes of what Klingon society is like, to the point that, when he eventually got in contact with other Klingons again, they thought he was somewhat "weird" and "un-Klingon"
But, again - the opposite can still be true. You can move away from your country and become a lot more progressive instead. It depends on a lot of factors and it's not possible to make a blanket statement that's at least semi-accurate here
Every once in a while you read something short that really catches you -
Did that for me. Obviously this is true, but I've never sat and really thought about it deeply before. I've moved around a lot, and, wow, this really, really resonates with the discomfort I feel sometimes going back to places. Especially my hometown. Everything is familiar but uncomfortable. I am not the same person - and never will be. It's all so transient, uncomfortable, painful, and beautiful.
This is growing up. Time is a wonderful and terrible force that consumes everything.
I grew up in Las Vegas, and going back there is a surreal experience. It’s a place that was always changing even when I lived there but going back around 10 years after I left all the parts that I remembered were almost entirely gone.
When I was growing up I had a painful childhood. The one bright spot I had was the LGBT community center, to which I would visit every Wednesday I could to join up with the youth group. When I came back it was gone. Not for lack of community; it had simply moved to a much better location. I didn’t even bother to come in because I no longer had any connection to the people I met at that time.
People talk about their feelings changing over the years, but I think that’s not really what happens. Our feelings remain fixed with our experience; they just get layered with new feelings as they age. That doesn’t water them down; it makes them stronger.
Just saw this as well over on Bluesky and checked to see if it had already been posted here (I love Tildes’ speed on new posts sometimes). What an, I don’t even know the words for it… powerful story.
This was such a sad story
It made me think of my mom... While I think it was a love match, or at least a consensual match, taking care of her in her old age revealed a lot of things that made me think she would have been much happier if a divorce had ever happened. Sadly never came to pass, and I don't know if she ever even thought about it. But those last few years with her have really affected how I see relationships and the prospect of marriage