Public vent of private affairs

This is probably going to come bite me in the ass later in life, but I just spent a week with my family and I need to vent. Since The BF gets it the rest of the time and, dear internet, YOU CAN’T STOP ME, I will relieve myself here. My mom just called to say they got home safely and everything comes screaming back to me. I really wish I had a pen and paper on me at all times to note the gems of sheer incomprehensibly that happens when she’s around, but alas I have not. So this is all from memory, before it gets pushed into subconsciousness by that strange mechanism that tries to keep me sane – repression.

I am duly aware that every normal person, at one time or another, gets annoyed by their parents. My deal is that I never went through puberty. Seriously, there was never a time when I got all rebellious, screamed I hate you and then slammed the door or stormed out only to return in the middle of the night. That’s what my childhood was like. Ok, jokes aside, it did happen that I got angry, slammed a door or two and even tried to run away once – at the end of childhood. But I was never insurgent or typically teenagery, because from the moment my father died (I was 11) our security was gone and my mother became the child my sister and I had to look after. I had this conversation with her (my older sister) while she was here, about how I’m really pissed of at realizing that although our mom taught us to be independent and self-sufficient (by not being there and letting us take care of ourselves), she certainly doesn’t serve as a feminist role-model. She always goes out and does the exact opposite of everything she says. It’s infuriating, especially since I don’t see her behavior ever since I moved out and only get her lip service. My sis was on to this way before I was, so she’s dealt with it by now. I’m still angry.

I get so angry that the moment I know she’s coming, my neck gets all tense. Even now while thinking about it, I can feel the muscle getting all scrunched up. How am I supposed to build a relationship with this person, when I never know where I’m at with her? Being blunt, direct or even honest isn’t an option. My family has as long as I can remember adopted the policy of not talking about things for harmony’s sake. The relationship with my sister has gotten much better since we talk openly about things, tell each other what’s going on and what our opinions are. My mom can’t do that. She’ll either flat out ignore what I’m saying or start bawling and shut down for several days. So when I’m not trying to be honest about what I think of her side of the story, I could always talk openly about myself, right? Wrong. Here again, she might even ask a question about my life, but she won’t listen to the answer. When I start up about something, she turns it into something about her. Even the results of my (slightly unsettling) blood sample that came in the mail yesterday: she stopped me mid-sentence and showed me her blood-type card and then kept on rambling from there.

So when it’s not about someone else and not about her (I don’t ask questions anymore and answer in one-word sentences, otherwise it’ll just upset her), it’s about the surroundings. Then all I hear is complaining. I know that’s what I’m doing right now as well, but this has a purpose. Nagging incessantly doesn’t.

“They should put little traffic lights at the bottom like in France, I can’t drive like this” – “They should forbid dogs from restaurants, it’s so unsanitary” – “They should ban people from smoking anywhere else than in their own apartment, the street is a public place too”.

And that’s not counting the innumerable times she tells me I should do this or that, because apparentlyI’m still three years old and living on my own for 6 years doesn’t count for squat. My seven year old little sister, on the other hand, is supposed to manage everything on her own – as long as it’s done the way our mother wants. Otherwise she has no shame of putting her back in her place, in public, in full volume. Everything must be accompanied by drama.

I could go on, but you probably all think I’m a terrible person by now, so I’m guessing this is enough. I’ll procede to numb myself with series and food now. Good day.

Sappy crap

Yesterday evening, I watched the two new episodes of Grey’s Anatomy and Private Practice – and they both had something in common that got me thinking, or more: reminiscing.

*Spoiler Alert!*

 See, in Grey’s Anatomy, they’re currently treating a man from death row. A murderer. And this brings up problems with Shepherd, because his dad was killed when he was young. To make things worse, his mother is there to visit in this episode. So at one point Derek gets really mad and starts talking with his mom and asks her if she’s not still angry because of his dad. You can tell it’s a hard subject, and even though it’s been years they’re still teary eyed on the subject. Do you see where I’m going with this?

As a coincidence, in Private Practice, Charlotte’s “big daddy” is dying from cancer. She travels back to Dixie-land to say goodbye and also to pull the plug. In one scene she says that her dad always thought this cancer was just “chickens coming home to roost” - payback for being a son of a bitch. Only he was always nice to her, so really these were her chickens. She fights hard not to cry, to stay strong, until they’re on the plane back and she falls apart.

