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1995
Literary Art
Visual Art
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Unbinding the Ties
Dr. Penny Cefola
"I am here to say goodbye." "Where are you going?" "America."
"Where? America? How are you going there? What are you going to do there?
The conversation, as well as the shock on my mother's face, is still fresh in my memory. Although we lived only ten miles apart, that day was the first time in two years that I went home to visit my parents. I realized then that I was a harbinger of bad news, but I feel I had been stifled by traditions and by my old-fashioned parents too long. It was time to break away, to be independent, to be free from their control, to live my own life. I had been living my life for my parents for nearly thirty years. And that was too long!
My dissatisfaction with parental control began quite early. A few months before I finished secondary school, my father took me to take a test in the province. I had no idea what the test was for, but I participated anyway. When I came out of the testing room, my father asked,
"How did you do?" "Terribly," I said.
Strangely enough, when the test results came out, my score was first among 400 candidates. And, I was sent to a "prison."
It was an old palace in the heart of the capital. There were about ten palatial buildings in the compound, surrounded by a 10-foot concrete wall that allowed no glimpse of the city life, nor fresh air to pass through. I was one of only 140 or so female "inmates," who were permitted to receive visitors only once every other weekend. Once in a while, if we behaved, we could leave the compound for a day under the chaperonage of our visitors.
Actually, it was the most exclusive boarding school in the country — the Smith College of Thailand. For my classmates, this was the time to grow, to explore their future careers, and to enjoy the financial and cultural richness of the institution. For me, however, it was the time to rebel, to plot the way to get back at my parents, and to plan to extricate myself from their obligations and control.
I did enjoy the amenities the school had to offer, however, and enjoyed ordering the best meals to be served at the school's diner when it was our turn to do so. I treasured my friendships with other "tops" from all the provinces of the country, and I particularly liked the "big sister" system, where the upper classwomen treated us as though we were their own sisters.
But deep inside me, nevertheless, I felt confined, chained, and restrained because I did not want to be there. I was resentful of my parents for allowing this to happen. This was a teachers' preparation school, and I did not want to be a teacher. I wanted to be a doctor! I had tried many times to convince my parents that I wanted to be everything else but a teacher, but my father, the omni-potent one, would say,
"Only men can be doctors. You are a girl, you can only be a teacher, just like your mother."
During my first two years at this school. I was simply a mediocre student who thought that getting low grades would send a clear message to my parents of my unwillingness to follow their orders. It was not until my second year in college did I realize that I must try to get better grades if I was to succeed academically. I must do something for myself. I started to study harder. Soon my grades improved and continued that way until I finished college. By then I had taken my major subject, English, seriously and was doing well in it.
Once I finished college and started working, my parents left me alone for a few years, waiting to see if I had chosen anyone to marry. As it became obvious to them that at twenty-seven I was still unmarried, they felt they had to do something to save face. In those days, it was a grave embarrassment for parents to have a daughter, the first one at that, who was an old maid, and my parents were no different from the other parents. So, they began in earnest to look for someone to marry me.
Meanwhile, I was happily working for the Americans in the province, trying to save money to study aborad, and to get away. My employment with the Americans had been a sword in their hearts from the start, as they had expected me to teach for the government so as to fulfill the contract I had signed, against my will, when I received the scholarship. My being single among all the American servicemen worried them even more. Yes, they were scared to death that I would marry a foreigner, since doing that would bring shame to the family. They would rather have an old maid daughter than one married to a foreigner.
A few years had elapsed without much communication between me and my parents. I thought they had given up on me, and I was glad to be left alone. But, one day when I returned from work to my brother's house, where I lived then, I was shocked to see that my room was empty. There was not one thing left in it. I ran to the other part of the house to ask my brother what had happened. My brother laughed and said,
"Well, Father found someone for you. So, you are going home to be married to him."
Blood went through my body like a flash flood; I started to cry. out of anger. The next day I had to go home as I had no clothes to wear to work. I made it clear to my parents that I would stay home, but I asked them to hold off on the wedding until I had met my husband-to-be, and they consented.
I commuted to work for a week, doing nothing to cause any suspicion to my parents. The following week I began to pilfer my clothes to the family home of my American boss in the province. When I was sure all my clothes had been transported out. I left home without saying a word to my parents. I did not see them again for nearly two years, until I came back to bid them goodbye. I was leaving for the United States.
It has been fifteen years since, and I have realized how wonderful it has been to live my own life, to have no one to tell me what to do, to be independent, and to be free from obligations and to marry a foreigner. Sure, it was very difficult for a girl to live in a foreign land without financial support, but the difficulties gave me strength and pride to survive and to achieve my goal.
I am not totally free from obligations, for soon after my graduation from the graduate school, I took it upon myself to help my parents to finance the education of my eight younger siblings. But this time, I helped them because I wanted to, not because I was told to.
My own rebellion has also brought me much pride. My parents are proud of my achievement, and they no longer think of me as just a flower on the wall, but as someone worthy of their respect. I must say that whenever I open my mouth to say something, it is as though E.F. Hutton were speaking.
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