Assessing the Apocalypse #3
Being Loved
Paradox lies at the heart of the human experience. Every little sensation the result of a push/pull dance between molecules, elements, and ideas. Things that taste good are bad for you, exercise promotes health by making you feel like you want to die, needing a vacation from your vacation; the list of examples stretches to infinity!
Today I want to relish in one of the more tender instances of this contradiction smoothie; the wonder, terror, and burden that is being loved by another human being. My recent holiday provided a particularly pungent distillation of this so I’ll start from there.
Last year I wrote a comic essay about my conscious decision to step away the annual family Noche Buena celebration to protect my peace of mind. This year I returned armed with accommodation. On the ride over I anticipated cheeky references to my absence, rehearsed civil, if lightly pointed, ripostes to comments about my weight, dietary restrictions, etc.
Much to my surprise; there wasn’t any of that. It was clear as soon as the hello’s began that I was genuinely missed. And it wasn’t a sanitized, treat the sensitive autistic man with gloves and tongs, sort of nice. It was warm, it was sincere, it was family.
My first emotional impulse of course was to internally inquire about where the FUCK this was when I was growing up? Second step was allowing that frustration to compare notes with life as it was then to what it is now, not only in regards to my kin but myself as well.
Looking inward and indeed at my record of the decision to step away last year, I acknowledge a need to feel safe being who I am that I am no longer willing to compromise on, for better or worse. In my mind there was no way to do what I needed to be me that could mesh with what had been established; oil and water.
While there are no need for specifics in this venue, my family’s been through their shit in the last few years; as we all have. Some of it self-inflicted, some of it wholly undeserved, but shit all the same. This has introduced what I clock as a new form of humility that wasn’t there previously. They’re still the same people, they still say and do the darndest things, but something’s different.
When I walked through my Tia’s house and said hello to my Abuelo, his smile said it all. There was space for me where I hadn’t seen any previously. Whether this was a result of that space being made for me or a shift in perspective on my part that brought it to light is anyone’s guess.
I had a nice time.
My mom really loved that comic when I posted it. So much so that she took all of my poorly sized panels had some “books” printed through Shutterstock, much to my mortification. No disrespect to anyone who has, but I’ve got a mental/emotional thing against self-publishing, we can get into that some other time. But I didn’t stop her from doing so because of the same reason I don’t hide her somewhat cheesy, emphatic, comments of support on Facebook. I’m grateful they’re there, even if they’re grating.
On a recent visit, my Grandfather had apparently picked up her copy of the “book” off her coffee table during a visit and read it without realizing I had written it. When he sung it’s praises to her she told him which moved him quite deeply.
Fast forward to Noche Buena 2023 and the time comes for gifts. I sit at a large table surrounded by people which I’ve just recently made spiritual peace with. My Mom hands Abuelo his gift. Its shape is…familiar.
My Grandfather then unwraps the bootleg graphic treatise about our family I wrote and illustrated in front of them all. A large “author’s portrait” of yours truly smack on the back.
I give “Being Loved” a score of 3 Trips Outside to Hit the Penjamin out of 5
Read the last review here!