I'm Not Scared Of You

So my Dad lost it last night. He's been having issues recently with a tooth of his, possibly one that's got some kind of cap on it, I'm not sure. Either way, it fell out last night while he was in his lounge chair and went down the side of the chair. I was in the room when it happened and Dad's first reaction was to try and get the tooth back.

It stayed his only reaction for nearly an hour and a half. He turned the chair upside down and sideways; checked out the bin beside the lounge and then turned the chair upside down again. And then he felt inside the lounge again.

That's not the worst of it. Dad basically got within minutes of ripping apart our lounge chair in search of this tiny, tiny tooth. My brother was at work but Mum and I were recruited into helping - despite me being busy working on an essay I just submitted. At one point I escaped the room to take the garbage out and got caught up taking the neighbour's dog home so that took nearly twenty minutes. I came back to them still looking. Dad was completely losing it, calling himself all kinds of names and basically thinking he's the worst person alive for losing a tooth. It was definitely an overreaction and both Mum and I were upset -Mum at the fact Dad was willing to destroy our lounge chair; me because everyone else was upset and that tends to make me feel the same. I was also upset because some of the things Dad was saying about himself were awful and I just do not like hearing him talk like that. I cannot handle conflict really.

Eventually Mum and I managed to convince Dad to give up, though not with words but with lack of helpful action. We settled back into our places and wouldn't you know it? Dad found the damned tooth an hour later, somewhere in the lounge.

But that's all background. I found out today, from Mum, that Dad thought I was scared of him last night. See, like I said, I can't handle conflict, especially anger. And my answer to conflict is to remove myself from it. I remember a time in high school that I had a fight with a good friend - my only fight with her in memory- and as soon as I realised being angry was making me cry I removed myself from the situation and hid in a bathroom to cry myself out. I do not like to be present when someone is getting angry and I can't help. Especially not my parents.

So removing myself has nothing to do with being scared of the person who is angry but is my natural reaction to someone being angry. Last night I was not scared of Dad, just upset at his reaction.

And I started thinking. And I realised I've never been scared of my Dad. I mean, I've been scared of his reaction in that I feared the consequences he was going to give me for actions I've done but I've never feared for my safety when he's been present- even when angry, I know he won't hurt me though I'm not fond of being yelled at by him. Which is what I think he thinks I was scared of. He's apologised for his actions last night and I tried to make sure he realises I understood and wasn't scared but I don't know if it was clear.

But the idea that he could ever think I feared him is as upsetting a thought as the memory of his overreaction last night was. I don't want him to think I'm scared of him, he's one of the kindest men I know (with some of the worst politics around but no one is perfect) and I know how much he beats himself up over things. But I just do not have the words to reassure him, especially as I'm not sure he knows, I know what he told Mum about thinking I might be scared of him.

It's a bit of a mess really.

It Happened

I'm 21.

I know it shouldn't be a huge deal; it's just another year. But I lived so long believing I wouldn't reach my 18th birthday that to reach my 21st is just beyond comprehension. I don't feel older or different...

But I'm alive. I made it. Go me.

It's also kinda bitter for me that Nana isn't here. While I am...not happy but relieved maybe, that she's not suffering anymore, it had always been a fact of life for me that if I lived to see 21, she would be there for it. She was a fact of life and it's still sinking in that she's not here to be a fact anymore. Even when my parents (and her and Grandma) had said their being here to see this day was unlikely, I'd always figured they were being silly.

Guess they weren't.

Grandma is still here. She wasn't at my birthday dinner as I wasn't subjecting anyone including her to that experience but I did drop in on her today. ...Mostly because she was driving Dad nuts every moment I spent away from her but I did see her. She made it.

Though the rate she's going someone I love will kill her before my brother's 21st. Twenty minutes is not an hour and fifteen calls in a day is not reasonable. Dementia is evil.

But anyway. Today was good and I have enough keys to open any door...well any tiny lock at least.

Walking On Graves

Friday I had lunch with my Grandma as she wasn't coming to my 21st (which she didn't know about) and in exchange for not having her there I'd promised my parents I'd take her out with just me. Because she tends to make scenes when she's in groups eating out and doesn't get enough attention and I was willing to do anything to avoid that at my party.

