What I should be doing is nothing anymore because it is six days away before I leave the country, so everything should be in order.
But then how would I uphold the family tradition of never being prepared?
In all seriousness, while I made a list of things I needed to accomplish, I apparently never checked that list after I completed a lot of it. Simple, and important, things were missed. This is a fault of mine that will most likely make it to my eulogy. I’d put it in my phone to ping me with reminders, but I’d have to remember to put it in my phone in the first place.
Simple things like never reading the full extent of my email from my new bank to discover I had to have extra money in the account prior to me receiving my card to use while overseas. And when I try to wire money, a huge storm had come through our state to put the banks in a blackout until the next day.
Or buying the wrong size hiking sandal when you thought you were getting a half a size larger. And then finding out the store selling them doesn’t order anymore in after they sell out.
Or packing your suitcase AGAIN only to realize that you’ll be slicing the numbers of your clothes in half because the closer you get to GO TIME, the more you realize you’re holding on to silly notions that you’ll need more than three skirts while traveling for six months.
I think a lot of it has been that I have had a very social past two weeks. I had a breathing moment for a day as I’d gotten my parents a night away together for my mum’s birthday, but when they got back, it was cleaning and getting ready for the next person to visit.
I am definitely not blaming our wonderful visitors for my behavior of not getting things as together as I want them to be. I am instead pointing out my complete failure in doing what needs to be done despite being emotionally exhausted and thinking I have more time than I do.
I don’t recommend anyone doing this. It became a habit of mine after long years of emotionally stunted jobs, and old habits die hard. Just know that it is hard not to take this option with hummingbirds and lakes and the cutest puppies of all time ready to take your attention at any moment.
The last visitor we’ve had was an old family friend. One whom I never got to know growing up, as most children who run around playing games with other children during special events that happen yearly don’t pay attention to the parents of the children she’s playing with. She is considered family as far as my mother is concerned. And it was weird because the whole visit became the third camera to my flashbacks that surrounded both of their fathers, the discussion falling during a severe thunderstorm. It reminded me of something I had written two years ago.
The talks were therapeutic in a sense. I haven’t spoken to anyone on my mother’s side of the family, except my great aunt, since my grandfather’s passing. The whole death was very strange, very uncomfortable. People’s true nature came out. The nature wasn’t pretty. During a time wherein we should have stuck together, it separated us further instead. Two years later, and I’m still raw from the aftermath.
However, I got to sit and listen to two people talk real about the situations that had occurred not only surrounding that situation, but also the moments before I was born, and while I was a child and didn’t fully understand what was going on. Now that I can comprehend, things began to make sense. Hundreds of light bulbs turned on in my head. The complexity of our family lit up a little more. Why things were the way they were. And it dredged up a lot of forgotten thought processes.
I had time to think while the two talked, and that is when a thought hit me on why I probably wasn’t a favorite among that side of the family: I look like my mother.
It answered just about every question I had. Why my grandfather would never look at me while we talked. Why mormor seemed to be afraid of me, yet fascinated by me, seeing me at a wedding after fifteen-plus years of refusing to keep in contact with me–and still wouldn’t after the wedding. Why I was treated differently from my brother, period, with most of those folks.
I initially was upset at this idea because it felt like I was being punished. It isn’t just that I look like my mother, but that I am very similar to her in mannerisms…and that I take pride in that. All of it. I’ve looked up to her since I was born. To be struggling a lifetime for a connection with family members to find that the main reason for there to hardly be any is because you look like the person who stood up for herself when being treated like she wasn’t worth the love…
And that is when I realized that I was feeling like shit over not being welcomed with open arms to people who treated the woman I loved most like shit. How fucked up is that?
It hurts, of course. I’m human. And the situation itself is obviously a lot more complicated than having my mother’s genes (I hope so, anyway–but I doubt there will ever be any verification, and I have to be okay with that). I’ve always looked at other families who have aunts/uncles upon cousins upon nieces/nephews upon family members they don’t know what to do with in admiration. What a blessing to have family reunions. Family tournaments. Family owned businesses. Family cabins.
Yes, a blessing.
But I can’t stand that by what I already have, the traditions I’ve accumulated with my immediate family and close friends. They’re just the same, essentially. To not feel thankful or have an implication that I’m not equally loved would be a lie.
I have a feeling I’ll be writing a lot about these instances while I travel. Being separated from a situation always makes it easier to look back on.
In the meantime, I’ve been heartbroken over Satoru Iwata’s passing. Twitter has been helping me with keeping a smile at the wonderful memories and love. I keep putting out love and hope for his family, as well as Nintendo, as such a loss is beyond difficult. He was a good man. One of the best. The kind worth remembering.
2015’s theme seems to be on a Death/Rebirth cycle. This doesn’t mean it is a bad thing. But it does mean there is an equal amount of heartache and devoted love going on. Maybe it was always this way, but I never had the capacity to see beyond one emotion at a time. Maybe it is because I am allowing myself to feel that I can have a mixture of emotions, rather than just what I considered to be acceptable or good.
Either way, I seem to feel the love to outweigh everything else in the end. For that, I am thankful.