It's weird isn't it, how people can go through their entire lives without ever feeling comfortable with themselves. A child ceases to be a child when they realise that the anger of their parents is just as much their own fault as it is the fear that their parents carry taking form, finding voice.
It's usually the Dads who have anger problems. Don't ask me why, that's just how it is. But there's nothing more heart breaking than a Dad screaming at his family: the woman he chained himself to, the children he brought into existence. A cry in the void. The longer the Dad shouts, the larger the vein on his forehead grows, like a bulging, cancerous worm, and curiously he appears to shrink, smaller and smaller as the room grows darker around him until what is left is a very small man in the spotlight of his un-understanding.
My grandmother will die soon. She closes her eyes extremely tightly when she eats almost as if each bite hurts. She has this same expression when she prays. She turns the rosary in her hand and her face scruntches up so intensely as if it was a lemon that God Himself was squeezing.
She hurts herself, my Gran. She hurts herself by taking care of her son that does nothing good for her. When I confront her about it, she just says "that's how it is". Never trust people who say that. It seems to me that all her actions were set in motion a long time ago. They were coded in her soul. But when you inspect the code, it's a ball of bad spaghetti - tangled and boiled together.
I'm afraid of that happening to me. I feel that I have lived enough to get some tangles myself (growth always comes with confusion). But, fortunately, I can sort of see where the threads cross and knot. Whether due to societal or financial pressure, people usually drive on. They bring more of the world into their lives and add more threads.
Tangled-people are usually quite good at deceiving each other, they have so much practice on themselves! But those who have somehow found some peace, I've always found those easy to spot.