A College Dropout-FD3

YuBin Sol
16 November 2009
FD3

A College Dropout

My father was my hero. So when he died, I fell into what seemed like an abyss of depression. I couldn’t concentrate on my schoolwork. I was only in my third semester of college, but I dropped out, not even telling my professors my situation and plead my case for an “incomplete” to finish the classes later. I didn’t care that I would fail the semester; nothing seemed to matter. My father always emphasized the significance of a college education, and I knew it was important to him to finish college. [THESIS] Seven years later, I finally came to senses and realized that my father was right; I needed to make something of myself. [THESIS] And finishing school was my answer.

I found out my father had cancer during my second semester of college. I had known for a while that something was wrong with his health, but my mother tried to keep it for a secret from me for as long as she could. His hospital visits became more frequent and it was obvious that they weren’t just “routine checkups.” My mom called a family meeting one day in March with my sisters and me while my father was still at work. She gravely told us with tears in her eyes that dared to flow that our father had stomach cancer. Because he showed no symptoms until recently when he began to have stomach pains, his cancer was advanced, to Stage Four, and would not have much longer to live. The doctors said he didn’t even have a year left.

The power of the words “stomach cancer” changed my father. I knew it terrified him inside to know that he was dying; he knew his days were limited. But for the sake of his wife and children, he put a smile on every day, and continued his life as if everything was fine. Having cancer was a double-edged sword. It gave him that strength to finally quit smoking after forty-two years of nicotine addiction. And he began to exercise daily, walking from our condo at the end of Waikiki all the way up to Diamond Head in the mornings. My mother and sisters would occasionally accompany him for moral support.

But I couldn’t bear the thought of losing my father. I was daddy’s little girl. I needed him with me. I wanted him to walk me down the aisle when I get married. I wanted him to be there when I have kids. I wanted him to live a full life and retire and play golf every day. I wanted so many things for him; to experience things that I knew he would be missing out on in his life.

I was distraught, and didn’t know what to do, how to help. I didn’t know how to be around him without the thought of cancer on my mind. I started staying out late, past my father’s bedtime and would sneak back into the house. And I abused alcohol to hide my agony. It was my temporary escape from reality. Everything seemed better when there was alcohol running through my blood. It didn’t matter what kind of liquor it was, as long as it did the job and got me drunk. I would convince my friends to be my drinking buddy at D&B’s. My visits became so frequent that all the bartenders knew me as a regular patron, and my favorite type of drink. I supported my alcoholic habit by working as many hours as I could at the doctor’s office. But at the end of my shifts, I felt there was nothing else that could take my mind off my father’s cancer. Some nights I wouldn’t even go home, crashing at a friend’s place because I would be too drunk to drive myself home.

My father began chemotherapy soon after his finding out about the cancer and became too weak to eat anything. He couldn’t handle any solids. The doctors then inserted a feeding tube through his stomach. He started to turn gaunt, pale, and weak. It was as if he was a completely different person. I had no idea who this figure of skin and bones was. He was beyond recognizable. The sight of him like that depressed me even more and I tried to avoid him at all costs. I felt that I wasn’t strong enough to deal with his sickness. I felt like dying. I felt like I had no purpose in life. And I didn’t care about anyone else.

My father’s last days were spent at Kaiser Hospital. My mother, sisters and I were all there. Even though I was psychologically exhausted from the self-abuse, I sat there and stared at him to watch his breathing, making sure he was still alive. Around eleven at night on the thirtieth of March 2002, he stopped breathing. I screamed. I panicked and I sobbed. My mother was shaking his limp body as if to wake him up. Her tears were uncontrollable. I felt sick. I don’t remember much that happened after that.

I drowned myself in as much liquor as my body could handle. No, I drank more than my body could handle. It began to reject the alcohol and I would vomit the entire contents of my stomach every day. When there was nothing left, I would throw up bile. When there was no bile left, I would dry heave until I was too exhausted to heave anymore. I went in to work hungover countless times. I would puke at work, in the trash can or in the water fountain next to the restroom because I couldn’t make it to a bathroom stall in time.

Those days were all a blur. I don’t remember much of the entire year after my father’s passing. I just worked and drank after my shift. I knew I wasn’t stable but I just didn’t care. Every day was just the same, one after another. I knew I was being selfish, only thinking about my sorrow, not caring what others thought. I shrugged my family off when they would talk to me, concerned about my wellbeing.

It was only a matter of time before I realized that no matter how much I drank, or how much I worked, I wasn’t dealing with my father’s death; I was only prolonging my grief. I finally realized that my addiction to alcohol was not getting me anywhere, and I was wasting my life away. I would often go to my grandmother’s grave and sit there for an hour, thinking about my father and grandmother. Something about being there put me at ease.

I always knew my father wanted me to make something of myself. I knew he didn’t want me to be an alcoholic. I knew he wanted to be proud of me. So I promised myself that I quit drinking, get back into school and finish my degree. I regret having taken so long to come to my senses and do something worthwhile in my life. Even though it took me so long to realize I wasn’t going anywhere or doing anything worthwhile, I decided to take my life into my own hands and be someone who I know he would be proud of. After all, even though my father isn’t here anymore, I still am daddy’s little girl.






Log of Completed Activities
__X_ Oct 20-21- Intro to Paper #3: Personal Essay. (Confirmation reply required.)
__X_ Oct 26- Complete readings: all of chapter 12. (Confirmation reply required.)
__X_ Oct 28- Laulima Discussion 1: “Chimera“
__X_ Oct 30- Laulima Discussion 2: “Notes of a Native Son“
__X_ Nov 2- Laulima Discussion 3: “Under the Influence“
__X_ Nov 4- Laulima Discussion 4: “Being Brians“
__X_ Nov 6- Laulima Discussion 5: “Warring Memories“ and “Snakebit“
__X_ Nov 9M- RD3 due [50 pts] (Confirmation reply required.)
__X_ Nov 12T- RD3 Reviews due [50 pts] (No confirmation reply required.)
__X_ Nov 16-20- FD3 due [125 pts] (Confirmation reply required.)