On my family and the L-word

On my family and the L-word

Last week, my granny was confined in the hospital for pneumonia. She’s out of the hospital now, but I remember the only time I visited: as Mama and I were leaving, I kissed Lola’s cheek and said, “Bye, ‘la. Pagaling ka. Love you.”
I forgot what she replied, but she smiled, and that was good enough for me.
I love you. I have always had difficulty in saying that to my family. We’re not exactly the touchy-feely type; we have fun with each other, but we’re not emotionally open. I sometimes find it hard to tell my mom that I love her; how much more the less close members of my family?

It was also only last September 16 that I told Mommy (or Tita Bebe—I just call her Mommy. Mommy is different from Mama.) I love you. It was her birthday, and I told her that only through text. I know Mommy really loves me, and it made me feel like shit, being afraid to tell her I love you straight to her face.
Why the hell am I like this? I have no qualms telling my friends (especially Mojz, Gab, Kat, and Peter Angelo) that I love them, but I can’t even say it to my own flesh and blood. Jesus, I suck at life forever.

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