For the longest time, I've refrained from talking about my family. What goes on inside, what I've done to them, what they've done to themselves.

People give my this look. When I tell them that my parents are separated, that they sleep in different rooms, that they're on the verge of a divorce, that my cousin left a really painful mark when he left me (us) a few years back, that me and my only sister, the one i expected to stand by my side and understand me the most, chose to give me the silent treatment, that I have disappointed the people who gave me life one too many times because of choices that I believe to be right.

People give me this look... sympathy. I don't need your sympathy, thank you very much. I don't need it around me. Period.

Every family is screwed up in some way, some people coyly smile their way through it as if the surface of the glass ball is smooth. There's a word for that.. in denial.

I love my family, and I am disappointed with myself for once upon a time saying I could ever live without them. No one's is perfect, but you work your way through the imperfections and accomodate each other.

I'm glad. I really am, for the understanding and freedom of growth my parents have given me, for the newly rekindled bond me and my sister have and for the wisdom, strength and endurance my grandparents have shown me.

I think it's very important, appreciation, and I am, fully.