For anyone asking me to elaborate on my personality:
First of all I'd like to say that trying to write a good explanation of my past is quite hard for me to do, so sorry for this all seems rather cluttered/hard to read.
To start off with, I firmly believe that one of the reasons I am who I am is my father. Growing up I remember getting a lot of "negative feedback" from him. Even to this day he gets angry with me for the smallest things, like wearing my socks indoors, leaving the light on in my bedroom, forgetting to fix my bed, not folding the wash towel correctly, things my brothers do, etc. Even if I tried to fix one thing he would something else to insult me and my intelligence about later. As a result I don't speak to my dad unless I have to.
However I thought that if I couldn't make my father proud through these small tasks I could do it through someother means. I have varying interests including basketball, soccer, drawing, guitar, and a 4.2 GPA. Even with all these things it seems like my dad tries his best to seem disinterested and even the few times he says "good job" he justs goes back to what he was doing and it seems like he doesn't really care.
This doesn't usually end up translating well to school. I usually end up keeping to myself a lot. People in a few of my classes have even claimed to have never heard my voice. I think I end up over analyzing social situations and worrying about what other people think. Because of this it is very difficult for me to start conversations and even something like another person not saying anything when I greet them ends up with me reviewing what happened over and over to figure out what went "wrong." I subconsiouly do this for a lot of my interactions and I truly wish it would go away.
At home it's not much different. I mostly just use my laptop or my PS3 for fun. I don't invite my friends over because I'm afraid that if they find about some of my interests (anime, manga, some games that I own, etc.) they wouldn't want to be friends anymore.
As for my mother I wrote a personal narrative regarding her for English class. I'd spoiler tag it but my HTML is not well-formed.
As the mid-summer sun rises, it brings with it my own call of duty. Most July days would be spent watching TV in boredom or pondering what I would receive for my birthday. However, this year my mother is decaying from cancer and a dreadfully nauseating treatment. I am put in charge of giving her the medicine necessary to counter act the side-effects of chemotherapy, preparing some of her food, helping her move around the house, and gathering some of her worldly items. The process of assistance that had been going on for weeks was broken up by expressions of gratitude (accompanied by my own acknowledgment), trips to the hospital, conversations, and loneliness.
The day was routine, in a way. I aided her in making breakfast: bread with butter, a porridge-like mixture, and tea. Due to her now weakened legs and lungs my mother now relied on a roller, oxygen tanks, lengthy tubes, and myself to move about the house. Luckily, we were not intruded upon by over zealous pseudo-preachers. Their "help" was worthless and even their shear presence bothered me. Alas, we are practically alone. After finishing her porridge and tea along with taking a few bites, I help her back to the couch for rest. I reflect over the days.
Initially, I remember the time that my father called the whole family to the table only a few days prior, just to scold my mother for not eating enough. My entire was going toward one thought: this was not justice. I summoned my will and spoke.
"Mommy is clearing trying her best."
His gaze broke away from her. "I know, Jonathan. But, I want her to know what is best."
The next morning she patted me on the back. "Good job, Jonathan. I know you'll be there to protect me." She smiles. I force myself to do the same.
I try to keep my mind at ease during my break, but memories flood themselves inside. I give in and reflect on the past few weeks: reading off numbers for calling cards that were used to contact relatives from Kenya. Tracking down misplaced luggage's that my other family gave up on. Calling my father to help my weeping mother to the hospital (we later found that the incredible pain was due to a tumor pressing up against her pelvis). Whenever she is within the hospital, our father pushes us to call her every night. Due to the fact that I don't always know what she is going through within the hospital and her mood, I am very anxious and nervous. My doubts are put to rest as she is always pleasant and even a tad bit happy. I remember one phone call in particular where she repeatedly assured me of how proud she was of me. This time I am the one to show gratitude.
Going back to the day on which we start, my father returns home and calls the family to the table. The whole day I question if my deeds of this summer were done out of love or redemption. As my mother and I leave for the dining, she thanks me for all I have done and apologizes for any impatience she had. The closer I come to the table, the closer I come to answering a previous inquiry.
The same fear that I had the day that I learned of my mother's illness (almost a year ago) hexes me.
The cancer had spread throughout her entire body. My mother was doomed.
That day I cried just as I did the day almost a year ago. Except this time, I do not retreat to the bathroom.
"Don't cry Jonathan," my mother whispered. "You must be strong." I instantly come to a revelation: my mother was the most self-less person I knew. Even as she was dying, all she worried about was how well I did in life, and for me to help my brothers.
That night I acted again on my father's suggestion. That night I again begged the Almighty for my mother's life and health. I tried to be as sincere as possible. Unfortunately, this remained and will remain the last time I spoke to Him.
My mother was sent to a hospital the next day. I visited her while she was there. Her condition was terrible and I could only wave. I later found that she would spend most of her time simply muttering to herself, seemingly unaware of her surroundings. I hated this. Seeing my mother broken down was nothing short of injustice.
She died days later. The following days were hardly mentionable. However it wasn't until that funeral day that I noticed how much some of her parting words meant to me.
"I am proud of you, Jonah."
Up until that point, I had considered all the interests that I'd taken part in (guitar playing, art, academics, and somewhat even basketball and skateboarding) were just for the sake of wanting to impress people and have them believe that I was worth something. But, on that day I began to see that these aspirations of mine could bring others happiness and pride. And by doing so I would be able to connect with others in a meaningful way. My mother was one of the few people that I was able to attain such a relationship.
Or at least, that's what I would like to believe.
Tbh, I think I'll give this post to the counselor once I do go talk to him.
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