My parents stayed at my apartment in University Town for the weekend (because it was near the provincial parks), but my roommate had moved out of my apartment, so I had no furniture (except the furniture in my bedroom), no internet, and no TV. My parents slept on the floor on an air mattress. We made makeshift tables out of cardboard boxes, we listened to the radio, we drank wine out of plastic cups, and I cooked with a rice spatula because my roommate accidentally took my stir-fry spatula. It was ghetto living, but it was fun. My parents laughed more this weekend than I’ve seen them do in a long time. And when they drove away on Monday, I cried.

I’ve never been close to my parents. I think the last time I felt emotionally attached to them was when I was 11. When I was 12, I spent three months away from my parents and I didn’t miss them once. I have never cried out of homesickness. And yet, after a mere weekend together, my 21-year-old self bawled cried as I watched my parents drive away and I was left, literally, in an empty apartment.

I cried because I finally realized the importance of family. No matter what, my parents will always love me, put me first, care for me, worry about me. They would die for me, but more importantly, they live for me. They are utterly devoted to me whether I recognize it or not, whether I thank them for it or not. A few months ago, I resented them for being emotionally closed off. They never said things like “I’m proud of you” or “You did good,” and I resented them for making me feel like I wasn’t good enough. Be that as it may, there were a lot of things I never said to them either. “Thank you,” “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” Perhaps my inability to open up emotionally is still “their fault,” perhaps I am very much the product of my upbringing, but all I could think was “I should have known better.” Knowing them, knowing myself, I should have known they were proud of me even if they never said it. I should have known they loved me even if they never told me.

I am so silly.

I was so focused on finding someone who cared about me, when I had two people who lived and breathed for me right beside me. Instead of embracing them, I was pushing them away and then desperately looking for a relationship (or friendship) to fill the gap.

I have so much growing up to do.

Speaking of filling the gap. in my last entry, I mentioned how the MFL situation made me want to run away. Apparently, I’m not the only one. I heard through a mutual friend that MFL had been staying in University Town this past week for no reason¹. He has no business here; in fact, he’s supposed to be in The City for job training. I guess he needed to run away, too.
I don’t know how this information makes me feel. Happy, that this is not easy for him either. Confused, because what does it mean if he feels the need to get away? Unhappy, for feeling anything at all.

I wish I could say all the things I say on this blog to the people who actually need to hear it. I think my life would be a lot less complicated that way. I’d tell my parents I love them, I’m grateful for them, and I’m sorry for the times when I made them think otherwise. I’d tell MFL a whole slew of things, but most importantly, that I need him to either love me openly or give me up completely. And I’d tell all my friends I’m sorry, for being inconstant in my emotions and in my commitment to them.
But it seems I’m incapable of frankness when it comes to my emotions.

Baby steps, I’m taking baby steps.

1. It’s ironic that in our rush to get away, we both chose to get away to the same place. But apparently he is supposed to be back in The City by now, so I doubt I’ll be running into him.