‘Sometimes we’re forced to grow up far more quickly than we ever could have imagined we’d have to,’ William commented. ‘I wasn’t much older than you when I first went to war. And I’ll tell you what, lad, I had to do a lot of growing up very quickly … and, to tell you the truth, after what happened in those strange, terrible years, I’ve never been the same.’
‘For me, it isn’t about “growing up”, though. It’s about … a lot of things. Would you think I’m a monster if I told you I was happy I’d never see my parents again?’
William chuckled gently, but there was neither mirth nor mockery in his soft laughter, only sympathy.
‘I learned long ago not to judge anyone for expressing such sentiments. I myself never knew the love of a parent, having grown up an orphan, although for a time I did have a fantastic father figure in my life. I imagine that it’d be a lot more painful than being an orphan, though, to grow up with parents who were physically there, but with whom there was no loving relationship.’
‘I don’t think my parents ever even liked me, let alone loved me,’ Jun declared flatly. ‘And I never loved them. I sound so … so cold, like some sort of psycho, saying that, don’t I? But to them, I was an inconvenience. Sometimes a trophy, when they boasted to friends and relatives about my grades and academic achievements, or when I won piano and violin contests. Do you know that I actually hate classical music? I hate it with, with a burning passion.’ As Jun said this, rare traces of emotion started to show on his usually blank countenance. ‘And I hate the fucking violin too. And math. And everything else my parents forced me to study. They never once asked me what I wanted to study, what I dreamed of doing with my life. I was only ever told what to do. Commanded. Ordered. They beat me, often. But the physical abuse wasn’t as bad as … as … their coldness. Their complete detachment. Them treating me like a prizewinning show dog, and nothing more. No, not a dog; I wasn’t ever even a pet to them. Pets are loved. I was just a trophy, a medal in a frame.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, lad.’
Jun exhaled a long, slow sigh, but it brought no relief to his pent-up tension; instead, his little hands curled into tight fists at his sides, and the muscles around his jaw tensed up.
‘I don’t think that my mother even breastfed me,’ he said softly. ‘They hired someone to do that, just like they hired someone to coach me in math, to tutor me in violin and piano, to tutor me in coding and physics while they worked seven days a week. I was forced to study three foreign languages from before I could even walk. I was left in the company of nannies and babysitters and tutors; those uncaring employees were the only real “parents” I ever knew. The pair of Taiwanese immigrants who fucked and produced me … I really don’t know what they are – were – to me, beyond my biological progenitors. The businesses they run are far more important to them than I ever was. Their piles of money, designer clothes, investments, stocks, and multiple bank accounts and luxury cars all matter more to them than me. I was another accessory to them at best, but mostly just an annoying expense and an inconvenience. Joining my school’s Environmental Club and going vegan were twin slaps to their uncaring faces from me. They regarded those things – innocent things, wouldn’t you say – as heinous acts of rebellion, as deviant displays of complete disrespect. And that’s exactly why I grew to love those things. In the beginning, I didn’t actually care about the environment, animals or veganism, or any of that stuff. I didn’t care about anything. Nothing, nothing at all. My soul was like … like the endless, empty vacuum of space. That came later, after I started to emerge from my shell, allowing my friends to, to get close to me, to explain things to me, to show me that life was about more than just grades, prestige and money … to treat me like an individual, like someone who mattered. I’ll always be grateful to my friends for that. Chloe and Paola, they actually cared about my opinions and my personality, not my grades, not how many languages I could speak, not how creatively I could code, not how virtuosic I was on the piano or violin. They were the first people, the only people I’ve ever met, who I could truly open up to, who I didn’t have to put on an act for.
The damage was done, though, long before either of them could do much to reverse it, to heal it. Because, you see, I’d long ago found the love I’d craved since infancy. I found it in infancy, but not in the absent breast of my mother, or the clammy hands of my father, who always seemed disgusted at the thought of hugging me, let alone touching me in any other way than hitting me. I found it in screens. In technology. Technology never had any expectations of me. It never forced me to do anything I didn’t want to do. It never berated me and shamed me for getting an A instead of an A+. It gave me attention when I needed attention, it gave me joy when I needed to laugh. It allowed me to relax
