Perverse Mentalities

To the reader: If this is your first time on my blog, many greetings; If you've been here before, happy returns to you. Everything you read here will be my genuine unfiltered thoughts and secrets, explaining in full detail everything about me, piece by piece. I wish that you read on without prejudice or judgement, for I am not a perfect person, and I hope that you can connect and empathize with my life's story. -Alex

As my stay in Hungary comes to an end, I feel that there is a greater amount of tension between my grandfather and I. Since the day before yesturday, I've been reprimanded for small things that lead me to believe that he is under the impression that I have an ulterior motive to fulfill (which naturally, I don't; I'm merely a whimsical by-passer at this point)

It began with him angrily questioning why I was wandering throughout the house aimlessly, and reprimanding me for not wanting to move upstairs to use the desk when I was perfectly comfortable where I was situated in good company; but for me the turning point was when he started raising his voice and scolding me for washing the bed sheets and blankets. He called it unorthodox, to come into someone else's house and change the rules, and questioned what I could possibly be thinking. He told me to reflect on this come to a proper conclusion.

And all day, for the last few hours, I have.

I started with the nature of myself. I am neither darkness, nor light, but rather an incarceration of both. Apathy comes to me equally as naturally as empathy, and I often try to tread a neutral path of compromise and understanding. I don't like to have my methods questioned, because I do everything for a reason. Utility and Agility are key to my character, because I believe adaptation is the best way to accommodate oneself in a foreign environment.

What did I do wrong? From his perspective, I was committing an uprising, like I was some tyrant that wanted to ruin the traditions held in his household. To me, I was merely doing what was natural. It is habitual to wash your own bed sheets where I am from. We make our own bed and our own food, when possible, even when we have a housemaid. It is key for us to be independent, even when we are in our own home. For me to travel to another household, where I have been invited as family (to quote him, "you are welcome here as if this were your home") but to have to behave myself as if I were a guest is completely preposterous.

I imagine what it must have been like for my own father to have grown up here. He must have been treated like the family dog, reprimanded if he did anything that wasn't to my grandfather's liking; my grandfather holds a firm grasp on traditional values, so it makes sense that anything out of the ordinary for him would be rejected. That would explain then why my father is such a prick at time, wanting everything to be exactly HIS way. (Do not be mistaken; my father is a brilliant man, and a good person; but he's a fucking lousy father.)

When I first arrived, I was explicitly told what a great job my father had done in raising me. Let me get something straight here; I grew up despising my father. I fully respect the man, but he has been nothing but a negative influence on me. Most kids growing up remember their dads carrying them around, playing ball with them, and in general just doing some form of activity with them. I'm the kid who remembers being slapped across the face when I mistakenly pulled the surprise balloons a few days early for his birthday. I remember being told, and I quote that I'm "a real asshole", and had it been just one or two instances, I could have overlooked it in my childhood. As it were, negative memories heavily outweigh the positive, and I grew up wanting to be nothing like him.

Everything I've learned in life came through pondering, self-reprimanding, struggling, and surviving. My mother supported me all the way, more than she will ever know, so to put it bluntly; it sickens me when people compare me to my father.

Back to the topic at hand, I can see now the influence my father learned from his father, and no matter how I look at it I cannot see myself as having done anything wrong. There is no sign in this household that forbids me from doing my own laundry. I don't know the house rules, or the traditions, all I did was follow what any independent person would do: wash their own laundry.

I see now that there is no compromise to my grandfathers ideologies. He's no better than a bad client in the architect's perspective.