Burning Passion, Everlasting Fear and Unapologetically Pride(2) — Memories like an Avalanche
I always remember it was a Friday night, I went to a bad rock party, my eyes hurt, and the club was full of middle-aged white men, nothing like the rock alternative culture I thought it would be. My Taiwanese friend and I couldn’t take it anymore and walked out of Proxima at 11pm.
Another interesting story about Proxima is that it’s on campus, it’s literally on campus, and it’s only a minute’s walk from the dorms. So whenever there was a party there, the dorms would be filled with bouncy music. But it was also the only club I would go to because I didn’t like the idea of drinking and then having to wait for a bus to get back to my dorm in the cold night air.
After I waited for the bus with my Taiwanese friend, I messaged Pasha to ask if he wanted to drink. I had already had a round of pre-drinks, and in his room, we opened a bottle of soju. He didn’t drink much. His reasoning was that Russians drink differently, and if they did, they would get drunk. And to make him drunk, the amount of alcohol was beyond my imagination.
I don’t remember how the conversation started. I only remember that he told me that on the day of the war, he went to the laboratory as usual. But he did not do any experiments. He just sat in a chair and stared at nothing. An hour later, one of his classmates asked him, “Are you okay?” His tears kept falling and he said, “I don’t think I can work anymore. I have to go home”.
He said that the following year was hell. After the war, it was very difficult for Russians to get European visas. But he shivered and passed the interview for the PhD program at the University of Warsaw, and then traveled all the way to Warsaw. In Warsaw, he thought he would have a new life, but it never arrived. In the first year he made almost no friends, and the people he thought were his friends kept disappearing. His EU residence permit was delayed, and he lived in fear that he might be sent back to Russia at any moment, conscripted or arrested and killed.
During the year, he says he almost went mad. He wondered if he was still alive or if he had died and was just a body in the world. But in spite of this, he worked feverishly, desperately trying to produce results that would prove his worth. But he wanted to disconnect from it all, he wanted to stop being Russian, he wanted to prove that it could be done without him, and then he would be a top scientist. And he said it was only when he met me that he began to realize he was alive.
I told him that I thought everything that happened to him was wrong. I told him, “You’re not crazy, you’re oppressed. Being oppressed is not the same as being crazy”. And he’s a good guy who wants to stay sober and be good to his buddies.
And then the conversation went around and around, and somehow it got to me. By this point, I hadn’t talked much about myself. Only the first time, on the 10th floor balcony, I talked briefly about my experience of activism in Hong Kong, almost choking up, and he shook my hand and said, “I’m sorry this happened to you, but you are brave and you are making a difference”.
Maybe I was drunk, so I talked about Hong Kong again. After the anti-ELAB protests, I never knew what happened, but there was no way I could detach myself from it all. My activism, my friendships, my research, all of it was all about Hong Kong. I was really tired, but I was like him in that I thought research could solve all my personal problems, so I kept telling myself that no matter what happened, as long as I could keep doing research, I would be alive, and I would gradually be able to face it all.
It wasn’t until I met him that I realized I needed more than just research; I had to live as a person first. I had to see myself instead of staring at my output and expecting that someday, when I got published, I would have a party to celebrate, and then the confusion, pain, and powerlessness in my heart would resolve itself.
And then I started to cry. Literally curled up on his bed and started crying. All I could manage was “I’m sorry. I know you’re going through a difficult time too, and I shouldn’t have to do this”. He held my hand and said, “Don’t apologize for crying, you’ve been through a lot too. My best friend was there for me when I was going through a hard time, and I want to be here for you. You have to remember that you are a good, good person. But what you did was very difficult and you didn’t hide from it. But you inspire a lot of people, and you mean a lot to me, and to the people around you”.
Then I continued to burst into tears. Everything came to mind, especially how I had numb myself through a lot of work, especially student societies, activisms and research. But more and more I couldn’t go on and more and more I couldn’t talk about Hong Kong. I kept thinking that it was my fault, until I finally realized that it was not my fault, but that I had been tense for too long.
