Most human lives are like unfinished stories; most of us die before we can even make sense of our lives and often way before completing any sort of journey.
It's been over a year now since my uncle came to stay with us. He stayed until early December of last year and then decided to go back home. I barely remember the time he spent with us, to be completely honest, and yet I was spending most of my time at home with him. Granted, the language barrier meant that our conversations were limited to things like: "hi, how are you", "are you hungry" or "would you like to go outside for a walk"... He liked to stay in his room a lot, watching TV or reading newspapers in his own language. The cat liked him, or perhaps he was just 'tolerating' the stranger in his home.
But then the call of the bottle was too strong, I guess. My uncle missed being able to drink till he'd collapse in a torpor on a bench somewhere, drowning his lifetime sorrows away with the help of cheap wine, vodka or cider.
To me, he was always nice and I remember him more as a quiet, elusive man whose face has aged too fast. To his children, however, he's seen as a useless drunk who was never able to look after them, or himself for that matter.
Who's to blame? Is there anyone to blame? Yes. Family.
Parents have an extraordinary power over the lives of their children in the sense that they can really make or break them. Forget the pain and hardship that comes from the outside world as we grow up... if within the family unit things are wrong and destructive then there seems to exist only two ways forward: complete destruction of a person in the bud, or the making of a great strength of character - but the latter is sadly not that common.
The strange thing about my family is that the destruction seems to have only affected the men rather than the women. My two uncles are as lost and wasted as can be. And then they passed that on to their own sons...
My grand-father was mostly listless most of his life. He spent his life working hard and drinking away his meagre wage while having 5 kids to look after and a housewife who only loved her sons and psychologically tortured her daughters, especially my mother.
I've only ever met 3 of my cousins, yet I have more than 10 in total. The two girls are sorting themselves out and making something of their lives at least, the boy is just as lost as the uncles. I hear that one cousin I never met is now in prison over some drunken fight in a bar.
Of course all I can write about is based on what I gather for myself, limited to my own perception. I never lived with them. I did spend a few summers at one of my aunts' place, but that's it. I met my grand-parents perhaps 5 times in total.
I'm pretty sure we're all born with a certain bundle of traits, characteristics and innate qualities or flaws, but it is ultimately the environment that dictates who we are and what we'll become.
The biggest illusion is to think we're here for a reason. We're the ones giving and shaping reasons for being here every day we get to live. And that's why most human lives are often just like unfinished stories.
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