But before we went to the place I'd picked for lunch, she asked me to stop at the nearby graveyard. It'd been a while since she had gone to this graveyard and she wanted to visit Jack. 

My Granddad. 

I'm sure I've been to his grave. Possibly more than once as it is literally down the road from my surf club. But I don't recall going and as he died when I was five it's not like I remember him. So this was basically my first time seeing it. But first we had to find it which with my Grandma's memory was like trying to find a needle in a bunch of other needles. The only hint I had was that it was facing the other way to most of the other graves as she kept telling me they were all wrong and had been moved.

I found it because I saw my Dad's name on a grave. 

Which, okay logically to be expected. I know my Dad is the third man in his family in a row to have the same first, middle and (of course) last names. I know this. I'm well aware my brother is the first firstborn son to escape having his father's name for generations.

But it's another thing to see your Dad's name on a grave and not be surprised. There wasn't even anything to indicate Granddad was 'the second' of his name. Just Dad's name on the grave, with my Granddad's dates. It was vaguely disconcerting but Grandma (of course) didn't seem to notice. She's used to it. 

I'm not, mostly because I do not know the man who is buried there. I mean, I have a vague memory of him but only that and well, my Dad doesn't talk about his Dad much. Not like Mum with her Dad. So I never got the chance to know about him from stories- only what my Mum tells me and she always talks more of Grandma than Granddad. He's a figure on paper but not real to me like my other grandparents.

Like Dad, whose name it was I saw on that grave. 

Romeo and Juliet

No, not my budgies but apparently my parents? It seems my parent's marriage has more than one version of a Romeo and Juliet story, something I found out today. Minus the dying at the end. There's no dying. Just a bit of feuding.

First, the story I know so well is that my parents come from different religions. Dad's Catholic, Mum is Church of England (so Protestant). Neither are practicing but both have (had) mothers who are more religious than their children. So while neither family disagreed with them getting married, when it came to picking a church for the wedding well... It got complicated. Both mothers refused to set foot in the other's church.

It was solved with a deal, that my parents would marry in my mother's church and christen any kids in my father's. From what I had always heard, this was the biggest issue regarding setting up the wedding and was solved with a minimum of feuding.

But now I found out there was more feuding than this. Completely unrelated but still feuding.

Firstly, some family relations- My mother has 3 brothers, the oldest of whom is my Uncle P. My father has like, a whole bunch of uncles, the one I know most about being my (Great) Uncle T. These are the main players in this feud.

So before the wedding- but after my parents had met, my Uncle T and his brother tried to go into business together. They set it up and needed a loan. This is where my Uncle P came into it. He was a bank manager at the time, in charge of the loan division.

I'm sure you can see where this is going.

Uncle T went to Uncle P's bank. A very weird thing as they didn't live in the same areas. Uncle P refused the loan and well... Uncle T didn't take it well. At all. Especially when he couldn't get a loan from anyone else as he'd been refused at the bank and his business went under, costing him a whole lot of money and his (already bad) relationship with his brother. He wasn't bankrupted but I'm told it was close.

He blamed Uncle P. Loudly. And with threats of suing. Uncle P thought him an idiot and hot head, which he wasn't shy about sharing around. Especially as Uncle P had to step out of his position for a while due to the fuss Uncle T was raising.

When my mother put the pieces together while organising the wedding and realised that hot head her brother was complaining about was the Uncle of her future husband who also wasn't pleased with this nitwit of a banker well... it wasn't a great day. From what I've heard they had to be separated at the wedding so they didn't even see another. Everyone had to keep silent about it (which is why I've not heard about it before my Mum mentioned that my Uncle P ruined my Uncle T today) and we've never had a family thing with both sides of the family there.

So just when I thought I'd heard all of Mum's family history stories, she comes up with this really interesting one! And okay, the Romeo and Juliet comparison is reaching but idk about what other romance story fits.

