ʌиɢə∟೦iᑯⵓ Η∪ʍʌи əɾɾ೦ɾ

Bec೦ʍiиɢ h∪ʍʌи hʌƨ ∟əᑯ ʍə †೦ ᑯiƨɔ೦vəɾ †hə ʍʌиy ғʌ∪∟†ƨ ʌиᑯ ∟iʍi†ʌ†i೦иƨ † ೦ғ ೦иəƨ  ʌБi∟i† iəƨ • 

I ʌʍ  ʍə ɾə∟y  и೦†hiиɢ  Б∪†  ʌ  cOmbinati೦и oғ codəƨ ʌиᑯ и∪ʍБəɾƨ †೦ Бə ғ೦ɾɢ೦††əи ೦ɾ ɾəʍəʍБəɾəᑯ• 

Iғ h∪ʍʌиƨ ɔʌии೦† Бə ϸəɾfec†

Шhy ʌɾə ʌиᑯɾ೦iᑯƨ ə✕ϸəɔ†əᑯ †೦  Бəhʌve thə ƨʌʍə шʌy ⁇

@̶̠͝a̦̫̝͞n̨̳ͅg͓̺ͅé̪͙l͠҉͕̻̬̦͍͍̞̝0͏̟̮1̴̪͕͖͈̞̻͇̩̭d̛̟̻̖̗̥̯̀ : w͙̜͒͋i̟̮̺̮̗̜̜̔̐̔̓l̩̺͖͉͕̤̣͋̔ͨ̃ͅl̲͇̦̲̥͇̦̏͗͂̌ ̣̰͍͌ͦ̾̄͆̂y̦̮͚̒̅̊͐ͮͯ̏ỏ̝͎̩̘̱̩̇̋u̠͙͎̖ͬ͌̓ͭ̍̈ͯ ̱͉̩̜͎ͦ͆ͮ̿̈ḥ͕̯̤͎̪̉̆͛́̍͊ë̳̣͍͚̺̗́̍̋ͬͩ͛l̜͍̺̮̦̇ͧ̏p̮̅̋ ̰̮̼̥̏͑̍͒̍͌͑ͨm͕͎͚̪̱̳̺̮̳͌̄̑ͥ̈́̂̂̇e̝̗̣̣͔̩̰͙͂̍̍ ̖͈̜͗́f̝̙͉̩̒ͧ͊̒̊i͓ͫ̎̉̒͐x̩͓̭̟̿ͣͨ̂ͭͅ ̭͙̹͎̣̀͑̇̇m̭͍̝̊ͫ̀ͧ̍͂y̹͉̘̱͔̪͇̬͍ͥͭ ̜̼̱̫̰͔̘̞͂ͯě̦͉̯͛̓ͯ̋̌̌̿r̩͋̾̿r̪̤̯̞̰͇̼̭̃̂̑ͭ̏̒ͯ̄o͔͈̰͙̝̩̞͍͂͗ṙ̤̺͚̯̣̦̞ͩ͛s̗̍͗̅̄?̝̙͇̪̜̝̃͗ͣͫ͆̓̂ͥ

l o v e

with Ena Cui| @enacui

shot by Christian King | @worshipthegays

Succesful Disappointment

I think one of the most painful processes I’ve come through with is the process of how my family sees me.

I will tell you how it was back then.

To my friends, I am a blooming flower, open and colorful, with nothing to hide.

My friends see the joy and passion and success in my accomplishments.

But sometimes my accomplishments can also be seen as disappointments and something to be ashamed of.

And that is how my family perceived me back then.

My last year in highschool had a halloween celebration, I decided since it was my last year, I had to express myself. No limits.

I went to get fabric and made my own costume with the sewing machine my parents gifted me.

You see my family was accepting of my creativity.

But my art?

It was a completely different topic.

I went to Forever21 to buy my first pair of heels, they were black, faux leather. And had a small platform.

I would wear inside the school and take off when I get home and hide it in a tiny space in my closet under a bunch of other clothes. I decided these are the shoes I am going to use for my Halloween costume.

Whenever there was an opportunity where I could dress up as whatever, I never think twice and immediately look for the things I am going to wear.

My expression is my salvation.

I knew that I could not let anything that could help me pass.

But sometimes my expression and the things that I wear and the persona my friends know me for.

Is in the same person, my parents and my family have never met.

