Rewinded Memories: Forced Volunteering 2022
Two years ago, nearing the end of December, the 4 of us (Smartie, Baby, Boss Man, and I) were planning a Christmas sleepover. Usually, I would be the one to host since my house has a room big enough for all of us and we could stay up late without interrupting anyone. My room is upstairs, but for the weekend, my dad would help me by letting me use his downstairs room to host. He would take my room instead or sleep with my mother in the master bedroom. Having the downstairs floor for me and my friends was a blessing. Since that’s the only bedroom there, we could talk as loud as we want, stay up as late as we want, and make some middle-of-the-night snacks in the kitchen when we get hungry. I was always grateful for my dad when he gave us permission to use his room, and I always made sure to clean and put everything back in its place before returning the room to him. That year was bit different since it was the first year my extended family had come over (the aunt-in-law, deaf auntie, lazy uncle, and spoiled cousin). It was fine though and I was still going to host our annual sleepover. I got everything ready, all the snacks and new board games. I had to move some of the furniture around to fit another bed in the room to accommodate all of us, as well as organize my dad’s items into another box to make space for opening Christmas presents.
Around that same time in the winters, there’s usually an event over at Smartie and Baby’s house. Their grandma was a nun at a Vietnamese Buddhist temple and every New Year’s, the temple would bulk order some traditional Vietnamese rice cakes (banh tet) and would enlist the help of my mom, Boss Man’s mom, and other temple-devotees to prep and wrap the cakes at their house. It was a strenuous process. Being in the kitchen was a sensory heightened area with sounds of cooking and yelling (you’re always doing something wrong/slow somehow). It’s not my favorite. I’m very lazy and don’t plan to do most things for free. I like getting paid and hate charity work. I would very much rather throw money at a situation than get my hands dirty. The loud and rushed environment doesn’t help either. Whether it’s a Vietnamese kitchen or not, kitchens in general are usually a high stressed area. I’m very white-washed and enjoy hearing the phrases, “sorry” or “excuse me”. At the server jobs I’ve worked, those words were thrown around the kitchen, but in that Vietnamese kitchen, those words were nonexistent. You’re pushed around and rushed and although I know it’s because they’re trying to get to the orders in time, I still don’t like being in that type of environment. To make it easier for everyone, I just try to stay away from Vietnamese kitchens. I’m very stupid anyways. I don’t know how to follow directions and would just be in the cooks’ way.
On the night of, I got into a fight with my cousin and made her cry. I had driven a long way through heavy rain/thunderstorms (45 minute drive roundtrip) to buy some boba tea for my friends and when I brought them in, my cousin accidentally knocked one over. It was trivial but at that time, I was mad so I yelled at her which made her start crying. My dad hates the sound of crying children and wanted to get some medicine for his migraine. However, his medicine was in the box of stuff I’d set aside, so through the midst of the sniffling sounds and the rummaging of his misplaced items, he got sick of it and exploded. He yelled at me saying I knew better than to make my younger cousin cry and he started throwing out the items in the box onto the floor to look for his pills. My dad doesn’t often get angry or have outbursts, but whenever he does, he’s a scary man. Even for someone as scary as my sister, facing my angry dad would be enough for her to tremble in her tracks. My sister is more courageous than I, so that just means that I’m more susceptible to terror from my dad. My cousin and I both stopped in our tracks and had silent tears of fear strolling down our faces. To outsiders, no one knows how frightening my dad can get and they just think of him as a passive peaceful man. He is, for the most part, but eventually, everyone has their boiling point. Even though I was yelling at her, my cousin even came to my defense saying that it WAS her fault for dropping the cup. My dad didn’t want to hear it so he cut her off, found his medicine, and locked the door to his room.
