Winging It

Sometimes I forget that we’re all just winging it. We’re all just doing the best we can to survive. Things work out better for some people than others, easier for some than others due to certain factors that mostly come down to luck. Birth lottery. Genetic lottery. Things beyond our control. Then we try to make the best of what we’ve got. But we’re really just winging it.

My parents did everything they thought was best for us. Things didn’t always work out but they must’ve done certain things right: we turned out okay. Sadly they didn’t win the marriage lottery. My parents belonged to the group of parents who stay together for the kids (even though they hated each other’s guts.) They thought they were doing us a favour. It might work for my brothers because they didn’t live with them all the time like I did, but it didn’t work for me. It messed me up without them ever realizing it. But I forgive them. I have to. I realize they were just winging it.

I really don’t know what I’m doing most of the time. I certainly didn’t know what I was doing back where I come from. I seemed to have done everything wrong. I didn’t walk right, wasn’t religious enough, was too much of a leftist, was ugly, was too fat, didn’t socialize enough, was too much of a tomboy, was too clumsy to be sporty, and the list went on and on. My only grace was that I was book smart. Book smart, street stupid, to quote Sarah Slean. I was always good enough for my mom but such a disappointment to my dad because I was different: I was nothing like any of his friends’ daughters and he couldn’t accept it.

I was just doing what I thought was best for myself when I moved halfway around the world to be as far away as I could from my dad after my mom passed away. Had I stayed, I would’ve ended up killing myself. I was doing him a favour, too: he had never had to bury a child. I hope that before he passed away, that point of view ever crossed his mind, and that at least for one small moment, he realized that just like him, who married another woman only months after my mom’s passing, I wanted to be happy. That just like him, I was just winging it through this life.

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