To forgetting my family (Part 1)

I remember what family feels like, fleetingly and then I forget again.

My family is only 160 miles away, yet I never yearn to see them. I can only remember the 7 year old me trying to bye my mom away on the first day of school, while other students were reluctant to let their moms go. I was happy I could temporarily leave home for National Service. And I was absolutely thrilled to leave home forever when I enrolled to college. And now I am here, alone at my work desk, trying to remember and to forget.

I am certain that I don't hate my family, maybe one of them, but that's an entirely different story. Hence, I chuckle whenever people say I am the baby of the family just because I am the youngest. The irony is rich in that one.

I talk to my parents at least once a month, by text, to inform them that I send some money. If there was a birthday, then maybe twice, by text. I do not call them. I don't call people in general, and my parents are people, so by that logic, it's only relevant. I also can go months and months not talking to my siblings. They don't really add values in my life, it seems.

I try to think of the reasons why and I've got three clues:

1) I have a fear of attachment.
2) I am a self-centered bitch.
3) They are the self-centered bitches.

I own my issues, though. I am mostly a humanist, so I believe that people, first and foremost, should point their finger to themselves in everything they do. Exploring self, understanding and misunderstanding self in a continuous manner, and then decide if you want to change. If you do not or if you do, that's entirely up to you. Sounds exhausting but blaming other people isn't going to bring me anywhere.

Years of contemplation later, I come to a conclusion that I am a self-centered bitch who would rather live with familial amnesia.