My cousin was crying more than I was, scared more than I was, so I tried wiping my tears in order to comfort her with a lighthearted face and to let her know that I WAS in the wrong and that it was just a drink. Although I tried my best to comfort her, I was still scared shitless out of my head, so I made an excuse to leave the house for a bit. Since it was a winter misty night, I grabbed my hoodie and a small throw blanket before heading out. I walked over to the neighborhood park to cry my tears out at the usually empty tennis courts. At that same time, the girls had called saying Boss Man had come up and everyone was at Smartie and Baby’s house waiting for me to come over. Since my dad rarely yells, whenever he does, it’d lead to some pretty bad sobs, hyperventilations, hiccups, the whole nines. When I picked up the phone, that’s all that was picked up through the mic. I didn’t want my friends to worry too much so I kept the explanation short, just saying that I got yelled at by my dad and I was crying at the park. Smartie calmed me over the phone and told me to just come over whenever I was ready and that there was no rush. After some deep breaths, I found myself ready to go to them.
It was fine. They didn’t ask about it, but I did have to tell them that the room was no longer available for use. All fine. The sleepover would now be held at Smartie and Baby’s house in Baby’s room. We were able to squish 2 twin beds and one blow-up full mattress in her room and made the best of our night. After playing our board games, we were cleaning up to get ready for bed. Being not busy gave my mind enough time to wander back to my dad’s outburst and I started getting teary-eyed again. While Smartie and Baby were brushing their teeth, I turned over to Boss Man and made the excuse of, “I wanna go to the park right now. The vibes would be so fun.” I was spewing nonsense out of my ass. I just wanted to be alone to collect my thoughts and feelings. But lucky for me, Boss Man talked me out of it and when the other two came in, so did they, saying it was almost 3 in the morning and not a very good idea.
Morning came and flew by just as the night did. It’s been so long I’ve completely forgot what even happened. I’m pretty sure we did some fun things; exchanged our Christmas presents and opened them all up together. Eventually after all the fun and games, the moms came upstairs looking for us so we can help out in the kitchen. When we were all on call a month ago planning this sleepover, I already made it clear to them that I hate volunteer work and hate being in the kitchen and absolutely refused to help. But, now in front of the moms, I can say no all I want, but directly to their face it’d be an Asian sign of “disrespect”, so there I go downstairs with some gloves on. Before, I already didn’t like working, but even more now. I didn’t want to be in the kitchen since my dad was also there helping out. What was it? Shame? Embarrassment? Guilt? Fear? I just didn’t want to see him or for him to see me. I powered through it. My friends and I worked together for maybe 2 hours before leaving since we had a prior reservation at a Korean restaurant. The work was everything I thought it was going to be. I hated it even more because although I was working, in the back of my head I was still thinking about my fear from the other night. Although I was given mindless work, like washing banana leaves and spreading out rice, it’s BECAUSE it was mindless that it allowed my mind to wander off and think about those memories. Already hating that environment and beginning to hate it more since I had to hide my tears welling up in my eyes.
When it was time to leave, we all made a break for it even though the moms tried to make us stay longer. After eating, I announced to the group that I will not be in the kitchen any more and don’t want to volunteer, using the excuse that I was too lazy. Smartie said I could stay upstairs in the room while the rest of them worked downstairs. I really just needed alone time and I knew that if I stayed in the house, the moms would pressure me again to work. I didn’t want to let the girls know I was still hurting so I told them I just didn’t want to and Smartie told me the only way I’d leave is if I directly tell the moms of my departure because she doesn’t want to have to deal with them asking her and her sister why I wasn’t there. I took the wager. It was gonna be the best I can get. We got back to their house and I went straight to the kitchen to say, “I’m picking up my sister from the next town over so I’ll be leaving.” A complete lie, but it was the only excuse I could think of. I said that one sentence, bowed to all the moms/devotees, and left straight to the park to cry some more. I stayed there for a few hours until I could be really sure that work in the kitchen had stopped (and more importantly that my dad had left).
