In any case, we come home from Jess's after going over there for dinner. As I had neglected to take a shower earlier that day, I proceeded to run the bath. I like baths. So I take baths. It seems reasonable to me.
Anyway, a few minutes later, my dad comes up and notices the water running. He proceeds to yell at me for taking a bath when he'd gone out of his way to install a new showerhead. I shower. I shower a lot. I didn't see a problem.
Apparently he did, with my bath-taking and continued to rant to me and lecture me and proclaim all sorts of punishments on me if I ever took a bath again. It was about this point that I got really mad. Thank you, but I would hope I would be able to decide how I want to clean myself. Apparently not.
In any case, as the bath was already half-filled, I didn't take a shower. Nor did I try an outright confrontation at that point. I just closed the door, took my bath, and tried to calm down.
It didn't sound like he was doing anything of the sort on the other side of the door since all I could hear was him yelling at my sister, and at my mom.
I got out after completing the bath-taking rituals. As soon as I stepped out, all I could see was my dad sitting at my computer, and reading my LJ and my MSN conversations.
I turn off my monitor for a reason. I minimize everything for a reason. That reason is I don't want them to see.
But no! This man just won't let my privacy be. Same thing goes with my mail. I recieve something from the AI Institute (art, btw), he'll open it, glance through it, and then chuck it in the garbage proclaiming "Trash."
I get something from MacMaster, he'll open that too, and then demand why there's nothing more than brochures. I demand why he opens my mail, and all he says is, "I'm your father."
Anyway, I was furious. But I left it be. I figured I would make mores sense in the morning when I wasn't so bloody tired. I walked into my room, and sat on my bed with a book. The next minute, I hear him yelling at me to clean up around my computer. I do it. I go in, pick up the things and I go back to my room.
(As all of his speech is in Chinese, it's hard to translate the same meaning when I'm typing in English, sigh. Why can't I remember Chinese? *kicks self*)
But anyway, "Get back out here and kneel down in front of me."
Yeah, it's a punishment in our household. Perhaps even a funny one, if you're looking in from the outside. But if you have your pride, it's bloody embarassing and it's bloody degrading.
Enough of that, I was still angry and I did not want to move from my room. After all, I had done nothing to start an argument with him. I asked him, "Why?"
I think the only English equivalent I can say that he answered me with would be, "I don't bloody well need to tell you why, just get the fuck out here." Except without the actual swearing because he doesn't swear. Often.
Well... no. Just no. I wasn't going just because he was acting childish and having a temper tantrum. Unless he gave me a reason, I wasn't coming out. I told him as much.
"You're sleeping in the basement. This room's too good for you."
I think the slew of thoughts in my head at that point all revolved around, Fuck you. I walked off, down the stairs, through the basement door, closed it, and down into the basement. (This, as a general rule, you can tell how mad I was because I am deathly afraid of my basement. Don't bother to ask why.)
So yeah. He would never have left it at that. Our big arguments usually come about in this way. He blows up at me, I blow up at him, he (usually) starts tearing apart/breaking my things, I yell at him, we reach a stalemate, then we both start calming down. I stay silent, he does the talking.
The same thing went for this time. But he said stuff that meant a lot to me. He noticed that I'd been trying hard, that I'd been trying so hard in school and so on and he told me so.
This doesn't happen very often you see when you're Chinese, and all you're ever used to is your parents putting you down as fat, ugly, stupid, lazy, and useless in front of other people because it's considered polite.
From someone who you usually think hates you, that's a lot I suppose.
Damn it, I think I'm too much like my father. Personality-wise especially. We're both mild until we blow up, and usually it's at each other. I'm stuck in this love-hate father-daughter relationship and if there's one thing we lack, it's compromise. Oh and communication. So really, nothing's going to change.
Bother. It's too bloody hard to pour out your heart when you don't ever, and then look back and see that you lack even proper words to express it all with. Stupid personal angst. Excuse me while I go drown myself.
*Angsty!Steph walks offstage*