Secrets in the Closet (and more)

Eye-Opening Moments are real-life stories of adversity, encounters, and perspectives intertwined. In this episode you will hear about Secrets in the Closet & Left Behind, Yet Not.

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

Chapters

• 0:21 Introduction
• 1:01 Secrets in The Closet
• 9:54 Left Behind, Yet Not
• 19:12 Key Takeaways

Transcript

Hello and welcome to episode #193 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 Secrets in the Closet & Left Behind, Yet Not.

Secrets in the Closet

I hardly knew him because we never had much of a relationship. He was a quiet person who did not talk much, and we rarely had a conversation together, if at all. We were physically present in each other’s lives for less than ten percent of my life. Phone calls or letters to each other were nonexistent. It baffles many who know me, but it was always that way for me. I spent little time with him, but I can recall a few moments when we were together. Curious to learn more about him, I went into his hallway closet. I wanted to know more about the man who gave me life. While I learned a few things about him while exploring his closet, I also discovered a shocking secret Dad had hidden in his closet. 

I hardly knew him since he and Mom sent me to live with his mom when I was one and later to my other grandmother when I was five. I hardly saw him in between any age. I only remember living with him for two years as a young teen. That was because my grandmother sent me back to live with my parents when they moved from being a low-income to a middle-class income family. Though connected by biology, I couldn’t say I have any feelings about him. However, I remember a few things about him and the interactions with him.

I remember a few gifts from him because they were but a few. He bought a watch for me out of the blue; it was unusual because he hardly ever bought me anything. When I graduated with a Bachelor’s degree, he came to my graduation as Grandma told him to do so. He asked what I wanted, and I said I wanted a camera. At that time, I liked taking pictures and wanted a camera. He got it for me. I forgot that he liked to take photos, too. Then I remembered when I was fourteen, I went into his closet and saw some extensive camera equipment, including a tripod. I learned that photography was his hobby and mine.

In his small square-shaped closet were large photo albums stacked on the carpeted floor to the left corner. The photo album covers were engraved with the names of each of his six children. I remember being pleasantly surprised and happy when I saw my name. It was gold-plated with my first, middle, and last name. It meant he acknowledged me as his daughter even though we hardly ever lived together during my childhood. I looked into it to find a few pictures, but it was understandable because I hadn’t lived with him for most of my life. There was a picture of us sitting at an ice cream parlor. It was a marble-looking square table with white and gray wavy designs. It looked like we had been shopping and were just sitting down to take a break from all the walking when he came to my town. This picture stuck in my mind because that was when I caught the resemblance between me and Dad. I had his admirable fair skin. We smiled or smirked the same way, and we both wore glasses. A smirk flashed across my face for the satisfaction that I had a dad, and I knew who he was even though we only lived under the same roof for a few years.

Mom occupied the closet in their bedroom, so Dad only had the hallway closet to put his things. Luckily, he didn’t have a lot of clothes, though he had two short rods in the closet to hang his clothes. The carpeted floor was crammed with boxes of things, and a shelf filled with more boxes was above one rod of clothes. I reached up to look into those boxes. One box had letters written in his native language. It was strange. The letters were from someone writing to Mom, and they were not from Dad. I knew I was home alone, and why I didn’t remember, but I knew it was a good time to look into Dad’s closet if I wanted to find out more about him.

I started to read the letters and smiled to myself in satisfaction that I could read them, and my siblings couldn’t even if they found the letters. That is because Grandma had sent me to a foreign language school. After all, I couldn’t speak her and Dad’s native language, and I needed to be able to communicate with Grandma and her family. As I read the letters, I could not believe what I was reading. I knew they were real, but I couldn’t believe I was holding the evidence in my hands!

Grandma Sandy and Auntie Cassie had told me that Mom cried and cried when she had to marry my dad because she already had a boyfriend she liked. Mom was only sixteen. Marrying Dad was arranged by Grandpa, who thought it was a good idea for Mom to marry Dad so they could all have a chance to immigrate to America. Apparently, Dad and his family had some connections. Grandma always reminded me of Mom’s sacrifice for the family and that I should love my mother, who never cared for me. 