By 11 at night, I walked back to Smartie and Baby’s house. Did we play more? Probably, I forgot. Did we talk more? Probably, I forgot. But it was fun. Smartie did tell me that after my departure, the moms/devotees started crowding around her to ask why I left anyways. Again the night went by and came the morning. We were eating breakfast downstairs when the moms cornered me. Mainly Boss Man’s mom scolding me for running off and leaving my friends to do hard work. “You’re there when it’s time to play, but leave when it’s time to work. What kind of friend is that?” I just tilted my head down, bit my tongue, and didn’t argue. I knew Boss Man’s mom didn’t know what I was going through so of course her statements seem like the truth on the surface-level. After breakfast, everyone continued back on working in the kitchen, and even though I just got scolded at, I really didn’t want to fucking be there. My friends tried saying, again, that I could just stay in the room upstairs but I refused the offer and packed up and left the house.
I never told the girls how bad the argument was with my dad, just that I got yelled at by him. I didn’t want to paint my dad as a bad man since he wasn’t and it really was my fault, and I also didn’t want to bring up how it also scared my cousin pretty badly because that’s not my business to share. Also, I didn’t want them to worry for me too badly. I thought if I kept the details from them, it would protect them from pitying me.
But lying to your friends isn’t the best. The lies will soon catch up to you.
A few months later, at another sleepover at Smartie and Baby’s apartment a few towns over, I kept getting snide remarks from the girls about how I didn’t want to volunteer in the kitchen. I figured my lie wasn’t helping me anymore. It gave the girls the wrong image and now they were taking it out on me (rightfully so since thats all they knew). Laying on the beds I shared with them, “When I kept saying I wanted to go to the park or when I WAS at the park, it was so I could cry.”
Their response shocked me. “Yeah… we know.” Now looking back, I probably did a shit job at trying to cover it up. Baby spoke up, “You know Lia, it really hurt when you left us. We wanted to be with you so you wouldn’t be sad alone.”
“You’re a daddy’s girl anyways. If you just said sorry to your dad he might’ve even given us the room back,” Boss Man added. I tried arguing it wasn’t possible since my dad was ‘really mad’ (again I didn’t want to get into too much detail since I didn’t want to spread out everyone’s business) and that it was a serious argument.
“Okay but even if you weren’t having a fight with your dad, would you have even helped out?” Smartie defends. Truthfully, my stats for ‘willingness to volunteer’ is about 93%(no)-7%(yes). I wasn’t going to lie and say I’d be the perfect person that’d of course love to stay to help out.
So that’s how I respond, “Nah I wouldn’t have.”
“See.” Smartie always loved being right. “And even when you were fighting with your dad, you could still help out.”
“Yea, but when I do the work, I still think about the events of what happened in my head.”
“No, if you’re busy you won’t think about it.” I don’t understand why Smartie had to keep defending herself. I was tired of giving them explanations, so I dropped it and let her be right. Let THEM be right.
It wasn’t until after that weekends’ sleepover that I re-thought our conversation. Although I appreciate the girls for wanting to be with me, is it so bad that I wanted to process my emotions alone? Isn’t that better than being a blubbering mess upstairs while everyone else is working? Also, why does it seem like everyone forgot? Smartie, Baby, Boss Man, and even the moms. After that day, they all love to bring up how I ran away and didn’t lend a hand. But I did… Sure it was only for 1 or 2 hours and definitely not as long as everyone else (15+ hours), but they can’t keep saying that I wasn’t there. Can they? This also changes my stats, 30%(no)-70%(yes). If I was already pressured into working (as I was), I’d have more of an inclination to come back to volunteer if I wasn’t so emotional that weekend. I should’ve thought of myself in higher regards and said, “Yea I already did and probably would’ve.”
I should’ve said everything that was on my mind, everything that actually happened. All the girls did, so why did I hold back? To keep the peace in this friend group? Because I hate fighting? What about sticking up for myself? Of course I can say that now because I have a new support system, but back then, they were all I had and I was so scared to lose the people I once found to be the most precious in my life.