I think that often, the first people who a child trusts is their parents. Therefore, when they find out that their trust was unfounded, it’s a greater heartbreak than if it were any other person.
I don’t see it as betrayal because I see a foolish naive child doing nothing to protect themselves from inevitabilities. But then I catch myself and think: why? Why can’t they trust with their whole heart and be unafraid to maybe be wrong? Why can’t they take words at face value and let them sink in, becoming fact. Why can’t they be ready to trust again, even if they’ve been hurt once or twice or thrice and more? Why shouldn’t they hold hope– hold trust that there will be people who treat said trust as wonderful and special as they should?
I think that is the reason why I find trust to be one of the most important things in my life– it’s because I’ve already lost so much of it.
Let me take you, dear reader, into my life for a brief moment: you don’t know me, and I don’t know you. Still, I trusted my parents– past tense of course. I stopped trusting them a long time ago, but even I forget to hold them at an arm’s distance at times. Still, they never fail to remind me why I should always be cautious of who to believe.
Once, my dad told me that I could keep the fish tank that my family has had since my brother was born. I loved the fish that swam and the water that refracted rainbows onto the walls. He told me that when I had my own house, it would be mine– only to find out that he had it discarded during their home renovations. After my uncle passed away, my grandma’s health turned for the worst. My mom told me that everything was fine, that my grandma was ok and that I would see her again after my college semester was over– only to find out that she passed away and they held the funeral without me.
My parents told me that our stray cat who had lived in our backyard for over ten years won’t be handed over to the pest control after she was wrongfully accused of hurting someone else, that she would be ok and that our neighbor didn’t have a legal leg to stand on, that I shouldn’t worry about her because my parents won’t give up on her– only to find out two days later that the trap was removed from our yard with her in it.
I didn’t get to say goodbye to any of those things. I never got a chance to say anything or do anything. Those are things that hurt my heart, yet I was expected to understand and see my parents’ side of things without them seeing mine.
Now, from belongings to family to even lives at stake, how would I hold any trust that what I value will still be there at the end of the day? How can I trust in words when those words are what casted shadows on my eyes to begin with?
After all this, I can’t help but think that having trust in others– let alone your parents– is foolish. And worst of all, I remember a time in May of last year. To make a long story short, my parents told me that they wanted to disown me, that I was no longer their daughter. Once they got their way in the end, they welcomed me back and told me they loved me, that they forgave me for not listening to them, that I would always be their daughter.
And since then, I lived knowing that they can change their minds– they will change their minds– and I will be the fool who believed them again. Since then, I’ve been prepared. Since then, I get reminders from their words alone of how fragile my place is, so how can I not be ready for what can and may come? The thought is in their minds now, so who knows when they’ll change their minds. Certainly not me. But when the second time those words will come, it will hurt far less because I hold no trust for them.
And yet each time… each and every time… it hurts just the same.
I say this with all my being: actions speak louder than words. I can see actions and I can trust in actions. With words though? I cannot say that words alone are enough.
Today, on February 8, I say goodbye to my darling cat Cactus. I adored you with all my heart, and I’m sorry I couldn’t do more. I’m sorry I couldn’t hold you longer, even if it was always at an arm’s distance because you were so skittish. I’m sorry I can’t celebrate Lunar New Year with you. I’m sorry I can’t see you on the morning of my wedding.
You lived your entire life in opulence, fed with fancy feast, kibble, and fattened sparrows. You slept in new beds every few months we bought from Ross and old clothes that smelled like your owners. You ate with us during our meal times and gave us half eaten prey you caught when kibble was too boring. Your poop smelled awful, yet your pee made our garden flourish.
You would’ve never attacked a human without reason– heck, you don’t even allow strangers close to you. All you ever did was be yourself, and yet the world was not ready for that. Losing your first pet is hurtful, but I’m so glad that you are called mine.
I love you my dear Cactus who is so prickly and untamed. I adore you beyond words. May your next life be filled with so much love. Good night my little baby Cactus, my dearest desert flower.
February 8, 2024; Posted on February 9, 2024.
Diving in the Deep 