Hello Kitty came out in 1976. I was born 1973. I feel a kindred spirit with her. Cute, Asian, big head… All of her marketing is adorable and I love it. The love of Hello Kitty carried me through adulthood. To this day I have a slight obsession with Hello Kitty that I try to keep to a level below neurotic. But, I read somewhere online that Hello Kitty doesn’t have a mouth. It never occurred to me until I saw that article. She just sits there. Ornamental. I became conflicted as I didn’t really want that to be representative of adult Heather.
As I think back to child Heather, it makes sense that I flocked to Hello Kitty. She represented how I felt. Cute, ornamental and without a voice. I didn’t know who I was or who I wanted to be. Other young girls seemed so content in their skin. They were confident about who they were and what they wanted to be. Or if they didn’t know, it didn’t bother them. Where with me, it was the opposite. EVERYTHING bothered me. I was constantly worried about something. Chaos seemed to be my comfortable state to where if there wasn’t drama to worry about, I would start it.
I once tried to make a club for people who hated my best friend. She was my best friend, but I was so jealous of her. Why would I do that? I remember getting into a fight in the car with my high school boyfriend and yanking on his arm so hard he swerved off the road. There was a cop behind us and he pulled us over for driving recklessly. He let us go when he saw me flailing in the passenger seat having what looked like some sort of fit or nervous breakdown. It’s not that I was Hello Kitty in that I never spoke up. I had no problem speaking my mind. I just never knew what my mind was or who I was. I was nondescript. If you saw child Heather she was this cute little Korean girl who took ballet and got straight A’s. But inside I didn’t know who I was. One day I wore my cheerleader uniform to school. The next day I wore my animal print wrap around skirt, black leather jacket and a fake nose ring. My algebra teacher looked at me and asked if I thought I was attractive with the ring in my nose. I told him I didn’t care. But that was a lie. I did care. Not about what he thought of me, but I cared about what I was projecting to others. Because others’ opinions mattered more than mine.
I want to tell child Heather to relax. It’s ok. You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to be the best. You don’t have to popular or rich and you can stop trying to fit in. There is this Hulu show called Pen15. It’s written by Maya Erskine and Anna Konkie. It chronicles two young girls’ lives as they navigate being 13. Maya is Japanese-American and Anna is white. It’s completely cringe-worthy as they relive those embarrassing moments of middle school where you want to fit in so bad, but yet you fail at it so miserably. When I watched that show it spoke to my soul. I got it. I knew that feeling and saw myself in each of the characters. In fact, in the most recent episode they chose to animate the show and accentuated the physical features they hated about themselves. Anna had a HUGE moon face, just like me. It’s great writing and a show I relate to all too well.
So when I reflect back on these memories, was I like this because of adoption? Because of the tiny town I grew up in? Did adoption and growing up looking like an outsider in a town with one stop light and corn fields have an affect on the identity crisis I played out day after day? Who knows. There’s plenty of adoptees who grow up in white towns and adjust just fine. But for me, there was just something else, something missing. I was constantly looking to fit in. And since I never felt like I fit in, I would just over-accentuate that feeling and make sure I could tell myself there was a reason I felt like I didn’t fit in. I changed my appearance outward to match how I felt inward, therefore justifying my awkward treatment. I feel for child Heather. I wish I could give her the comfort and peace I found in adulthood. I wish she would’ve had that F OFF attitude I have now and felt confident in my skin. But only years of living and growing allowed me to find this.
I’m always in awe of young women in their 20’s who have so much confidence and success. I always think, ahh these are girls who were raised to believe what they said mattered. These are girls who gained respect by males and were allowed to speak. Most likely early on because they were pretty. These girls were positively reinforced and told they had a voice, and that the world cared what they had to say. The girl who was my bridesmaid did her student teaching a year before me. I was telling her how hard of a time I was having, that I couldn’t wield power or respect in the classroom because of my stature or intimidation. She said she knew the class listened to her ‘cause she was pretty. It’s true. Pretty voices matter. I eventually learned I had to use humor.
So in essence, I’d love to tell child Heather to she’s doing fine. She will work out her issues and life will unfold the way it is supposed to. Don’t rush it and enjoy the ride. But we know, this isn’t possible.
No comments:
Post a Comment