Friday. How did it get to be Friday already? The days go by so fast here. Now I understand why they say, “It’s already tomorrow in Hong Kong.” It really is.

I’ve spent the last few days finding my way around the Mid-Levels, grocery shopping, budgeting, cleaning, and organizing. It’s very boring, lol, but it needs to be done. Now I am out on my rooftop with my coffee from the shop around the corner and my yoga mat. I’m going to do my routine after this. I haven’t done my full 60-min Hatha yoga routine in…. Well… since I was in Bali. Yeah. It’s bad.

Anyway, last night was very upsetting. I finally got ahold of my maternal grandmother, who I have frequently mentioned I do not enjoy talking to, but feel obligated to do so anyway because she is over the age of 80. The reason for this is because I am a free spirit and she is very old-fashioned and controlling. Traditional. Conservative. You know. English. Or as we say in the States, WASPy AF.

I have not spoken to her since before Thanksgiving. Yeahhhhh. So I had to tell her the whole story about how I returned to Hong Kong. She was not happy to hear about my Thai immigration jail stay, nor was she happy to hear that I returned to Hong Kong. She was even less happy to hear that I was given a choice between being deported back to the U.S. or going to HK and I chose HK.

I could hear the anger in her voice, but I could tell she was trying to hold it back. She was never happy for me. I didn’t even tell her I was coming here until after I had already bought my ticket and gotten my visa paperwork. I also didn’t tell her I was going to India until the day before I left. There are obvious reasons why. I was trying to go to Paris for so many years, and my mother, grandmother, older sister, and aunt would sabotage me every single time. Every single time. They are not good people. I left so that I wouldn’t have to live my life under their oppressive control anymore.

As is tradition, she just had to find a way to try to pull the rug out from underneath my feet and steal away my joy. They always do this. They can’t just be happy for me. They always have to try to knock me down. Always. And usually, I let them. I’ve spent my whole life letting them tell me what to do and control everything. Now I’m free of them and they don’t like it. So when she came for me last night, she attacked the one thing none of them have ever been able to take away from me: my writing.

She told me, in this exact words, that I “need to give up my dream of being a writer. It’s not a real thing.That’s just something private you do for yourself. No one has ever read any of your work. You’ve never been published. No one wants to listen to the stories you have to tell. Just let it go already.”

As soon as she said it, I felt the fire inside of me burning. That fire. That Irish Fire. The fire my Irish Family in Bangkok brought out in me at the American Bar. The fire they taught me to see, to feel, to use to do something good for this world. I felt it rise up inside of me so fast. I just knew in that moment exactly what I had to do.

Finally, for the first time in my life, I stood up to her and told her to fuck all the way off. Literally, why is it so difficult for people to just be happy for me?!

I said, “How dare you insult me like that. I have an entire portfolio of self-published work available to read on my website, including my newspaper column from university. I’ve written multiple books. My blog has caused so much controversy. The only person who doesn’t read it is you. You’ve never read it. You refuse to even acknowledge it exists! You don’t know me at all. Don’t you ever say to me to give up on my dream.”

She immediately tried to backtrack and say, “You misunderstood me.”

“No,” I said writhing a strength in my voice I’ve never heard before. “I heard you loud and clear. You’ve been saying the exact same thing to me for the last ten years. You don’t understand me. You’ve never understood me. You don’t love me. You never have. I will not let you or any of your family control my life anymore. Get it through your head: I am not like you. I don’t want to be like you. I am never going to be like you. You don’t get to tell me who I am or what to do anymore.”

Then I hung up and threw my phone into a pile of pillows. Then I went over to said pillows and beat the crap out of them while crying and screaming into them so as to not disturb my neighbors. I was so upset. So upset. Yet somehow, I felt so much stronger in that moment than I ever have in my entire life. I finally stood up to her and in that moment I felt proud.

Eventually I calmed myself down and fell asleep. In my dream, I was taking the escalator up through the Mid-Levels. At the top was an Irish Pub. When I walked inside, I saw my Irish grandmother (who is deceased) sitting at a table surrounded by a group of strangers dressed in old-fashioned clothes. Somehow I instantly knew it was my Irish Family. The side of my family I’ve never really known.

“Surprise!” she exclaimed. “Congratulations, sweetheart. Welcome back to Hong Kong! We are so proud of you. I am so proud of you. Come over here and sit down with me.”

I sat down at the table with her and she took my hands in hers. She was not old anymore. She looked young, happy, vibrant, and fresh. I looked around at the ghosts behind her. They were all smiling at me, but they did not say anything.

“Is my dad here?” I asked.

“Not today, sweetheart. He’s helping someone else right now. I’m the one you need to see today.”

I nodded at her and let her speak.

“I’m sorry about your other grandmother,” she said. “Truthfully speaking, I never liked her. I never much cared for your mother either. I never understood what your father saw in her. I didn’t like the way they treated other people. I especially never liked the way they treated you. I wouldn’t stay quiet about it. That’s why they were always trying to keep me away from you.”

I am crying as I write this. Just sobbing. The pile of tissues on the table just keeps getting bigger as I go on.

“I knew from the first moment I held you in my arms that you were special. Everyone knew you were special. Everyone. They all knew. They always knew. That’s why they treated you the way they did. That’s why they always try to put you down. They’re jealous of you because they know you are special. You were always meant to be special. You were always meant to walk a different path. They’ve been trying to block you from that path for a long time now. Now they know they can’t anymore.”

I nodded at her. I know it too. Deep down in my heart, I’ve always known it. I know that I am special too. I know. I was always so different from everyone else around me. They punished me for it. They tried to make me into someone I could never be. That’s why I ran away from home. I couldn’t be who they wanted me to be. I will never be what they want me to be.

“I am so proud of you,” my grandmother continued. “So proud. It was always my dream to travel the world, but I couldn’t because I had four kids instead. You are doing something now that the women in our family have never been able to do. You’re so strong. You’re so brave. I am so proud of you. I can’t believe you made it all the way to Hong Kong! Wow! I always wanted to go to Hong Kong. I always wanted to see China. I love Chinese art, history, culture, food. I’m so grateful I taught you to appreciate it too. You don’t recoil with fear or hatred when you meet someone different like the other side of your family does. You just dive right on in. I admire you so much.”

“Thank you,” I said.

I am still crying right now as I write this.

“You are going to be a great writer someday. I know it. I see it. And I’m here to guide you every step of the way.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s time for us to go now,” she said. “But we have one more surprise for you.”

The ghosts surrounding her stepped aside to clear the view of the bar. Sitting on the line was my Irish Family in Bangkok. Hermes, the Moose, my Uncle, and yes, even Mr. Mark Antony himself. He looked at me with a little smile and nodded his head in approval. Then they all raised their glasses for a cheers.

It was at precisely this moment that I jumped awake in bed. I could still hear my grandmother’s voice in my head: “I love you. I’m so proud of you. I’ll always be here for you. I’m always watching over you. I love you. I’m so proud of you, Betsey. I’m so proud.”

I knew in that moment what I had to do. I got out of my bed, sat down at my metaphorical typewriter, and I wrote our story.

Now all of you are reading it too…