This is quickly turning into a situation where I don’t want to write at all… where the inertia not to write at all is starting to take over.
I made this screenshot last week, when I was watching the film Philomena and there is a scene where Philomena has her child taken away from her (by the evil nuns), and last weekend when I was in a historical town in northern China called Jimingyi I talked about how I no longer talk to my parents. We were at a lazy susan and someone went around the table to ask about everyone’s relationship to their parents. When it came to me I wanted to be honest, and so I said that I don’t talk to them anymore. I wonder if this is related to them leaving me with my grandparents.
Coincidentally, the lionizing of my grandma, making her a picture of perfection to me over all of these years, hasn’t helped. It made it feel as if she was my only family. That I only had her no one else. And everybody encouraged this fiction. So much so that when my grandfather died I felt like I had lost a parent, at sixteen.