Tag Archives: dysfunctional

This is home?

I recently watched Lena Dunham’s Tiny Furniture. It really resonates with my current situation, that of a girl who returns home from school to find it difficult to conform to the realities of living at home. Or at least that is the aspect of the film that caught my attention.

I haven’t officially moved back home, I’m only here for winter break, but I will be moving permanently in May. After graduation. And it’s just such a daunting thought. How things are now at home, it seems almost impossible (I really trying not to use this word in 2015, because why invite negative language into my life? But here, it’ll be used as emphasis) to live here permanently. Unlike my family likes to believe, this isn’t because I hate my family, it’s simply because when I come back I feel almost uninvited, as if my presence is ignored and unappreciated (realllllllly not trying to play the victim card here).

When people go home for break, they return to their childhood bedrooms, which are filled with memories, regardless of whether they are good or bad. But with my grandmother moving in with us, my bedroom is now hers. Noticing my clothing overflowing from my bags on the hallway, she explained that the room was still mine and I could place all my belonging there. This helped a lot. But the bed is still hers to use, and I’ve been spending the nights sleeping with my sisters. I like sleeping with Gisselle… A lot. Except I can’t help but feel like every little thing I do is an annoyance to her. Like my uncontrollable allergies that create for unwanted mucus-filled-tissues to appear everywhere. Or how I left HER sweater on the floor, meanwhile there are multiple stacks of her clothes flooding her bedroom (when I said this to her, she noted that it’s okay for her to do it because it’s her clothes and her room). Or when I burned her candles for too long, leaving very little wax left to burn. Yes, this would very much frustrate me if the roles were reversed. But I guess I expect Gisselle to be happy enough to have me over to not rub my mistakes and faults all over my face, or all over the house.

When I sleep with my little sisters it’s nice, they don’t seem to bothered by my presence unless I forget to make the bed. BUT like why am I sleeping with eight and nine year olds, ya feel me? Same goes with sleeping with Mami and Pa.

It isn’t so much that I don’t understand why Gisselle becomes upset when I failed to pick up every last tissue, or that I don’t enjoy sleeping with my younger sisters. The point is that I find myself in these situations, in my OWN house. The fact that there is no place to call my own, no place in which to hide out, or escape to with my thoughts is just inhumane. Doesn’t every living thing need this space? Or am I being melodramatic? Well, whatever, I don’t think so. There isn’t anyone to blame about this situation either, I’m not trying to point fingers.

My own room isn’t the only thing I feel inconveniences my family, but its my lifestyle, specifically my pescatarianism. My entire family eats meat and loves it. I can’t eat meat. This alone ostracizes me. No one is telling me to eat meat, and I wouldn’t eat meat. But the comments that are made by my family (I ignore the ones my little sisters make because they don’t mean to offend me) has a hint of resentment. Why must Gisselle eat fish meals two days in a row? Why am I complicating my mom and grandma’s cooking recipes? Why can’t I simply eat was is made? Solution? This certainly has one, which is cooking my own meals. I brought my chickenless chicken cutlets and nuggets yesterday, so I guess I should see improvement…? Maybe am I just feeling entitled to having a home cooked meal from my mom that doesn’t cause such an ordeal. Entitlement is not logical. I shouldn’t feel entitled to a personalized meal everyday, yet I do.

Winter break has made me think about five months from now. As I sit in my living room couch writing this, I can’t but feel nervous and scared about what will happen when I am living here for good again. Will it feel like I’m living out of a suitcase, being invited (but feeling uninvited) to sleep with my sisters, being shuffled around like an outgrown teddy bear? (did I really just compare myself to a teddy bear?) Will I still hear my dad making comments that hold a tint of grudge towards my decision to leave home four years ago? How many times will I continue to hear “Well you don’t live here so why do you care?”?

They say home is where the heart is, and yes it is. I feel unconditionally love here, without a doubt. I just wished that the small little grunts and complains that are expressed when I am simply “doing me” would disappear. Still, I find that maybe these are characteristics of what makes my home what it is. Because at the end of the day, after the hostility of an argument has faded, there is love. Love that does not need to be proven with a brand new bedroom set or finished basement (which would be nice), but is confirmed when seven/eight (including Abuelita) completely distinctive personalities come together and accept each others’ flaws, value, and exceptional traits.

