When you feel the weight of growing up, the harder things get, the better “you” you should build.
Most people think when you’re the little one in the family, it’s the easiest life you can possess. Technically true for some,not in my case though. I am not saying it’s the hardest; what I am trying to point out is, being the last one to grow up with an effusively, vulnerable heart it isn’t an easy job in this planet seeing everyone going. I admit I had my mistake getting away from everybody’s concern when adolescence made me inconsolable. Of course there’s no such thing as perfect family. Even if we are living with a stable relationship, there were failed times particularly those when we missed to delve into personal experiences and issues. We gained stories we left inside us, untold. I had my own resentment and heartache but to finally touch those empty spaces at home and to notice the indifference and suppressed affection, I reached the peak of feeling as though I was abandoned, that when you’re the last one to grow up you’re easily forgotten. I felt that I cannot be a priority anymore but as I listened and watched, my silence never lost the worries and fears for whatever that may come upon them.
I still can’t believe how I possibly did it, because of some inevitable shit, my walls began to collapse and I fixed my bad patches through their brokenness. Life will never be a promise of perfection but I get through my pains because of my loved ones, my family.
I could sulk like a spoiled, selfish brat for they always overlook my joys and troubles but I could not because life is simultaneously happening to each of us, and as much as it sucks to endure the separation, I believe it is also best for us to find different paths.
We all have a family but we are all individuals in the utmost reality. The thing is, we all get to that journey of departing from the ones we love to learn to depend on ourselves. Anyway, we can only come back home when we are already whole.