This distance from my family is just right

In photographs, the child version of me is usually scowling.

People used to say I was a child who didn't smile.
Sometimes they would even ask me why.

I felt that my parents cared more about my siblings than they did about me.

I wanted to leave home as soon as possible.

I remember looking out the window at the cold rain when I was five years old, thinking I wanted to grow up quickly and get out of there.

That is quite a precocious ambition.

Home was not a place where I felt safe.

Almost every day, something would be said or something would happen.

When I was ten, I suddenly realized, oh, I haven't cried today.

I was a little surprised that I had noticed that.

After that, the days I didn't cry gradually increased.

When something happens, people might normally think, 'Maybe it's my fault.'

But strangely, I didn't think that way.

Of course I was hurt, but I didn't really think that 'everything was my fault.'

Somewhere inside, I was thinking, 'No, isn't this a bit different?'

I was a cheeky child.

That is why I think I had the mental space to consider why these things were happening.

I wondered what kind of situations made this person get into a bad mood.

Why do they take it out on people?

Even as a child, I observed things like that.

Looking back now, it seems I was the "analyst" from a very early age.

Though there was no need for me to take on such a role.

Since becoming an adult, I have realized one thing.

Perhaps my parents didn't care about us as much as I thought they did.

One day, one of my siblings left, carrying a large bag, and said, "Well, I'm off."

I asked my parents, "Aren't you going to look for them?"

They replied, "If something happens, the police will contact us, right?"

Another sibling stopped keeping in touch.

I suggested, "Why don't you try calling them?"

My parents said, "They'll call us eventually, won't they?"

I also spent several years without contacting them.

No one cared.

It was a very long process of finding the answers.

Once I realized that, I felt much more at ease.

Even if my parents are in a bad mood, it is not my fault.

If spending time with family is painful, you can just limit the time.

Now, I only meet my aging parents a few times a year.

I stay for a few hours during the New Year, make small talk, and then head home.

If they are troubled because the TV remote is broken, I quietly replace the batteries for them.

I am actually quite good at a role like this.

Everyone finds their own way to come to terms with things.

Since I have become able to write like this,
perhaps the precocious five-year-old version of me has been rewarded, at least a little.

I do not think my way is the only right answer, but

I feel that this distance is just right for now.

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