It was not until 6:00 a.m. that we decided to go to bed, as if we could see the faint light of morning. When I woke up, the pain of the long period of depression came over me like a wave, and I couldn’t get out of bed. An avalanche of memories hit me and I was almost physically immobilized. I texted Pasha and asked him if I could stay in his room, I was really scared to be alone.
I also forgot that if I have spoken in his room. I remember the sun shining through the golden leaves in his room at the beginning of October, and I sat on his bed from 1:00 p.m., holding his raccoon doll, until the sun went down. I think I cried until dark. Through his experience, though I couldn’t imagine how horrible it was, I had a framework for understanding myself because he said it first. And then I realized that I was probably really hurting.
For the next few days, I could barely make it to class. I forced myself to go to most of the classes, but I felt like a zombie. I started to feel like I was drifting and wondered why, after all I had been through, I was still pushing myself to work harder and be better. I began to wonder what all this was for.
But I also began to feel more and more at home. Every day after class, I would send a message to Pasha telling him when I would be back and if I wanted to go to the grocery store to buy ingredients. Then we’d cook dinner and talk afterward. Sometimes we work together. I would bring my kettle (because he didn’t have one) and coffee powder or tea to his room, and then the cycle of boiling water — making coffee — typing — getting some air — boiling water — making coffee — typing — getting some air — boiling water would continue. — The cycle of boiling water.
Then I suddenly remembered that I always forget to tell my family when I’ll be home in Taiwan, making them worry. I started to think about my family and how I was so caught up in the events in Hong Kong that I didn’t know how to communicate with the world. I always came home late and rarely talked to my family for a while. I began to regret it, but I knew it was not too late to establish communication.
Then I remembered how many people I cared about, different relationships, different roles. Pasha asked me to call more often, and I said yes, but I was afraid of disturbing them. But I knew that it was important to have some space and time to maintain these connections well. So I started calling.
But it meant that I was adapting to a new environment while trying to repair my past experiences. And then I felt like everything in my life was becoming more and more overwhelming. I felt like I was going to explode, but I didn’t know what to do. I still post occasionally on Facebook, but I feel like a stalled car, I don’t know where I’m going.
Then I had a few more breakdowns, one was when I was drinking at night and remembering everything about 238, and suddenly I felt so much pain from missing it that I started crying. Another time, I called home and finally admitted that I was not doing well physically and mentally, and I don’t know how to describe that feeling, but I just felt that it was really difficult to admit that I was being pushed to the limit physically and mentally, and that was a very difficult thing to do.
I remember it was also Friday. I started crying at 4pm. Then Pasha strongly recommended that we go out to eat, so we had hamburgers. When we got back to the dorm, I was pretty much in a daze. All I remember was Pasha asking me, “Are you okay? What’s on your mind?” I looked at him, but I couldn’t find my voice. My thoughts were so strong that they seemed to take over my vocal cords, and I couldn’t speak. I grabbed his hand, I wanted him to hold me, I wanted to connect myself to the world. He told me, “I know. It hurts like hell, but it will pass. I promise you. I know.” I heard him, but I couldn’t respond, I just held his hand tighter to let him know I was there.
Then I posted on Facebook, all of my thoughts of helplessness, and at 2:00 a.m., my friends Jun-Han from Dalawasao Club[1] woke up and saw the post, and messaged me to express their concern, and then I talked on the phone until 4:00 a.m. The next day, I woke up and thought I was drifting, I was so shocked by the experience. But I still wanted to live a good life, and I made plans for a little trip the next day, and a party with other friends on Monday.
But I know in my heart that one can run away from everything but oneself. I’m here in Poland, and if these things are still coming to me, they’re part of me, and I have to face them. And I know it’s hard, so I’ve decided to put off my career planning a bit to see and take care of these emotions.
[1] Student activism club for Taiwanese independence and other local issues. Also, Jun-Han is an amazing friend who is incredibly determined, caring and responsible. I can never have enough good words about him.
Read other Chapters
1. Queer Autistic Friendship
2.Memories like avalanches
3. Autistic Communication
4.Expressing Queer Identity
5. Queer and Nationality
6. Healing IS Possible