Well That Was New

I realise I've not posted much on here about the last oh, two or three months of my exchange. In fact I've barely posted anything on it for two main reasons. 1) I was too busy living it and I SUCK at keeping a diary, even an online one; and 2) I've had to think over one of the more major things that happened that I've barely talked about to anyone.

Namely the thing where I basically, kinda, nearly, had a boyfriend.

It's been tough to sort out. Firstly, we were good friends. Very good friends, having lunch every Wednesday. I miss our lunches so so much; they were a major feature of my week. We'd talk for hours on whatever topic we liked usually only leaving because it was dark and I had to walk the twenty minutes or so home. He was definitely one of the two close friends I made on exchange (the fact that the other one was also male has only added to my following confusion).

But I don't know if I actually liked him like that. I know he liked me like that- he pulled me aside (in an overly dramatic fashion on a day we weren't scheduled to see another) to admit that he thought I was hot and if I hadn't been an exchange student, he'd have asked me out. It was a very very nice thing to hear.

At the time, I told him I would have accepted if he had asked me out. It's still true; I would have said yes. I suppose that must mean I do (or did) like him like that but... it's kinda hard. I don't do sexual attraction so there's none of that. He's very cute (if young- about my brother's age!) and I really do like him. But like I said before, I had another male close friend in Exeter and well... there's not much difference in the way I feel about these two guys. Only the second guy lives in Sydney and goes to my uni.

But I never invited the second guy to my room for drinks like I did Exeter guy (nothing happened! Jeez =P) and I didn't cry when I said goodbye... admittedly I was going to see second guy again but I miss this guy more. I know we couldn't work out because he's not willing to do long distance...and neither am I. There's an element of logic in my thoughts that was always there so I'm also kinda wondering if that helped- if knowing that I couldn't do a relationship stopped me even allowing myself to consider the possibility. After all, I didn't even think about romance until he admitted he thought I was hot. Well, I mostly didn't think about romance.

Urgh. I'm confused. There's a major reason I'm not bothered with romance and it's because it's so CONFUSING. If only this was a story and I could write the damned ending!

Also I need to sort through photos. There's so many photos...

Do You Not Know That A Man Is Not Dead While His Name Is Still Spoken?

If you ever asked me who my favourite author is I would um and ah but eventually provide a list. I'm awful at picking one.

One of the top names would be Terry Pratchett.

His books (of which I've read a tiny selection) are my favourites. It was his stories that I decided to take with me overseas knowing that I couldn't go six months without reading them. His style of examining our world through the lens of the fantasy world of the Disc is almost unique and his humour so close to my own. I loved his (co-authored) book Good Omens so much I left a copy at my high school library. He deserves his place as one of my favourite authors. He is an amazing writer.

...And I now realise I've used the wrong tense for much of that paragraph.

I knew it was coming; I knew he was facing death. But it's still been a shock... I thought he had more time... more books, more magic to share. I guess not.

But at least I can read his books and find some comfort in his own worlds- the title of this post.

RIP Terry Pratchett and be sure, your name will be spoken for eternity.

Merry Christmas!

I managed it. My first (and hopefully only) Christmas away from my family and friends- even the ones I've made in Exeter have gone home for the holidays and I refuse to intrude on anyone's holiday. I was going to say alone but I didn't spend the day alone; I walked up to the uni for Christmas lunch and met a load load of nice people wit whom I played games all afternoon (it turns out Buckaroo is ridiculous; Keplunk make me feel like a little kid; and Old Maid has a load of names, so much so that it took us looking up the instructions in three languages to realise what game we all meant).

That's not saying I didn't miss my family. I nearly cried when calling them at 6am their Christmas morning; and only the frustration at my uncle playing silly buggers with his internet during the lunchtime Skype call stopped me even getting that close. Two of my friends here gave me presents so I did have something to unwrap (more than I might have if I'd been home to be honest) and the lunch thing sent me home with a small gift (really a rather large possibly fancy and probably Italian cake).

I came home to listen to Christmas Cabin Pressure (the actual Christmas episode not the finale that just aired) and to have the baked potatoes and chicken I cooked for Christmas dinner. Just so I am actually really stuffed. It's not Christmas if you don't eat too much.

All in all, it's been a good day.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year