I don't know how to label this, so feel free to simply ignore it.
It's rare for me to write something serious about my life here.

I guess...a lot of things have been happening lately regarding about some personal family events and the bottle has reached it's brim.

I maybe the youngest child in the family but I'm not completely ignorant, and certainly not oblivious (although some may beg to differ, truth be told, that is simply my mask. I hate wearing it, but I'm not the type to burden those around me with my own troubles).

Not so long ago this month, was my the funeral of my grandmother (from my father's side). There is now only one grandparent left in my family.

I was never a good grandson. Despite the fact that my family and I live in the UK, while all my blood relatives lived in china, I never really did visit them much.

Grandmother had a nice going away to say the least...or so I've been told by both my brother and sister. I'd like to say I didn't go because I was too busy at university, but to be honest, using such an excuse would most likely make a lot of people vomit. Quite frankly, I'm disgusted with myself. If if it's of any kind of redemption/respect/condolence, I've been wearing black ever since I was told about her passing away.

I feel more terrible with the fact that such an event has perhaps rebuilt a bridge that had long been broken between my father (who I haven't talked to for almost ten years) and myself.
I was young when he left my mother with barely anything but out of it, however since he left, things had settled smoothly. My mother raised three fine children on her own:
My sister, an intelligent artistic university graduate who is married to someone who I'm more than proud to call my brother-in-law.
My brother, whom also graduated from university. A passionate, cheerful and reliable brother whom I owe so much too.
Myself, a science student, studying at university.
Not many single parent's can proudly accomplish that.

My father wasn't the best role model, however, he is my father. I remember all the bad times and all the stupid things he's done, but it wasn't as if it all happened simultaneously. In between, there were good times. Few and little, but they were undeniably good times.

I hated the things he had done to break our family. Ten years...he had left us alone for ten years since the devoice. I feel incredibly ambivalent about all this. Perhaps grandmother's death was a sign that I should stop fulling the rage and hate against my father, give him another chance to reunite with his children. Deep down, I think I've already forgiven him...and ten years without a father has been...a little lonely.

Grandmother can't die again. If this is somehow her final wish, the least I can do is honour it. Doesn't everyone deserve forgiveness?
If I'm still considered a naive fool even without my mask, then so be it. At least I'm not living in the past, never walking any path laid before me.