Annus Horribilis: My 2020

So Ernie, how was your year?

So it’s the end of 2020. Kareem’s been watching The Crown a lot, so the phrase annus horribilis comes to mind. That was the phrase Queen Elizabeth used in her Ruby Jubilee speech in 1992; I thought that was the year that Lady Diana died, but nope — it’s when Prince Andrew and Fergie divorced, Diana’s autobiography went public, talking about their extramarital affairs, and when Charles and Diana got separated. I’m not really too in-the-know about my British monarchies, but it helps when your partner is an Anglophile, you’re in your forties and know just enough pop culture, and your sister declares Princess Diana “talks to her brain” on a regular basis.

It’s been a rough year for everyone. I know that. I’ve been walloped with those same challenges as well. It’s just that my problems were also served with the world’s most fucked up cherry on top, and I wanted to write down all of the things while they were still fresh in my mind.

I'm also going to write down the other things that went on this year —the things that actually went okay —to try to end on a less shitty note.

A list of all the stuff that happened to me in 2020

(NONE of this is including COVID or the injustice of the political shit going on in the world, and oh god, I hate how all COVID and injustice are now going to be included in any 2020 list like we couldn’t NOT notice COVID)

• My sister stopped taking her medication, hit my parents, and went to jail for Elder Abuse. She also violated an existing restraining order Mom had against Angela the first time she hit her, and everyone ignored it because we are Hsiungs and don’t deal with our problems. While in jail, Angela refused to go to a mental health court, which we were all hoping she would do. (In California, patients have the right to turn down medical care.) So, after being transferred back to the criminal court system, she was sent back to my parents’ house, where my Mom has — correctly — called the cops and arrested her again. And then it happened twice more. And it is still happening.
  
  The only solution I can think of is “move my parents out of their house,” but having my parents move out of their forever home is going as well as telling my sister she should take her medication.
  
  It’s been a lot.
  

• My dad’s mental state: dementia is sad and scary. He has forgotten how to sign checks in English, has called me his brother over the phone, started talking in a way where it’s difficult to understand him. Mom is overwhelmed. Both are stubborn and would rather “eat bitterness” rather than risk a new environment.
  

• A couple of weeks ago, I had surgery to address a complication from a surgery, which itself was a complication from a different surgery. Hooray, being in your forties! Listen, at this point, I just want my surgical scars to not burst fluid like a Yellowstone geyser.
  

• I started the year with a new job, teaching at a coding bootcamp. Through some brutal feedback, I learned teaching, like coding, is a muscle to be strengthened. For a couple of months, I worked 60-80 hour weeks just to prove naysayers wrong. My first anniversary is next week, and I already feel like I’m a grizzled veteran, the teacher you had in high school who you knew chain-smoked in the teacher’s parking lot and probably had a little extra something-something in the morning coffee thermos first period.
  
  But there are some things I really do like about teaching as well. We’ll see!
  

• Kareem’s documentary, Mucho Mucho Amor, was released on Netflix. We went to Sundance before the pandemic hit, and while the rest of his film festival travel was canceled, he got to attend Zoom meetings wearing capes and met Whoopi Goldberg, so there is that.
  
  What I’m saying is that most of the good things that happened to me in 2020 actually happened to him, and I just tagged along for the ride. Holy shit, basically I’m Yoko Ono.
  

• We got a cat. Or rather, a cat got us. Our neighborhood has stray cats, and while they usually keep their distance, one kitten, in particular, hung out in our front yard and greeted us. He knew he was in once we started feeding him kitchen scraps. We named him Pepperoni since that was one of the first things we fed him, but it’s Pepe for short, because Miami.

So, a toast to everyone who still takes the time to read these silly little emails: thanks for being here. Thanks for being my friend, even throughout the bleak, shitty moments. Here’s hoping the year is less of a garbage fire floating down the Miami River, I guess. I’m not even expecting it to be great; I’ll settle for “less traumatic.”

Here’s to you and a less traumatic 2021!