Tag Archive | my brother

Value of You

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The above image appeared in my Facebook feed today. Normally I’d just nod and click to share the post, but today it really got me thinking.

How can you tell the difference between a guy (or anyone, really) who values you, and one who just likes you?

To begin, I think you have to place a value on yourself. What do you believe you’re worth? Think of anything, think of everything. Are you worth living in a mansion or are you worth living in a run-down studio apartment? Are you worth having a clean microwave to cook your food?

You shouldn’t settle for less than that, but you should also be worth the effort it takes to have that. So for the microwave example, if you can’t clean that microwave, you’re not worth having a clean microwave.

Do you know why wealthy men have gorgeous wives? Because the guy believes his worth is to have a gorgeous wife. He worked hard for his money, so he earned her. What is her worth? A man who can afford her lifestyle, because she works hard to be beautiful. His money can go to her outward appearance. The value she placed on herself is such that she believes she deserves a wealthy husband. That’s a completely superficial example, and I hope that if you’re one of my dear readers, your worth is something more valuable than just appearances and money.

Back to the original quote. I thought about my friend from Japan when I pondered the quote’s meaning. Does he value me or does he just like me?

There are days when I think he doesn’t like me, that I’ve said or done something I can’t come back from. But then he writes back, and I think he must like something about me.

But does he value me?

I can’t tell you how many dead horses and broken records there are in our e-mail conversations. If I mention an incident that happened while staying with a friend, he immediately suggests that I should move in with my brother or another close family member. I remind him that it’s not even feasible to do so. If I talk about the job search and my need for money (still not asking him for money), he suggests that I ask family members for any assistance.

Personally, my patience might wear thin if I kept telling someone over and over again what they should do. I don’t know how he puts up with me sometimes.

I can’t move in with my brother because he’s a toxic narcissist. I don’t mean that in the sense that he kisses mirrors because he’s so beautiful. With him, it’s about being seen as the best. If you were exhausted after working 40 hours, you have nothing on him because he worked 50 hours doing back-breaking work. If you won an award, he undermines your achievement and acts like it was undeserved, but if he wins an award, you have to praise him for it because he put a lot into winning. After Mom passed, he bought a car, and I was supposed to be in awe at this expensive sports car that he had to have. I shrugged and acknowledged that he bought a purple car, because that’s all it meant to me. I wasn’t trying to be difficult, it just didn’t matter to me, but that was the wrong reaction.

If I had to determine my value based on who or what kind of person I chose to live with, I am worth more than living with my brother based on his personality. I am worth more than someone who wants to make me feel like I’m less than they are. I am worth being treated as an equal.

But if I had to analyze my Japanese friend’s intentions, it would be to hold on to my friendships.

Living here has had its tense moments, due in part to differences in personality between myself and the friend I’m staying with. A little over a week ago, I was ready to throw in the towel, but I knew I didn’t have any better options for a living space. Even as a bitter moment faded back to calmer attitudes, I was still agitated. But why? Well, my friend wants me off of her sofa, and out of her house. But to do that, I need to have a stable income. To get that income, I need to find a job, and I need the internet going to my computer to do job searches. So after she took the wireless internet away from everyone (but herself) and then returned it, she returned only the internet going to my computer. I’m still livid about that, because I can’t afford to have my cell phone bill incur any charges for going over my data allowance. But if I want that, and don’t want her to keep shutting off my internet, I could always move out.

My friend deserves to keep someone here who isn’t freeloading, but at the moment, I’m doing the best I can.

But does she value me?

She doesn’t like me. She’s trying to get rid of me so she doesn’t have to deal with my puns and other lame jokes and one-liners that come to mind. Actually, while I do understand that she’s bothered by that part of my sense of humor, I don’t really think that she doesn’t like me. And if she didn’t place any value on me, she would have been more forceful about kicking me to the curb, I’m sure. No, I believe that she knows I’m capable of more, that I’m worth having a job and that an employer somewhere needs to find me and see how awesome I really am. That’s why she’s been limiting my access to entertainment (because I can’t watch YouTube on the television if my Playstation 4 doesn’t have internet), so that I’m more focused on searching for a job.

It might be weird, but I’m actually more focused on working if there’s something of interest playing on the TV, or at least I’m calmer. That’s a story for another day.

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Admittedly, that’s my favorite e-mail yet, second only to maybe the Valentine’s Day message. It was a Friday night, after a long day of running errands and dealing with so many things. It had also been two days since his previous message to me. It was almost 1 in the morning my time, so it was about 2 in the afternoon on a Saturday for him. I sent him a quick message to try and get his attention, just in case he could jump on something to make a VoIP-based call of some sort but otherwise to tell him that I had to tell him about my day. That’s what he wrote back to me. I should have gone to sleep at that point, instead of writing back to say I was awake or even typing up my full message, but I figured I would forget some of the details that I thought were important.

If he liked me, he would have called.

But he doesn’t like me.

Because he values me. He wants me to live a healthier lifestyle. He wants my friendships to thrive. He wants my family members to care about me, and to take care of me because I’m a sister, a niece, a cousin. And okay, he does like me.

So if I had to smack someone upside the head with the knowledge of whether someone likes them or values them, I would ask questions until it became obvious. I’ve been liked by guys in the past. It’s fun, it feels nice, but there’s no challenge. Now I feel like a guy values me. Now I have to figure out what I’m worth. I have to figure out how much value I’m placing on the guy.

And you know what?

I’m worth a job that pays no less than $12 an hour. I’m worth a job that makes use of my customer service skills, my computer skills, my Associates degree.

I’m worth a decent shelter. A simple apartment that’s in good shape is enough for me.

I’m worth more than a brick of wavy ramen for meals. I’m worth a processed meat patty, at least. I’m definitely worth a greater variety of flavors than “chicken, beef, shrimp, and oriental.”

