"These aren’t my bubbles."

The days pass by in a blur and lately I’ve felt unconcerned. I suppose that means I’ve finally come to terms to the way things are as simply a means to an end, however uncertain that end may be. Fuck, at least I’m getting somewhere as opposed to only lamenting the hardships of journey.

—–

I noticed that David left our tiny sewing kit in the bathroom the other day. The little red box is filled with spools of a variety of colors, needles and the like.

It occurred to me that I should learn to sew. And I only want to because my grandma was an expert. Any little alteration, or any tiny tear or loose button, I always asked her to solve my clothing dilemmas. I never fully appreciated her skills, and now that she is gone I feel like I did her and myself a grave disservice by never taking the time to have her teach me.

Maybe it was my own pride, my misguided sense of feminism that prevented me from learning any domestic skills from her. The regret is now deep. We could have bonded over countless hours spent threading infinitely tiny needles, hemming skirts and sewing buttons. My eyesight could have dwindled to its current state from activities such as those, and not just from video games and books.

Obviously, I still miss her.

But more than that, I miss the familiarity of home. And Ma was always synonymous with that comfort.

I was thinking just yesterday that I am so thankful for finally moving out of the house again. And though I miss some members of my family, it is much better for me and mine if I am away. I grew up very different. I have different morals, different takes on life, than most of my family. Opening my mouth and spewing out my ideas is likely to get me ostracized.

This may seem like a strange avenue to follow after mentioning how much I miss my grandma. I love her, and I always will, but I could never be like her. And moving away from Carson was one way for me to be certain that I wouldn’t spend my whole life there, convincing myself that I wanted what everyone else desired.

Getting away from home is a must. You’re a schmuck to remain living in one place forever. Vacations just don’t cut it. Other than financially, I can’t accept any other good reason for staying home.

My brother came up for a visit last weekend, and I was overjoyed to find that he liked San Francisco enough to consider moving up here. Surely, I’ll have a hell of a time helping him out if he ever does move, but the mere idea of my little brother finally branching out from hearth and home excites me. More than anyone, I want to see him grow up and grow strong. I want him to be as thrilled by Life as a whole as I am. I sometimes doubt that he and I will ever see eye-to-eye on certain things, but I want him to have a bigger taste of Life.

I sometimes hate his plans for life. Get a job, find a girl, have kids. I can see the simple purity in his desires, but I can’t comprehend why those should be the be-all-end-all.

It seems I’ll be the first Cabrera kid, and maybe the last, to break away from that typical societal mold.

A small part of me really hopes I’ll do them proud.

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