I feel as if I’m in a fog.
All attempts at parenting or homeschooling my children have gone to the wayside. I don’t even bother. I mean, if one of my kids remembers it’s a weekday and that they have to do some semblance of work, I will help them, but otherwise, I just let them play or run around feral. I am grateful that Netflix still has Avatar: The Last Airbender so my kids can watch it for the bajillionth time.
I have told some of my kids some details about the Atlanta murders, as well as a bit of the other acts of Asian violence. But I just can’t bring myself to do more than the bare minimum. It has nothing to do with me wanting to keep their innocence or protect them. I’ve taught them plenty about anti-Black violence, of the racism and white supremacy ingrained in our nation, of our country’s genocidal roots. Usually, I get criticized for telling my kids too much versus too little.
Instead, it is because I cannot bear it
I feel conflicted
After all, I want to honor these Asian women and read about their lives — it seems the very least I can do to mark their time on this Earth and their passing. But then, I am unable to do anything afterward. I just go numb.
I feel like a bad Asian.
Instead, I continue on like my ancestors who suffered before me. I go about the business of keeping my children alive; I go about in my own bumbling way to make a world where they may never have to read one more article about anti-Asian racism. That we will have finally wiped the evil of white supremacy off the face of this earth.