I’m worth first-hand clothing. I’m worth my skirts and dresses as much as I’m worth my t-shirts and jeans. I’m worth the fancy occasions and professional atmosphere that would require skirts and dresses, just as much as I’m worth the opportunity to be laid back and relaxed in my t-shirts and jeans.

I’m worth being valued.

And yet, I’m still worth so much more.

 

Missing Persons

And so we close out the month of May on an introspective note.

I had a family get-together on Sunday. Leading up to that, I had to consider what I wanted to bring for food, what I might wear, what I would discuss with my extended family, and what I would do if my brother showed up.

I made a macaroni salad, which in my case isn’t quite like anything you could get from the supermarket. I mixed everything together; a pound box of pasta, a can of tuna, some frozen sweet peas, a few hard-boiled eggs, and my secret condiment combination. When I tasted it once everything was mixed together, it didn’t taste right. Something was missing.

Mom. Mom was missing. The macaroni salad was fine.

I thought about how Mom would have been stressed while getting ready to leave for the get-together. Then again, I’m not sure if her mood could be described as stressed. Dad would have one of two moods: either he would sigh and say, “you know your mother gets like this when we get together with the family,” or he would be angry and firmly tell me not to upset Mom any further. But Mom would usually look for certain things on the day of the get-together, not have them ready to go beforehand. Things had to be “just so,” even though she wasn’t a perfectionist, but she did have a certain way of doing things.

I rolled out of bed, if you want to call it rolling and you want to call the couch a bed, and had a bit of a stiff back from how I slept. I took a hot shower, trying to relieve the stiffness of the muscles in my lower back. I found my shirt that has an American flag design printed on an electric guitar and wore that with a pair of jeans and my leather Ren faire boots. I really didn’t leave until the get-together was supposed to start, mainly because punctuality wasn’t as important as being there.

I walked in and was greeted by relatives who seemed surprised to see me, but some of them hadn’t seen me in over a year. I had been asked if I had spoken to my brother, to which I honestly replied that I haven’t spoken to him since Easter when I left his place crying after an argument. One of my cousins, the hostess of the party, mentioned an incident involving some photos being given to my brother, and my brother removing family members from Facebook in return. I vaguely remembered him telling me his side of things, and all I can say is that there was a misunderstanding.

I sat down and ate my plate of food while talking with other family members about life and such. The more I thought about my brother’s reactions to things, the more I realized that he wouldn’t be coming, that I wouldn’t see him at all. And he never did show up.

I needed a moment of zen, so I went back to my car and took out one of two kites I had in my backseat. I managed to get some wind, and had the kite up in the air a couple of times before the line knotted up as I was reeling it in after the kite came down. I sat down at a picnic table to fix the knot, but this picnic table was away from most of the people and close to the river that ran near the house. It was a nice day, only partially cloudy and not too cold outside, and the view near the river was quite peaceful and lovely. So I stopped flying the kite for a little while, and enjoyed the scenery. That, and another cousin’s daughter was quickly becoming a spectacle in a canoe, and a few of us were watching her to see if she would make it back to shore. I managed another flight of the kite as I headed back towards the house, but yet another cousin started singing a song lyric that went something like, “what goes up, must come down” and my kite inevitably landed in the bushes that time.

As I was packing the kite into its box, I had a few people talk to me about the kite and watching me fly it. It made me feel a little better, not that I was looking for attention from flying the kite. I just never had the opportunity to fly the kite since I bought it, so it was nice that it wasn’t too complicated (it is a little more advanced than the plastic kites I grew up using) and I didn’t get frustrated as a result. But it was easier to talk about a kite with my family than some of my other interests, and I wasn’t talking about my brother either.

So what is it with my brother? Well, he’s adopted. (Mom: “He’s still your brother!”) I know, I know. But a lot of things factor into his personality, and I think that’s one of the major things.

You see, his adoption has been on his mind a lot, especially since Mom passed. He actually mentioned to me that his records are apparently locked even to him, and while I knew his records were locked, I never thought about who could and couldn’t access them. When I thought about him saying that, it said to me that he was actually looking for his birth mother, that he probably had questions and was trying to understand his origins.

After Easter, something on Facebook prompted me to look up “toxic narcissism.” Sadly, everything I was reading was describing my brother. One part of it basically said that it came from issues with his mother, and maybe I’m being nice to my own birth mother by pointing the finger at his birth mother.

Think about it, though: he probably feels abandoned by his birth mother, unwanted, unloved. Maybe he resents her, I don’t know. I want to think that she didn’t want to get pregnant in the first place, that maybe something about her situation wouldn’t have allowed for her to care for a child at that time. She didn’t get an abortion, and maybe she could have, or maybe she didn’t realize she was pregnant until it was too late to abort. Maybe she assumed she wasn’t going to become pregnant.

Regardless, she did give birth to him, and then put him up for adoption sometime after that. I don’t know how soon after, maybe she tried to raise him but realized a month later that babies are too much work. Whatever happened, she figured that someone else might be able to raise him better than she could, and she wanted him to have a life that she couldn’t give to him.

But I can’t tell that to my brother. We don’t have the warm and fuzzy relationship between us, so I can’t be all heartwarming around him.

He is quick to anger, and not really one to look at more than his side of an argument. So that misunderstanding over photographs? He probably won’t try to understand that the family meant nothing by it, and if they really didn’t want to look at our faces, the photos could have gone in the garbage.

The family enjoyed seeing my face this weekend, and it was nice to let everyone know what I was doing with my life. They don’t know everything, but they didn’t seem too concerned for me, so I’ll just let them be satisfied knowing I’m nearby and doing relatively fine. I can only speak for myself, but that should be enough.

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