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ow that everything is over, I do not know where I go from here. The case, my father's past, Hannah, Andrew's death, jail, all of it had consumed my life so much that I do not know who I am beyond it.
I realized that I would have to rebuild my entire being from scratch. Were even my career and interests my own? I had no idea.
As I sat on the rooftop of my old apartment complex, many things crossed my mind. One particular conversation which I had with my father stood out the most. It was a very old memory. I was surprised that I even remembered it. When I was in middle school, it was career day.
Dad was too busy to come to school, and, of course, I had no mom. Everyone else's parents came, and I just sat and watched. However, one kid in my class came up to my desk and made fun of me. “Don’t you have any parents?” “I do. My dad is busy.” “Well then, he must not love you as mine loves me.” I do not even know if he was making fun of me or if that was just a stupid statement from a stupid kid with no filter.
Whatever it was, I never forgot his words. That day, when I came home, I immediately shut myself in my room and refused to come out. When Dad came home, he knocked on my door multiple times. I was so angry at him that I refused to even reply. After his third try, he used the spare key to open my door. I was lying on my bed with my back turned to the door.
I felt the mattress dip beside me as he sat down. I pretended to sleep. I think what he said then was stimulated by the fact that he thought I was asleep. I do not think he would have ever said it if I was awake. “You must be mad at me for not coming today. I have no excuse.” Then he paused. “But you must never be ashamed of your parents.
I know I am not the ideal father, but I am trying my best. But your mother, she was someone phenomenal. I wish things had not turned out the way they did. But even if you never knew her, never be ashamed of her. She was strong, independent, and a loving person.
She would have been an inspiration to you.” After saying this, he grew quiet again. Then, as if waiting for my reaction, he just stared at me. When I did not respond, he gently covered me with a comforter and got up and left.
Such an odd time to remember this memory. Such an odd thing to still be calling him my father. Should I call Jacques Frietz my father or Doctor Tsunoda my father? Does it matter? They are both dead. Is it really blood that matters in giving such titles or who fits into those titles?
I think we put too much emphasis on blood and DNA. Just because someone gave birth to you does not make them your parent until and unless they actually fulfill that role for you. If they do not take care of you, abuse you, and refuse to accept you, then what is the point of heeding anything to blood? Even family itself is overrated.
Sure, for many people, family really is everything, and they find solace in them and they are their happy place, but there is always a possibility that that might not be true. People have dysfunctional and abusive families. This narrative that family is the only thing you can come home to is plain bad for them because they end up associating home with trauma, affecting all future relationships.
Why do we not teach people that families and blood can be abusive too? And that we can always build our own family from scratch with the people we call friends or partners? Not everyone has a father who teaches them how to throw a catch; some people have fathers who force them to learn survival skills.
I felt so depleted whenever I thought about family because of this exact narrative. But now, so much has happened, and I think the people who I choose to make my family are much more important. I realized one more thing. There is no such thing as an individual self.
We are made up of components and habits we pick up from other people. We can never be someone whose personality is completely devoid of any influence from others. I might not know who I am right now, but I can begin with the people I chose to keep in my life.
I still cook pasta the way Dad taught me; I still eat ice cream because of the day Mrs. Waltham showed up for my presentation, I still love the same music as Andrew, and I write my research papers in a certain way that Doctor Tsunoda taught me, so when I am building myself back up, how can I forget these people? They are a part of me, and they make up who I am. And so, keeping them all close, I move on to the next chapter of my life.
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