It is too early for a heart to heart, but we have one
anyway. My cousin has brought me a couple of things
from our family's vacation house up north, and as I
help her carry her half dozen bags to the metro, we
linger under timetable screens, catching up.
The last time I spoke to her was almost two years ago,
randomly bumping into her at a bus stop in my old home
town while I was housesitting. Later, as I dwell on the
lingering feeling of her being different from what I
remember, it occurs to me that I have never really
known her as an adult. We spent a fair amount of time
together in our late teens (I'm also a little older
than her, though even then I don't think 18, or even
early 20's, is real adulthood) but after that, only
talked briefly. After each other's concerts, at family
funerals, nowhere conducive for really connecting.
She tells me she had wondered about me, considered
reaching out but thought I wouldn't care. The exact
same reason I never got in touch with her. I can't help
but say the worst thing as she tells me that I could've
called her anytime, that I never had to be alone with
my mother -- that I wish I'd known -- but I just care
about having her in my life from now on. I need to make
sure she doesn't feel guilty over it. In reality I most
likely would have just isolated myself even with that
knowledge, as is my default.
We have plans to visit, once I get done with the urgent
literary drudgery. Deciding what I'll bake to bring
with me is a nice little thought to return to, in
between moments that drag on.
There has to be something to the sentiment that God
will not put blessings in the hands of people with
their arms full of old crap. No one can convince me
it's a coincidence that just a few days after I finally
let out my burden into the world, I get something in
its place, the thing I wished for. Family. Not just
her, but also my aunt and uncle as well -- the latter
of whom I have been putting off calling for some advice
for months, out of feeling like my mother burned all my
bridges alongside her own. Both would only be happy to
hear from me, she assures, and though it is a little
naive to think I'm completely untarnished, maybe the
other extreme of myself as nothing but an extension of
my mother is just as flawed, and the truth somewhere in
the middle. I can work with a chance to be my own
person.
I saw this thing mentioned, '100 days to offload'; from
the pound sign in front I take it to be a Mastodon
thing, but I'm fairly sure I came across it here on
gopher (since, you know, I came across it) so maybe
it's adjacent to, or trickling down to, here as well. I
don't think I quite have the humility to participate in
a social media challenge, but maybe I'll just be aware
of, and benefit from, this hundred-day amnesty for
gratuitous writing. Both writing as well as sharing my
writing (my enjoyment of the latter being especially
forgettable) are things I'd like to keep. Even if not
another blessing were to come of it, I have been
convinced that I am doing good to myself by it.
