Catching up

I find it oddly disconcerting when I find myself clueless about something that everyone knows or can do. I never really learned to ride a bike. I tried, but I kept on falling off and scraping my knee I gave up on it. I also never really learned to skate, because I kept on falling on my butt that I gave up on that too. I did learn to swim, and I did so pretty well until late high school, but much to my horror, in college, I all of a sudden started panicking everytime my head was underwater. Now I know psychologists will have a field day with this, psychoanalyzing and all. I just take it as it is. I know I missed many things that regular kids take for granted while I was growing up. While everyone else had a tailor-made childhood, I had to make one up for myself. I used to blame my dad for the not too well-planned map of my childhood and adolescent years, but I know now that he did the best he could given his own resources, his nature, and his upbringing.

See, my mom died when I was very young, and I missed out on all those mother-daughter moments. It was from home ec class that I learned about what to do when I got my period, how to set a table, how to iron clothes, wash dishes and all those domestic things. I had to seek out my peers for support when I started to see boys in an entirely different light. I never got to ask my mom what books or what music she liked. (I just knew she had an Archie, Nancy Drew and Casper collection when she was younger.) I was to busy being a kid to really get to know her as a person. And I'm well-adjusted enough to know that it never would have been possible to have it any other way. Any other way would have just been wrong. And so after my mom died, I had to figure things by myself.

Of all those things I never got to do with my mom though, one of the things I regret most is that I never got to watch old movies or read the classics with her. There have been so many literary classics and old movie references over the years that I never really learned were such until I willed myself to catch up with the rest of the world. My dad wasn't really into all of that stuff, not that I hold that against him. That's just how he is. So anyway, I tried to figure out what I should have watched, what I should have read, and I willed myself to learn. At this point, I think I've come to the point of substantial compliance in that aspect. But I'd still really want to learn all those other things I missed out on. AND play the piano, the cello or the violin. And travel. And a lot of other things.

Rant for the day

I take it personally when people remember me only when they need something from me. I take even more offense when the person/s involved happen to be related to me. It is frankly very disappointing when in the midst of asking me for a favor, and not a very legal one at that, I somehow find myself at the receiving end of a not-so-thinly-nor-well-veiled hint that I should be responsible somehow for certain individuals, and that I am somehow remiss in such imaginary duties. While it may admittedly be selfish of me, distancing myself from a very unstable little miasma, a seemingly incessant cacophony, I have found it preferable, and yes, even necessary, for my emotional and psychological health.

Simply put, certain people were driving me insane, and I decided to take a step back from the whole thing. And I don't think there's anything wrong with that.

In my defense, I HAVE tried to be a responsible little underling. Long story short, it didn't work.

For a long time, in blatant defiance of my better judgment, I sacrificed all the resources I had--time, money, my emotional and psychological health...I even in effect put my career on the line--trying to be the definition of a responsible member of the family. I felt compelled to do so, and though my wallet, my bank account and my body told me it wasn't feasible, I persevered when the people who should have been there were not. I finally came to the end of my hyper-extended rope when I had to bite my tongue, literally, and stick my head in the toilet (not literally), to NOT lash back in response to a long litany of allegations grounded on something I maintain I did not do. I convinced myself it was beneath me to descend to that level. I may as well be disbarred for all the indignity that would have required me to channel. At that point, I had to put my foot down. Frankly, I just couldn't take it anymore. I just would not have been able to live with myself if I had allowed myself to be treated that way. And I have been infinitely happier and more content with my life since then.

Until today. Until that phone call.

I don't know why it even bothers me in the least bit. I've been anticipating the backlash for a while.
Oh well. Whatever. I guess the most important part is that the people who matter understand why I do what I do, and why I refuse to do what I have not done. I don't think I need to explain or to defend myself to anybody.

Maintaining a relationship is a two-way street. I don't see why everyone seems to be blaming me. I am not anybody's keeper. I know I'm more emotionally stable than certain people I refer to, but it doesn't mean I have to bear more than my fair share of the responsibility pie. I also do not get why I sometimes sense that this subject begrudges me whatever I have accomplished in my life thusfar (which, by the way, is not much). All of this was not handed to me on a silver platter. Au contraire. I worked very hard to get where I am (which, again, seriously, is not anything to be envious of). I really just don't get it what I'm being berated for. Or maybe I do. And now I finally understand what my place is exactly. And how people see me.

And this, my friends, is precisely why the phone call was a phenomenally bad idea.