So you ponder about everything in your life and most importantly, the bane of your existence. Once in awhile I have meaningful thoughts but I'm stupid enough to bring my notebook out without stationary. Memories get lost if they are not recorded be it by a photograph, someone else's mind space or written in a journal. Just like thoughts, they are gone forever if neither shared nor expressed. We don't remember everything because we want to forget.

Family is a weird thing really. Forgive me if that makes it sound as if my father raised an ingrate. Living in the same home you share cups, space, the remote, you drink from the same rusty kettle and sometimes the carton of milk that was drunk directly from due to true blue laziness that perhaps runs in the family. The blood running through your veins scream for a pure kind of bond that was not chosen or bought by you yet it matters. The lives you lead or crave to live differ like rice and noodle, fruits and vegetables, candies and chocolates (sorry about the diction, i am a little hungry). The proximity of you and your family beings is in fact so close, so similar yet it parts deeper than anything you can imagine. So who are you really and what are you here to do for them?

Then of course there's the extended family you'd never understand but because they are cousins, you feel a natural sense of closeness, a sudden lack of need to be overly courteous. You skip small talk regardless of how minimal you know about each other's lives. Sometimes they ask the same questions but it doesn't annoy neither does it come across as awkward.

To me the power of family is incomprehensible and God given.

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