“I get that. I don’t even think it’s your intelligence you question; I think it’s simply being sick of society’s reactions to anything outside of its lines of normal or desirable and twisting it into something ugly just because it’s different. Like getting pissed off at people calling us slurs for being something that we are quite proud to be,” I add.
“Oddly enough, I think Tristan gets more pissed off than I do. Someone called me an Asian slur once, and it took everything I had tokeep him from laying the guy out,” he tells me, and except for Qi being able to hold Tristan back, I’m not surprised at all.
I can’t help the laugh that escapes me. “Sounds like him. At least you stopped him. I mean, if something like that goes down where he can get in trouble for it, then Darryl and I have always stepped in. But if it’s low-key and carries no real consequences, we just step aside and let Tristan throw the punch. People need to learn it’s not okay, and if taking a championship-winning quarterback’s rage in the face is what teaches the lesson, then so be it.”
Qi snickers at that before turning to look at me with sincerity in his eyes. “I’m sorry about Qiang. I mean, I did try to warn you before, but I still didn’t think that this is how everything would play out.”
I shake my head. “It’s not your job to apologize for your sibling, Qi.”
Qi nods heavily, a sigh on his lips. “Part of me knows that, but part of me feels like I should have seen more. They are one of the most important people in my life, and there’s all this shit here that I thought… Well, I don’t know what I thought. That they were okay, had moved on, had dealt with this. I didn’t expect–”
“Didn’t expect to find how little had changed.” I interrupt his rough attempt to convey his thoughts, since I already know what he’s trying to say. “How would you have known when they were actively lying to you and you haven’t been around them long enough since they came to university to see through to the truth?”
Qi’s face twists, and I sigh a bit. “You know, you’re allowed to be mad at them. It doesn’t make you a bad person to hold someone accountable when they’ve hurt you.”
Qi swallows hard at that and looks away from me, the conflict so clear on his face he doesn’t even really need to speak to convey the emotions rolling through him.
“It’s not fair, though. Qiang has reasons, real reasons to be the mess they are–”
I reach over and tap his shoulder to interrupt him again. “Trauma, grief, and depression are the reasons for them to act as they have, but none of those things negate that the behavior is wrong, and they needto be held accountable for the wrongs they’ve done and take responsibility to change. It’s not just for you, or me, or anyone else, but also for themself.
“I know this really sucks for everyone. Qiang has been in survival mode for so long that now things are coming up and attacking them that should have been dealt with years ago. And it’s hard for them because they’ve gone from believing they were fine to having everyone around them mad at them, since we are all holding them accountable.
“But only they can help themself. You’ve always given them support. Let them feel your frustration, too. Let them see that you can be imperfect and emotional, too. Let them realize they need to work on their behaviors because they aren’t only hurting themselves, they are hurting you, too. Ugly things cause people to have ugly reactions; sometimes getting out of that habit means a bit more ugliness needs to happen before they can get back to the pretty,” I point out, knowing Qiang needs Qi’s honesty as much as they need his support.
“I hope so,” he sighs before looking back at me. “How do you know so much about this stuff?”
“Had an uncle who used to struggle really hard with depression,” I tell him, that little hitch in my throat kicking up at the memory.
“He doesn’t struggle anymore?” Qi asks, having caught the past tense in the explanation.
I shake my head heavily, letting the weight of grief touch my shoulders for just a moment. “No, not anymore. The depression won.”
“I’m so sorry,” Qi says, obviously saddened to hear it.
“Me too. Society is really fucked up when it comes to depression. People who suffer are viewed as weak, or lesser, or lazy, or a million other bad things, until someone dies, and then all of a sudden there’s this backward logic that they should have reached out for help before it got that bad. But it doesn’t check out because people reaching out for help makes society uncomfortable. The solution, of course, is to blame women’s depression on fickleness and men’s on weakness. Don’t cry, don’t show weakness, be a man, don’t mind her, it’s just a woman-thing. No one bats an eye of sympathy until we’re cold and inthe ground, and then wonder why so many are saying the mental health system here is absolute crap.
“That’s the world we live in, and as a result, so many refuse to get help. That’s what happened to my uncle. He refused to show the people who cared about him the most that he wasn’t okay. And even when we did see it and offered all the support we possibly could, he rejected the notion and wouldn’t let us close.
“There are a lot of similarities I see in the way he was and the way Qiang is. But there’s one massive difference, and it’s the difference that I think counts the most,” I explain, wanting to offer hope amidst the tragedy.
Qi’s eyes search mine. “What’s that?”
I meet his gaze steadily. “Qiang is still fighting. They are definitely in a depression and dealing with some really ugly fucking shit, but they still cling to you. They latch on and hold tight, which means they aren’t done fighting. The depression exists, but it’s not winning. It’s also why we have to keep pushing them to do what they need to do to overcome this, because if they continue to let the trauma swallow them whole, eventually the battle will switch sides. The more you push them, the more they realize they are worth fighting for.”
Qi smiles timidly at me before nodding a bit, getting the message of hope I’m trying to convey. “I remember when I first saw the vanity you built for Qiang, I thought how nice it would be for them to find something real after all this time. I still felt the need to warn you because, while I didn’t know how deep everything was for Qiang, I knew there were still some deep lacerations left over. But I don’t think I could have possibly fathomed how immensely pivotal you were going to be for them. I know it sucks right now, but I think if Qiang can get past this, they’ll see you. I think they already see you, and it scares the shit out of them.”
I smile at him, torn between the happiness that it’s clear enough for him to see, yet still not enough, for the time being, to be more than an obvious observation.
“I’ve known that for a while. I’m not giving up on them. But what they need right now is to reflect on themselves a bit and get somehelp. I have faith that they’ll come to me when the time is right for them. And until then, I’m just planning on staying quietly in my friend zone.”
“I’m sorry. I know that can’t be easy,” he breathes out.
I shrug. “It’s worth it, though. Knowing that makes it easier to carry. I’m good, you know. Focusing on the good things. Ball, friends, and classes.”
Qi just smiles at me and reaches for my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “What do you think they’re talking about?” he asks to change the subject.
I chuckle at that. “If I’d wager a guess, Tristan is up there telling Qiang they need therapy with the kindest delivery known to man. It’s amazing how apathetic he can be to some and how ridiculously kind he can be to those he cares about. But he’d be devastated to hurt Qiang’s feelings, so he’s trying to find the nicest way to tell them they need help while reminding them that their damage is in no way their own fault, even though part of it kind of is,” I remind him.
