So I am terrible at communicating. Give me all the tools in the world – from twitter to Facebook, email to the simple phone call – and I will still disappear for weeks on end. I’m not even sure why. My folks used to despair when I was at boarding school, and they wouldn’t hear anything from me unless they phoned.
Nothing has changed over the years. I am quite happy to talk to those around me, please understand. I just don’t get to anybody further away than my own house.
I will in the next 5 minutes attempt to psychoanalyse my own behaviour. Bear with me as we travel together down this rabbit hole.
I was born a thinker. I love to read, and have been reading for as long as I can remember. Reading is a lonely pastime though, and I am quiet and reserved by nature.
I went to boarding school at the tender age of 13. I say tender, but I am of the opinion that anyone would be tender – or more likely, a tenderfoot – when first arriving at a boarding school. I had a best friend who was almost 2 years younger than I, and I had not yet caught up with the fact that at my age one was supposed to have stopped playing with action figures and wot not. Suffice to say I had a somewhat rude awakening on my first day.
Things didn’t get much better during that first year. Std 7 boarders suffered almost as much as the junior Std 6’s back then, and I had the extreme misfortune to have been recovering from Hepatitis in October of the previous year. As a result I was forbidden from most exercise – which included whatever plans the matrics had for us at 5am in the morning, much to their chagrin and ire, I assure you – which invoked feelings of displeasure from my fellow sufferers.
All of this may have caused me to withdraw into myself, and not wanting to disappoint my parents (I wasn’t ever a successful liar), I could possibly have subconsciously stopped wanting to communicate with them at all. That’s not to say that I did, however.
After high school, which included a short stint at home, I was shipped off to the army for a compulsory stint – which turned into 3 years. I was once again away from home, and made my own friends once again.
Of course, to finish off the whole story, I got married soon after the army spat me out, and started my own family. I’ve over-simplified things somewhat, but there it is.
I have never felt it necessary to call my folks and say hi for the sake of it. My mother apparently feels differently about it. Sorry, mom.
There is another school of thought.
I forget. A lot. Not just calling people either. I am what you would call the absent-minded professor. I know a lot of trivia, have studied within my profession, and keep updated with my passion of technology. One’s brain can only keep track of so much, you understand. I keep notes so I don’t forget important stuff at work, and at home. Keeping in touch doesn’t seem to be all that important to me, is all. My wife doesn’t have a family to keep in touch with, so I have no reminder there either, although she does occasionally encourage me to keep in touch with my parents, having lost hers.
I’m not sure if either of these is even a valid reason. They are certainly not excuses, although I hope that my siblings and parental units 🙂 will by reading this gain a better understanding into my psyche, and why I may be who I am, and forgive me nonetheless.
After all, we only have one life to live.