Sitting on the carpet inside Dad’s tiny closet, my eyes popped in disbelief that I was reading a secret; it was like a movie or a soap opera, but it was not. It was real. Indeed, Mom did have a lover. He wrote love letters to Mom. He eagerly waited for Mom to return to Hong Kong to visit him. He seemed unlikely to come to America, so he begged her to return to Hong Kong. Wait, before getting lost in the love story, I stopped to check if anyone was coming home. The house was silent but the fourteen-year-old me was brewing in excitement about the love story. After hurrying to read the many letters, it was clear that Mom had someone crazy about her.

Getting up from the cramped seated position, I came out of Dad’s closet. I sat alone in the living room, wondering what Dad was doing with all of Mom’s love letters. Did he collect them all and not let Mom see them?! Why were her love letters in his closet? If she saw them, wouldn’t they be in her closet? What were they doing in his closet? Didn’t he worry that she might see them one day? Why did he save them in his hallway closet where anyone could walk in to find them? They were on a top shelf in a box, but someone could still find them if they were looking in his closet. I did.

You could say I was wrong to look into his closet, but I hold no regrets because I got a glimpse of a few things about my dad. It meant the world to me that he had an entire photo album just for me. That could be the little girl in me who wished she had the love of her father. His recognition that I was one of his daughters was a bit of satisfaction enough to hold this little girl’s heart that she had a dad who knew who she was. 

It was also good to know that he loved Mom dearly. He knew Mom had her heart for someone else. He knew Mom married him so her whole family could come to America. Still, Dad loved her. He gave her everything that money could buy, and she was materialistic. Still, he loved her. I don’t love my mom or dad, but knowing they did love each other is nice. Though he loved her more, and she may have grown to love him, love is love. They may not have been great parents to love their kids, but at least they loved each other. The uncovered secrets will leave me with better thoughts about them.

The secret I found in Dad’s closet was a small window into who he was. Though we never communicated much with one another, I could say that the few hours spent in his closet brought me closer to him. He is a quiet man with beautiful fair skin. He wears black glasses and smiles smirkingly. I am just like my dad. He likes photography and has fat calves; me too. He loved Mom and still does. I, too, have loved deeply and treasured the ones I have loved. Though disconnected from Dad for most of my life, I found a way to feel connected with him and discovered a few commonalities between us. The mature me finally got a smirk on my face from thinking about my father.

Left Behind, Yet Not

Moving to another country, I left behind many things, and I wanted them left behind. Arriving on a tropical island, I got lost in paradise and forgot about all the things I wanted left behind. I wanted a new beginning. Engrossed in another world so different from where I came from, I forgot I had a previous life. Pinned to a new time zone, language, and culture, I had put my past in a distant galaxy. However, after years of sailing on an adventure far away from home, I settled down to live an everyday life of work, chores, errands, socials, and walks. Relaxing and taking writing classes online, I unearthed a hidden passion. This passion wasn’t just something I enjoyed; it breathed life into a lifelong wounded soul.

As I began writing my stories, my mind sailed back to where I came from or what I left. I thought I had left behind most of my possessions and all the people I knew, those I loved, and those who hurt me. Living over six thousand miles away from my previous life,  I believe the distance gave me time to heal. I enjoyed living in paradise for several years and thought everything was behind me, but I was wrong.

My passion for writing put my stories into print, and a podcast pulled out my unexpressed voice. My silent voice long wanted to express itself. When it finally found its way out, it flooded pages and pages of books. All that I thought I left behind only washed up to the surface before my eyes. They were physically left behind, but the imprints and memories stayed with me. Many were hidden or forgotten, but they were there.

When my fingers magically tapped away as if they had a mind of their own, they excavated childhood traumas, teenage struggles, heartbreaks, financial meltdowns, job burnout,  midlife crises, the worldwide pandemic challenges, and health scares. Nothing was left behind.

I thought I overcame many negative experiences, strengthened my being, and moved on with life. Maybe I did partially, but not entirely. My tapping fingers revealed that the injuries were still there. I may have masked them with optimism or shifted them from severe to minor ailments, but they still existed.

After a devastating breakup, I moved abroad to escape the heartbreak. Overwhelmed and engrossed with the different sights and sounds, I forgot about the man who broke my heart. He didn’t even enter my conscious mind as I was too busy acclimating to a new job and environment. But once a year, he would appear in my dreams at night. When I awoke from the nightmares, I only dismissed them and went about my daily life. I thought I had left him behind, but he showed up in my dreams year after year. 

