Confessions [Of An Uncle]

I am proud. I am uncertain.

I am not sure of my accomplishments, self-set goals or anything for that matter-of-fact, but there must be something right that I’ve done somewhere. I looked at them, at different segments of timeframe, and wondered whether I had been one good…

Uncle; there I said it. Initially, I couldn’t come to terms with it, finding the termology and name-calling awkward, old-fashioned, and way out of hand since I am still of a considerable young ripe age and hip [Hey!]. I still find it awkward that I have the 3 of them around, as though subconsciously, I had became the father of three children. I thought, then twittered before, and now I shall say it again – in my mind, I already have 3 children. But I puzzle if there is ever such a quiz, rating or voting system, how would I fair?

I can’t help wondering, worrying, can I? I guess I am the worrying kind, afterall, and afraid that it is true about me.

When she came about and said she did not know what to do [here, in this household of no toys but lingering memories, only for that probably one in twenty-four], what was I supposed to say? How was I supposed to answer? I hope that I had not sound crossed; frustrated with passing times and myself. Recalling back, I thought I sounded desperate, as though I was in need of an answer of a question that I am asking myself. Was I sighing as a manner of answering the almost impossible question? I tried to answer it in a rationale manner, but who am I to give life teachings and to tell others to follow their dreams when there I sat, in a room pondering over what is life and what is to become of me next?

I remembered a time I told her to try her best not to forget me, us; afterall, we were there while she grew. Maybe I should have not said that; it seemed to reflect a huge part of insecurity on myself. It could be the fear of karma biting back at my ass, with how separate I have grew of relatives, except those who bears some form of good memory of – I even have the indecency of calling one mother-daughter group by the stereotyped similar categorization of sluts and whores. Or maybe the fact, fear that I could not recall much of a childhood myself.

She seemed to outgrow me. I reckoned I was never the exciting breed. Maybe I should not be making such statements. I tried to entertain, be the pair of eyes that was needed, but I had my own attention span.

As she continues to grow, I reminded myself to get that ass off the couch, away from the TV set, with MTV switched on or some random shows; not to switch on the laptop till bedtime 22:00 hours; try to appear as human as possible.

And for that part, I shuffled the cards, distributed them between us and wondered whether should I let her win the round or teach her the importance of losing.


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