The Price of Free Rent
This is a spoken word I performed for an event called Brown Bodies, Bold Stories: The Ways We Heal, which was cohosted by Daya Houston and South Asian Youth in Houston Unite (SAYHU). It was later published on the SAYHU Blog.
Oh, would you look at that!
It’s that time of the month.
I head downstairs and pay my rent to the landlords
Not with money, oh no, for you see, I live rent free!
Instead, I pay by getting in between my siblings’ fists.
And hugging my mother through another mental breakdown.
And counseling a father who doesn’t believe in mental health.
I’ve built up quite the resume, you see
with this never-ending unpaid internship that is being the eldest child.
Finally, getting back up to my room,
Closing the door, my heart is filled with dread
…but hey, at least I’m saving money, right?
I am grateful for my financial health.
So grateful that I feel it devouring my heart from the inside.
You see, I paid a hefty deposit on this rental that I may never get back.
That deposit was…my self.
My genuine, unabashed self
Some people are strangers in distant lands
I’m a stranger in my own body, a foreigner in my own home
Repressed.
And.
Depressed.
I choke on my truth as I continue breathing out a lie.
*Deep breath*
52% of young Americans live with their parents today
the first time since the Great Repression….err Depression.
like many others, I live with my parents to save money
at the cheap price of my mental health.
Throughout this pandemic, I have faced two main questions.
First, how responsible am I for the well-being of my family?
Well, there are no good answers, only better questions
Like, what boundaries should I set? And what if my family doesn’t respect my boundaries?
I believe we need to prioritize our own mental health and wellbeing.
And that people should be able to choose and consent to the relationships they want to be a part of
But what can you do?
When your forever roommates scream loud enough to pierce through your headphones?
Could you ignore it?
*Deep breath*
Second, how long can I live an honest lie?
I am completely myself with my family,
if you shave off my queerness with a rusty cheese grater.
Allowing me to neatly fit into the judgement of my parents’ eyes
While unable to see myself in the congealed skin that I wear
Honestly, I don’t even know if I dislike this that much
I’m used to living like this, you see
hyperaware of their disappointment and anger
So I let them see how they want to see me
while I lose sight of ever living in any other way.
And the complacency and isolation dance a merry jig on top of my body
causing me to twist and bend my way through life
like a puppet with knotted strings
*Deep breath*
Someday I’m going to leave my parents’ house.
And I just want to share one thing I’ve learned.
You don’t need to wait till you’re “financially independent”
to start taking steps to be yourself.
There’s no timeline for happiness.
*Deep breath*
I wish I had the choice to live on my own,
unconstrained by the fear of financial foreclosure
I wish we all could live freely in the sanctuaries we deserve
But until then, I’m riding shotgun with circumstance,
without a clue as to where I’m headed.
Knowing that even after I’ve moved out,
With the hurricane in the rearview mirror
The trauma will continue living in my head.
Haunting me forevermore
Rent. Free.