When I listened to ‘Not Strong Enough’ for the first time, an overwhelming tide of emotions, caged within my heart for years, finally broke free. They emerged raw and untamed, clawing their way through my flesh and blood, demanding to be acknowledged. In that moment, I confronted a gut-wrenching realization: I might never receive the same kind of love I so selflessly offer to others.
The refrain “Always an angel, never a god” echoes relentlessly in the recesses of my mind, underscoring my deepest insecurities. As the daughter of a traditional Chinese father, I will forever remain a disappointment, a shadow of the prodigy he once envisioned. I am his flesh and blood, yet I am not the brilliant child he desired. I did not master any instrument; my fingers fumbled over the keys and strings. Numbers eluded me, simple equations a mystery I could not unravel, and biological processes danced just out of reach. My once-vibrant artistic abilities dulled as high school drained every ounce of passion I once held dear. Tone-deaf, with laughable hand-eye coordination, my essays meandered off course, lost in tangents. I am his daughter, but not the daughter he wanted.
I exist in a paradox, too skinny to be fat yet too fat to be skinny. I stand in the shadows of other Asian girls my age, who embody everything I am not. I don’t lose myself in raves and parties; I don’t obsess over Sanrio characters, and soju is foreign to my lips. Our only commonality is our shared Asian heritage. I’m Asian, but not the Asian you want to date. Always the beast, never the beauty.
I am the one you turn to for love, for support, for creativity. I will draw, write, paint, and plan. I will pour my heart into every endeavour for you, knowing full well that my efforts might never be reciprocated. I am the steadfast angel, offering comfort and care, but never the god, never the one held in reverence or awe.
My life is a series of unfulfilled roles. Always the gardener, never the blooming flower. I cultivate beauty for others, but my own petals wither in the shadows. I am the moon, reflecting the sun’s light, yet never basking in its warmth. In relationships, I am the steady rock, weathering storms but eroding under the relentless waves of neglect.
I stand at the periphery of my own existence, watching as others live out the dreams I silently nurture. Always the guide, never the traveller. I pave the way, clearing obstacles for others, but my own path remains shrouded in uncertainty and unmet potential.
In the end, perhaps my realization is a call to arms, a plea to break free from the roles imposed upon me. To transcend the confines of being just an angel, an artist, a beast. To strive for a balance where I am both the giver and the receiver of love, the creator and the muse, the beauty and the beast. To find solace in my dualities and to embrace the multifaceted person I am, deserving of the same depth of love and appreciation I so willingly bestow upon others.