Although I might find myself sitting in the dinning room table reading Gone Girl, while my dad and sisters play Monopoly across the table. There is no better feeling than that. I am not an inconvenience to my family, I am not a pest in their eyes. Our interests and passions might clash but that doesn’t have to led to a collapse. Hey, today I even started out write this post with Kat (my rebellious 12 year-old sister who never lets go of her iPad and whose social media appearance is everything) sitting by my side writing in her journal (after I convinced her that writing your feelings is essential in life) listening to The Shin’s Wincing the Night Away album (AKA AN UNHEARD OF OCCURRENCE IN THIS HOUSEHOLD)…. Which just further proves my point.

Things will come together.

There is some sort of irony in wanting to write this post about honesty with oneself, leaving behind the judgmental reactions of others and simply not giving a fuck that occurs when you dump a more raw post into the draft folder due to fear. Whether the post was too personal, too emotional, too creepy, too depressive to share, holding back is the worst thing I could do for myself.
Lake Michigan Wannabe DiverHow many times have I lied to myself, my family, my friends about how I felt because I was too nervous to admit what I really wanted. Plenty.

It is a hard process learning how to embrace your feelings and decisions, especially since most of the time they will be frowned upon or rejected. I’ve taken to writing my deepest most secretest thoughts in my journal, not realizing that I might be repressing their development, their beauty.

One of these things are my longing for a meaningful relationship. Wanting a partner in crime is particularly hard to admit since learned to appreciate my single girl status. In fact, I take so much pride in being able to do things on my own that I have fooled myself into thinking I would never want anyone serious in my life. I have played the “I love being single” card when I did not mean it, I have embellished the nights I was the ultimate player (aka the nights I brought boys over only to kick them out as soon as I was not in the mood). Though some of my friends could see right through my own bullshit I was blinded by the reality that I indeed want someone that I could share my amateur poems, deep thoughts, and happy moments with… It gets lonely sometimes. AND there is nothing wrong with admitting that. There is nothing wrong with knowing that you are ready to find someone that can replace all the sleazy boys at college parties. Accepting this has helped me eliminate the individuals that I know will never provide this and that is a damn good step.

Another fear I had was dropping the idea that I was going to law school after graduation… JEEZ did I not want to go to law school! It was one of those careers I decided on when I was 12 and promised my parents I would pursue. It was only this year that I finally bursted my mother’s bubble when I told her I was not taking my LSATs or applying to law schools. I had fooled myself so much, that I believed it was all my idea. Of course, now that I have decided not to attend law school I find that I am completely confused about my future. A good confused though and that’s the liberating part. I am so free to decide where to take my life, what to study in grad school, that’s if I want to go to grad school… The point is I am so happy to answer all the questions about what my plans are after college with an I HONESTLY HAVE NO IDEA, I’M JUST GOING TO TAKE MY LIFE AS IT COMES. It just feels so good to have options. To be so young and fearless that going for my Masters in London actually seems like a possibility or that I could just follow in Peyton Sawyer’s steps and open my own record label… OH the place you could really go, who knew. I am more excited about all the opportunities I have to actually do something that makes ME happy and no one else should be a priority in that decision.

I also recently accepted that it is okay to be sad, that it is okay to need to disconnect from people, including those that I feel I’m drifting from. I have deprived my dark thoughts for a really long time, but only a few months ago did I find the strength to say that I get so unhappy at times that I have no desire to do anything else. Admitting this felt like a weight was lifted. It is too draining to be happy all the time. And I decided that I prefer to live a life where I am allowed to be angry, emotional, overwhelmed. If I didn’t have the downs, then I would not realize how amazing the people around me are and just how lucky am I to be alive.

In short, I found that letting go of all the negative connotations attached to certain behaviors or lifestyles has provided me with a very honest and enriching life. I always knew that I need to do what makes me the happiest, but it is truly hard to follow through with when you surrender to social normatives.

No one person is whole, no one person has all the answers to life, no one person can say they haven’t based a decision on others and that is okay. We are on a mission to flourish at our own pace. Somewhere in-between the bad and good choices we have made, we will find that life has paved the perfect path for us. A unique road that makes us smile and understand why those unhappy moments needed to be.

Eventually, we will be okay with allowing the world to see our beauty, one with flaws and imperfections because only can we live freely.