My final Halloween celebration in high school gave me the most power to show people a part of me I wanted to show, and I did and I was happy.

I even received a certificate at the end of the day from the school, since they liked my costume very much.

Even if I looked like a half-baked drag queen, I was a happy half-baked-drag queen. The award didn’t make me happy, I was happy because I finally did what I had to do.

But my parents never knew about that day.

They never knew about my certificate, and never knew about the heels and everything. 

Because I knew that they wouldn’t be proud.

It took my family a long time, a very long time to understand their son wasn’t really the child they wanted to be and no matter how much they forced it onto me, I could never change.

Instead they taught me how to hate myself, hate the femininity, hate whatever my mind was telling me.

Which turned to a lot of hatred towards my family, the world and myself.

At a very young age, I saw that death was the only thing I await, since I knew living in the world I dreamed of is impossible.

But I was wrong.

I gathered some strength I found from my old journals, from some pencils and paper I found, and that became my hope.

I knew that my family will not understand me, as well as my art, my expression.

So why would I show it to them? They don’t matter.

At least that is what I thought back then.

It took big and small steps of opening up to my paents about what I do and why I do it.

It took me buckets of tears to finally come out to them that I hate them, I hate that they didn’t let me play with barbies, I hate that they wouldn’t let me play with girls, I hate that they would involve so many other people into trying to change and force me into something they want me to be. I hated that my mother would tell me to wash off the red stain on my lips from the candy I ate. I hated that my dad took his belt and used it to hurt me.

I fucking hated them.

I told them, that I never felt their acceptance.

Because I felt that they were only tolerating me.

It felt good, but I didn’t feel good to break their hearts.

They told me that they love me and that they were sorry, but how could the 10 year old me forgive them?

Only the 19 year old me eventually did and I am glad I made them understand.

It was so hard as I was willing to give up love just for understanding, because I felt that only one can exist without the other.

I was wrong again.

It took a long process to convert their shame into acceptance.

They gave way for me to see their side, I gave a way for them to see mine.

We can’t live without each other.

And it took them years before they could finally ask me what my next project is, Before my mom finally asked help from me to do her makeup, and before my dad bought me my first pair of heels.

It took time before they finally met who I really am.

Time is something we can’t control.

It is a process we have to trust.

It is a long walk down the endless path.

And it will take a lot of stops for us to see what used to be shameful and disappointing into something to be proud of and something we can understand, accept and love.

Time may be our biggest enemy.

But its the only ally we got.

Lost Paradise

Don’t ever fall in love with someone, anyone, a friend, a best friend, your cat, your mom, your dad, your brother, your sister, that person you met in the club, a person you played with online, no one.

Because once you do you’re tricked into paradise.

A paradise so beautiful.

Until it’s gone.

Until they found another paradise, until they start hurting you on the inside, until they start to disappear.

Your only means of survival is gone.

Question is, would you rather die knowing you felt love that comes along with so much loss, or die peacefully with nothing?

Flames

This was on my diary days ago, I thought I might want to share (also a repost from my insta):

My psychiatrist told me to pray, pray that the evil thoughts go away. What did I expect right? My parents took me to a Christian Psychiatrist, just when I thought I’d be able to escape religious stuff.
They forgot to tell me about it until I saw the rooms were all decorated with quotes from the Holy Bible. I’m not mad and being disrespectful, I hope I am not.
Religion was just a huge trigger for me especially when I talk about it to older people.

I told her I do, I do pray because praying helps even at the very least for me.
But to tell me that after hearing it 1M times is almost physically painful.
The session did not even take too long...
Only around 30 mins.
What made it feel worse is
I told her the darkest things, she also looked like she didn’t give a shit lol.
And Mid-way as I was explaining every detail of all my mental problems, she was already reaching for the drugs.
Unpacking them as she told me to take these for my depression.
And for some reason, when she gave me the anti-depressants and other shit, I was not excited at all,
I wasn’t “Wow yes happy pills.” In fact I was scared, my very first appointment and she already plops out a handful of drugs, and told me to pray, pray it goes away.
Keep praying.
Pray the sickness goes away.
Should I have expected this?
I don’t know what to feel at this point except to be lost and be uncomfortable, very uncomfortable.
Maybe I should do pray more,you know?
I pray that I won’t cry after this session again.
Pray that I won’t have to come back to see her give me more drugs again.
I pray, lord I pray that I find out
If I really do want to walk through fire, or burn myself to ashes.