Why is it so hard to do what I want? Let me rephrase. Why am I racked with so much guilt when I do what I want? 

It’s a rhetorical question because the answer changes with each instance. But that doesn’t mean it gets any easier or clearer. Each moment I ask the question is a restart. 

Why do I have so much guilt when I want to eat what I want? Why do I feel so sorry for choosing to spend time the way I want to? Why do I doubt what people say when they say I should pick the one I want?

Why do I have a hard time accepting they might actually mean it and find joy in seeing how much I enjoy doing what I want? Instead, why is it they’ll see a pained face that can’t seem to enjoy the choice and be ridden with guilt? 

Would a theologian say it’s a result of my Catholic upbringing where everyone was told we are sinners since birth?

Would an anthropologist say it’s a result of the hierarchical nature of Korean culture where the language has 4-6 layers of speech based on the level of formality required? 

Would a social psychologist from the West say it’s a result of East Asian philosophy rooted in filial piety and putting the communal benefit above the self? 

Maybe a social psychologist from the East would say it’s because I was mixed with the independence-oriented philosophy of the West that I will still do what I want but can’t be fine with it.

Would a psychotherapist say it’s a result of my desire to be liked because I never fit in from moving around too often? 

But his colleague might say it’s because the bearing of responsibility isn’t easy and I’m seeking to be free of it. 

But her colleague might say none of it matters and start asking me questions related to it. 

She might ask what I think makes me feel the guilt. I might say I don’t want those I love to dislike me or that I would like them to be happy but I’m afraid what I want to do isn’t what would make them happy even if they think they would be happy seeing me do what I said would make me happy and because I think it’s a faux martyr syndrome I wouldn’t like to peddle.

Though, I realize I would be making myself a martyr by having the guilt as well. I might put my head in my hands and tell her I have no clue why, how, or what, only that it just is.

Then, I might have flashbacks to my fat days when I would run to lose weight and tell myself this is no different so I just have to keep on moving despite this feeling of guilt. 

Yet, I might wonder if this is just ignoring the problem that seems to rear its ugly head every now and then, a serpent that needs to be dealt with. The choice is always mine, the therapist might jump in and say. 

Therein lies the kernel of truth that Guilt—my friend with a capital G—comes from something I created. It isn’t something I was told to feel or something culture or society said I should feel. 

Whatever I think they said, it’s my interpretation that is creating such feelings. It’s up to me to negotiate with this feeling of mine. I can disagree with my Guilt. I can look at that scaly face with yellow eyes and wispy hair and tell it I don’t think it knows me or my loved ones as well as it thinks it does.