*Spoiler done*

It made me realise: it never gets easier. No matter how much time goes by, if you just lost a parent or if it’s been thirteen years, when that thought comes back it cuts just like a newly sharpened knife. My father is missing. I don’t get his input on what I do, I can’t ask him for advice, I’ve lost years of him teaching me things, I’ll be alone when I walk down the aisle. And it’s not so much that I need a father figure to know who I am or to counter the influence of my mother or that I would have been “daddy’s little girl”, it’s all those things and many things more. Someone has told me before that it sounds arrogant when I say things like I know he would be proud of me for where I am now. But how can I not, when it’s the only way of feeling some connection to him. I have to imagine everything - something a person usually only has to do once he’s far beyond grown-up, has a family of his own and a lifetime of memories to fall back on.

In episode 12 of Grey’s Anatomy’s third season, George’s father dies. When Christina meets him outside he says: “I don’t know how to exist in a world where my dad doesn’t.” And then she replies: “Yeah, that never really changes.” That is not just some cheesy plot line, my friends, that’s real life.

Sorry if I just bummed you all out.

Nature vs. Nurture

Here is a tale of my past weekend spent in the black forest, or what I learned from it. Namely: I should not be living in the city.

It all started out pretty harmless I guess, me growing up in the most typical suburb you can imagine. All the houses lined up, fat driveways, the quaint safety of a known neighbourhood, some carefully kept nature surroundings. Sure we had the occasional deer who would ruin the bushes or flowers, and a family of rabbits even got stuck in our vegetable patch. There were fields to run in and trees to climb, it was New Jersey, for chrissake. But the city wasn’t very far, all the shops and whatnot at a driving distance (which is ironic, since americans use their car to get to the end of the road, but you know what I mean).

Then we moved to France, still outside the city, but already a little more crammed. Houses nearer, much smaller backyards, more dangerous streets to play on. At least there was a forest near by, but that keeps getting smaller too, to make room for more highway. But still, even in Versailles (which is 10 minutes away), there wasn’t much to do at night. The last train home was at ten, and we had to much schoolwork to do to party anyway.

Then, the big city. Well, kind of. The thing with the town in which I live is that although 300.000 people live here, you can’t really notice. Most live outside of the city center, which is rather small in comparison. But I live smack in the middle, next to a main street. Bad choice on my part, I know, but at least this way I can get home on foot from almost any party. That came in handy. But then there’s the noise – the CONSTANT NOISE – that I really can’t stand anymore. And it’s polluted, full of people everywhere, concrete, hectic, depression, headaches.

The thing that struck me most with our weekend in the black forest, is the tole it took on my personality. Even though I hardly spent 48 hours there, it really opened my eyes. I could get up at 8h30 in the morning and not be grumpy. I didn’t need half an hour to be awake, I was actually looking forward to breakfast. And oh! The Food! The very delightful, fresh, non processed food! Is there anything better? Why does it have to degrade so much on it’s way to the harshly lit supermarkets? And then you get up, open the window – and instead of car fumes you get fresh, crisp mountain air! Green air! It’s like a slap in the face to wake you up. But the most surprising of it all is that my good mood kept going. All day long I had energy, I wasn’t lazy, I was actually happy to walk around, up or down a mountain. And I didn’t get the need to snack, either.

I miss the big open spaces, the wonderful landscape right in front of the door, the friendly people, the animals, the calm. Even if there are few people, and reserved ones at that, who was I to think that wasn’t my thing? That’s exactly my thing! Sure, I was raised in a very open-to-the-world way, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be happy in a secluded place. No crime, no dirt, no danger, no chaos. The world is still in it’s right place over there, who knew that even existed. I don’t even think I would miss the “opportunities” of a city. I didn’t miss the internet or the tv (sorry guys), even though there were my best friends here. Now all I see is the constant garbage it’s pouring on me. The pressure, the commercials, the achievements. I could walk out without a dress code over there. I could have a simpler, happier life.

Or am I just kidding myself? What do you think – city or country? Of course there isn’t the space to put all the pros and cons in one post, but I’d still like to know your take on things. What would you miss, what do you long for?