My grandfather? Dementia? ---what a diagnostic, quite ironic actually. The smartest one in our family, fastest mathematician I’ve ever seen, the only handicapped person I know who has built such a successful career despite his disability.
But right there, watching him laid down on bed, talking about the most ridiculous topics while only four of us listened, was just depressing. By doctor’s recommendation, we asked questions about his life to measure how much he remembered. He didn’t mention the time he got a recognition from George Bush, or maybe the time the Chinese Immigrant Association gave him the citizenship award. All he could talk about was this lovely afternoon in Paracas, trying to catch a fish with his brothers. The realization I got after leaving my grandfather’s house was not that the simplest moments are the most important ones, I already knew that. It was the realization of completely underestimating the power of relationships and friendships, that stayed with me. My life’s always been about getting the work done, being personally fulfilled and creating a meaningful working trajectory. Relationships surged from working in these projects; it has always been secondary. But being there with my father, sitting at the corner of grandpa’s bed, holding his hand while he went on and on about the fishing scandal, left me with a feeling of emptiness. Because deep down, I knew that if I’d be the one in his state, I wouldn’t be able to name one person that I knew for sure would show up. And it’s funny, because the problem isn’t that I lack friends. I have plenty of friends, but I don’t have any real “friends”. Those people who’ll be there for me regardless of the circumstances. I’ve always put work first, I’ve never prioritized the friendship piece of fulfilment. For quite a while now, I’ve been trying to convince myself that there’s no one I’ve met till this point, who’d really be a good fit for me. Or maybe I have, but didn’t think the feeling was mutual. We share the same interests, we have the same personality, we’re both trustful and loyal, yet why would she want me as her “close friend”? She could have anybody else: the most popular kid, the soccer top goal scorer, the class clown, the fashionista, whoever. Why would she pick me, the workaholic? With these insecurities also comes that feeling that I can’t quite put into words. A mix of lacking control and emptiness. When I work, I’m good at controlling the outcomes; I’m positive things will work right if I put my whole into them. But not with friendships. I’m terribly afraid to give my all and to fail, to be rejected. To expose myself, to be vulnerable and to receive nothing in return. I want and need to know that my family won’t be the only ones standing besides me if I get diagnosed with dementia tomorrow. I have to start giving friendship more credit than what I’ve been giving it. But for that to happen, I’ve got to take a leap and expose myself and just give it a try, because I’d honestly rather be rejected than to later regret never trying hard enough.
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One could say that being the coordinator and leader of the Global Ambassador Program messed up my life. Why? Too many tasks to perform at the same time, it requires my full attention. Too many people relying on my effort, the pressure is on me. Even when I don’t feel like working, I have to--for them. It’s a full time job, but I can’t complain. I’m the one who gave birth to it; It’s my job to nurture and fight for it When I became a mother, I wasn’t aware of the responsibilities taking care of my baby would bring.
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