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Sometimes it’s fine. It’s the way it is, reminiscent of a child who falls and simply rolls back onto their feet. Perhaps there’s laughter, or more likely just content mobility. Other times it’s not so easy, and a few of those times are nauseating, vomit-inducing. I’ve managed to keep myself from physically hurling, but that feeling sometimes blankets whatever mood I’m in. I’m grateful that it’s rare.

1. Culture. I don’t feel I belong to one, or a few, or any at all. Physically, I appear to be… something. Other people haven’t been able to tell me what they estimate without becoming somewhat insulting–the most frequented question I’ve been asked by strangers throughout my life thus far has not been, “What’s your name?” but, “What are you?” While growing up, it was constant. During my adult life, it’s been less frequent, but I have had a few people speak to me in the campus hallways and ask, “Hey, I’ve seen you around, and I’ve been wondering… What are you?” Quite literally.

I myself can’t truly say because I don’t know–my parents never really talked about it, not to mention that my father has said some racist nonsense about black people even though on my mother’s side it’s clear that there’s a lot of African-American background. Also mix in the fact that my mother either remains quiet on the subject, or she suggests that she’s ashamed of whatever percentage of her happens to be African–if any… I truly don’t know. All I know is that my father appears to be white… or according to someone close to me, “middle-eastern”… or something? Again, I don’t know. My mother appears to be… well, what is she? Once again… I honestly don’t know.

They refused to speak about heritage. Personally, I’ve enjoyed my life thus far, and growing up in Southern California, surrounded by a rainbow of different cultures and skin-tones, I’ve honestly never viewed culture or race as very important in my own personal experiences. I get along just fine.

That’s the first thing regarding… whatever it is that this is.

2. One thing leads to another, and it turns out my father was also a child-molesting pedophile who apparently harmed many little girls. That, and the fact that my mother remained loyal to him–to the point of actively going against my siblings and I–put quite a few pieces of debris in the cogs of the machine. Although it never truly ended, I can say there’ve been progressions towards a point where I really haven’t had many interpersonal relationships in regards to blood relatives. I have friends, I’ve had romances, and things in those departments are wonderful. But when it comes to blood-relations, I don’t have much, if any. It’s just part of the domino effect.

Briefly, I’ll suggest some other topics that have come up in regards to romances I’ve had:

“Hey, kids?”

“Uhm… What’s the relationship with the grandparents?”

“Ah, yes. Uhm… Well, our children probably won’t have reliable grandparents.”

“…”

Those conversations happen in almost every close relationship I’ve ever had, including my current relationship… and it rarely ends with good news. Which is another reason I would urge you: Please don’t sexually abuse any one of however many children you have. If you don’t have morals and you just don’t care, that’s fine… but at least try to be consistently selfish and think about how much wonderful joy you’re giving up by ending any potential relationship with grandchildren before you destroy it all with nasty… disrespectful… molestations. ^__^ I’m sure your children/grandchildren will appreciate that.

To most of you, the above statement is a joke. And it is. Or at least… it should be, from my perspective.

But it happens. Just one child is abused, and that trust goes away–or at least in my case, I certainly cannot trust my parents with children. Which truly is a sad thing, but sadly, is also a true thing.

So, that’s the second thing.

3. The overall effects.

There’s not much to say here, but if I am to follow the prompt–which includes writing about what you’ve lost, either something or someone–then this part is the result.

The result is a life that is just fine. My siblings and I are all doing well. We don’t have reliable relations with much family other than each other, and we all have had fantastic romantic relationships as well as many wonderful friendships. It is what it is, and usually the truth is simple to handle because it’s simply real. Other times, it’s difficult, not because of what I don’t have, but because I remember what it was like at one point to have it. It’s like that which has been giveth has also been taketh, and it is what it is.

I’m in a good mood. This sometimes happens.

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