I'm going to try something new. Well, maybe it's actually old; but over the next few posts I'm going to send out, hopefully, slightly interesting sections from my journal while in Mongolia.
August 17th, 2004
A few days ago I acquired the courage to ask my mother about my father. It might seem odd that this was a mystery but all i knew was this; when I walked into her home for the first time she pulled down a small 5 x 6 family portrait from the wall that was a not so obvious cut-out glued on top another picture of the mountain in our town. She then proceeded to give the names and family titles of everyone in the photo. The inventory went, two younger brothers, one older brother, a sister, mom and a dude with a bad mustache as "dad." That photo and title was the only evidence for my entire stay that my siblings weren't brought by the stork.
So when I decided to ask my mom, it's probably no surprise, I acquired this courage post a bottle of wine we sporadically shared with her older sister. I would also like to mention that this Mongolian wine was much more like wine flavored vodka. Nonetheless while my mom was walking her sister home I practiced on my 19 year old sister, who had just begun to cook dinner. (realize, these questions and discussion points are at about the maximum my early stage Mongolian can support) When I asked where was Dad and why he was gone I got the typical "driver in the capital" answer and a s shrug of the shoulders. followed by a half swallowed, "I don't know" She then explained that she was away at school. After that I asked her what she thought (a question I had just learned to ask and sporadically had the capacity to comprehend the answer to) She simply said "bad." Of course at this time she realized it was the perfect moment to ask If I found his picture beautiful or not. I did my best to ride the fence by returning the question, to which she replied "ugly."
Once my mother returned we had completed our deeply bonding conversation. I began by asking where Dad was and then the follow-up question that could leave no doubt what I intended to know "why did he go?" The answer that came was not one I truly expected. Upon reflection I feel a bit foolish for being so ignorant. After hesitating for a moment she turned her head as if the window would supply the answer and then release a soft "midgui (I don't know)" amidst eyes bulging with tears. So soft was her answer I almost missed it. As tears began to trickle across her cheeks I immediately began to feel a flood of regret at having brought back unknown painful memories. After flipping through the dictionary for what felt like an eternity my mom pointed out the work "divorced." It was then that I felt deflated by my inadequate language skills. In an attempt to share with the situation I told her my parents in America were also divorced. At this she wept and I felt even more supremely helpless. She told me that it was especially hard for my youngest brother because he was the only one home when her husband left four years ago.
I placed my seemingly large pale hand on her soft worn fingers and told her I was sorry for asking and apologized again. To this she looked back at me and told me it was ok and that " I must know." She added that at first life was very hard but that now life was better. She said the first two years were sad and difficult to live, but she has her children. It was at this moment that I became aware that there would be no answer why. Irreconcilable differences wouldn't be written on a piece of paper anywhere. From my own experience as the son of divorced parents there was no clean single answer why the relationship didn't sustain itself. SO how foolish I had been to search for some word she could point to in the dictionary that might make me nod my head and say yes, now I understand.
August 17th, 2004
A few days ago I acquired the courage to ask my mother about my father. It might seem odd that this was a mystery but all i knew was this; when I walked into her home for the first time she pulled down a small 5 x 6 family portrait from the wall that was a not so obvious cut-out glued on top another picture of the mountain in our town. She then proceeded to give the names and family titles of everyone in the photo. The inventory went, two younger brothers, one older brother, a sister, mom and a dude with a bad mustache as "dad." That photo and title was the only evidence for my entire stay that my siblings weren't brought by the stork.
So when I decided to ask my mom, it's probably no surprise, I acquired this courage post a bottle of wine we sporadically shared with her older sister. I would also like to mention that this Mongolian wine was much more like wine flavored vodka. Nonetheless while my mom was walking her sister home I practiced on my 19 year old sister, who had just begun to cook dinner. (realize, these questions and discussion points are at about the maximum my early stage Mongolian can support) When I asked where was Dad and why he was gone I got the typical "driver in the capital" answer and a s shrug of the shoulders. followed by a half swallowed, "I don't know" She then explained that she was away at school. After that I asked her what she thought (a question I had just learned to ask and sporadically had the capacity to comprehend the answer to) She simply said "bad." Of course at this time she realized it was the perfect moment to ask If I found his picture beautiful or not. I did my best to ride the fence by returning the question, to which she replied "ugly."
Once my mother returned we had completed our deeply bonding conversation. I began by asking where Dad was and then the follow-up question that could leave no doubt what I intended to know "why did he go?" The answer that came was not one I truly expected. Upon reflection I feel a bit foolish for being so ignorant. After hesitating for a moment she turned her head as if the window would supply the answer and then release a soft "midgui (I don't know)" amidst eyes bulging with tears. So soft was her answer I almost missed it. As tears began to trickle across her cheeks I immediately began to feel a flood of regret at having brought back unknown painful memories. After flipping through the dictionary for what felt like an eternity my mom pointed out the work "divorced." It was then that I felt deflated by my inadequate language skills. In an attempt to share with the situation I told her my parents in America were also divorced. At this she wept and I felt even more supremely helpless. She told me that it was especially hard for my youngest brother because he was the only one home when her husband left four years ago.
I placed my seemingly large pale hand on her soft worn fingers and told her I was sorry for asking and apologized again. To this she looked back at me and told me it was ok and that " I must know." She added that at first life was very hard but that now life was better. She said the first two years were sad and difficult to live, but she has her children. It was at this moment that I became aware that there would be no answer why. Irreconcilable differences wouldn't be written on a piece of paper anywhere. From my own experience as the son of divorced parents there was no clean single answer why the relationship didn't sustain itself. SO how foolish I had been to search for some word she could point to in the dictionary that might make me nod my head and say yes, now I understand.
