I am in my Ethics class pretending to take notes. Class started over half an hour ago and the teacher has been rambling nonsense. Now we are starting the lecture on moral philosophy.
The past two weeks have been quite a challenge for me. I talked a little about my sister being in the ER but even the week before that I had finals and my car was very broken. Well my car was fixed, my sister got better and I passed all my classes. And then Wednesday happened. I haven't even been taking my medicine properly because of what a wreck its been.
Technically I had a debate in my head for the past few months so let me fill you in.
When I was little my grandpa's sister used to take care of me and my sister. Technically that makes her my tia-abuela but because she took care of us while my parents worked, we used to call her Mamá Cuca. We were with her Monday through Friday and holidays. She would pick us up from school, feed us dinner, bathe us and made sure we did our homework. In reality we had two homes and two mothers. My childhood is filled with memories in that house. Well my Mamá Cuca made this special arrangement at some point where we would go to my grandma's house every Friday to spend time with her and my great grandma. We always looked forward to Fridays. My grandma would make us fried fish and soup and she would give us carrots which she would carve hearts in and fill with lemon and salt. We would play in boxes and get wet in the patio. She would also let us look at my dad's miniature toy collection that he got from pastry packages when he was a kid. Sometimes we would go to the store or to the park in front of her house.
The day my parents found out that my Mamá Cuca was letting us spend time with my grandma, my mom flipped out. She had a good reason too. You see reader, my grandma's house was not a peaceful environment. My uncle was schizophrenic. Obviously back then there was not a lot of knowledge on the disease and the doctors just thought he had a bad temper. When he was finally diagnosed, he wouldn't take his medicine. This made him that much more violent. My mom also recounts many times when my grandma, great grandma, and uncle would get in physical altercations. Plus the fact that when they got mad, they would stop talking to each other for many, many days. I think my mom had a good reason to be concerned.
However, I don't remember anything crazy or dangerous happening any of the times that we were at my grandma's. All the memories I have about my uncle are nice. All the memories I have about my grandma and great grandma were about loving actions. In my mind I loved going there, especially on Christmas because my grandma makes the best punch ever.
My mom also talks about how she was abused by my grandma. I'm not really sure I'm supposed to be talking about this but I need to. Well, my grandma raised my dad by herself. My dad carries my great grandpa's last name and he called him dad. It is said that my dad actually met his real dad when he was young only once, but he doesn't remember. My great grandpa used to say when my mom was pregnant with me that I was going to be a girl and he used to get all sad that he would die before meeting me. He died shortly before I was born. My grandma though, did not like my mom. She still doesn't. And my great grandma always talked bad about my mom to my dad.
Lots of unnecessary tension. NONE of which I remember.
My great grandma though...she has a lot of history. I mean that tends to happen when you live 9 decades. But anyways, my great grandma was always so sweet to us. She even gave us money sometimes which was a big deal because my sister and I got a lot more valuable things from her. I cannot say that I have a bad memory of her. My great grandma was a very strong person. Even in her last days she refused to die. She was so old and sick and weak and she still would not die.
Genealogically I don't know who I am. My dad's family tree is completely screwed up. I have no idea what my paternal grandfather's medical history looks like. In all valid truth, I have no idea who I am in history. I had a lot of questions for my great grandma about all of this, and then again I was embarrassed to ask because I was not supposed to know. And what's worse is that I avoided talking to her because she would pity herself in her sick state. I feel slightly bad and slightly relieved. I'm not sad that she died, I'm just sad that I never told her how I truly felt. I never told her how grateful I was for keeping my paternal family semi-together. I never told her that I appreciated all my childhood memories in her house and with my grandma.
Maybe I'll see her in paradise.
I shouldn't care about genealogic matters but deep down inside I feel like half of me is inexistent. In ancient societies it was very important to know who you were, nowadays it doesn't matter. My only relief is that this system is coming to an end and in paradise I may be able to get some answers.
Until that day I comes, I have to sit in this class listen to my professor talk about something that I neither believe or have an interest on...
PS: Two people think that I was writing about Bunny. But I'm not so if you got to this sentence thinking that I would, then you're a NOOB!!!
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