After some years, when I returned home, I decided to confront the demon in an attempt to get rid of it. I enrolled in a Landmark Education course in personal development and realized that the demon would not escape me no matter where I went unless I did something. When I decided to forgive him and declared it aloud, the ten years of a punctured heart finally began to heal. I had realized that my refusal to forgive caused self-inflicted pain for ten years; I decided to forgive and to stop making myself suffer. My self-righteousness did not serve me well; it only caused pain like a nail lodged in my heart. By choosing forgiveness, I  pulled the nail out, sewed the gaping wound, and relieved myself of the pain. Just like that, the nightmares went away. I had made myself suffer for ten years and moved over six thousand miles away, hoping to leave it all behind me. It only left me when I chose forgiveness.

The 2009 global economic crisis led to losing my business, home, and bank accounts. Faced with a financial meltdown, I escaped to a tropical island to begin anew. Having secured a job, I started saving money again. The memory of the risks I took and the horrible results in business stamped a burning sensation like that of cattle being branded. What happened was not left behind; every penny-pinching act reminded me of the disasters that resulted from the business. Every purchase I made called me to ask myself if it was a need or want. The daily recordkeeping of my budget reminded me to keep saving and not repeat that lingering image of a meltdown. The financial nightmare was not left behind.

After losing my business, I sought to return to my previous career, where I was an employee or worker bee. Jobs were scarce when there was a worldwide economic crisis. Though I did not want to return to doing what I used to do, I needed a job. I couldn’t find one. I escaped to the tropical island with little in my pocket and a broken heart. The financial recovery was much faster than the mending of the broken heart. A different job in the same industry brought new life to work, and I didn’t have to do precisely the same thing over. I didn’t leave behind the previous job altogether, but it did help to lead me into training and management, which was new and different.

As if leaving behind a breakup, financial meltdown, business collapse, and joblessness was not enough, I also carried the excruciating pain of fibroids with me. There was no cure, and only age could help it subside. Miraculously, it extinguished itself after I arrived on the island nation. My only explanation was that it was a miracle. The fibroids were left behind, and I got a new start on life with a new job, new savings, and new friends.

Feeling the freedom of my voice emerging louder and louder as my fingers continued to write, childhood traumas, teenage struggles, midlife crises, and the worldwide pandemic did not escape me. They were not left behind; they were retained in my memory bank. They came out through my fingers, onto the printed page, and into a podcast.

The five-year-old me, who was traumatized when sent across the country to live with my grandparents’ family, discovered how that one event impacted my life in multiple ways. Though not left behind but stuck in the memory bank, pulling out the details led to many eye-opening moments that explained my behavior, attitude, and personality.

Feeling tossed, unwanted, and unloved, the five-year-old me fought back by demonstrating independence and self-sufficiency to prove I didn’t need anyone. The little girl in me also began abandoning relationships before anyone could leave her because she knew the pain of abandonment. Ignored and excluded, little Emily made herself stand out as unique; no one is like her. Silenced because her voice didn’t count in the family, Emily became quiet. Labeled as stupid, she studied hard, got good grades, and got a Masters degree.

Despite all the turmoil, I was determined to make something of myself. Grandma Betsy told me I mattered and not to let anyone say otherwise. Grandma Sandy reminded me to study hard, be good, and not get derailed to the dark side. My first boyfriend, Keith, always advised, encouraged, and comforted me to know my strength. Though any support never came from my immediate family members, I did have two grandmothers and a boyfriend who gave me all the help I needed as a child and a teenager. Bringing forth these memories provided comfort to ease the thoughts of the growing pains.

The teenage me was challenged to the core. Finding the methods and resources to finance my college education led me to discover my problem-solving creativity. Midlife crises, the global economic crises, and the pandemic demanded ingenuity, courage, creativity, flexibility, tenacity, and determination. With much practice using them all, overcoming all the adversities was possible.

Not left behind, embedded in the memory bank, and pulled out by the tapping fingers, the eye-opening moments of self-discovery and self-therapy brought peace and contentment for a life lived in abundance and meaning. 

May my passion for writing and speaking my stories without leaving them behind give you food for thought, move you, or inspire you.

Key Takeaways

Though I didn’t know my father well, the secrets in his closet brought me closer to understanding him.

Though much could be left behind when we move forward or go elsewhere, I retain memories, knowledge, and acquired skills.

Next week, you will hear two real-life stories called From Hand-me-Downs to Leather Couches & The Heavy Load. 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!