It’s funny realising how from all of these things I’ve been sharing with my friends and others, whether it was through conversations or through writings, I have never talked even the slightest single thing about my feelings toward cancer, or specifically toward breast-cancer, a malignant disease that took my mother’s life around 4 years ago.
Of course I’ve wrote about breast-cancer in my undergraduate-thesis and how some women’s lives affected by the disease. Yet again, I’ve never really shared my feelings to anyone about how sad I was when my mother passed away, not even to my dad, since I know it would make him sad too. I’ve also never talked about my fear concerning how the disease will passed through genes, and I’m in risk of it, and it’s likely that someday I might suffered from it as well (though I hope this will never happen to me nor my sisters). Or how the experience influenced my decision to take clinical psychology major to study now.
I have never shared about how grateful I am of having a dad like mine. Who loves my mother and supported her with everything that he got despite of the adversities they had been through because of my mother’s disease. A dad who takes care of me and my sisters tenderly and who’s always trying to understand us restlessly since my mother passed away, until today. Or about how, because of this, I wish that someday I will find a good man who will take care of me no matter what.
It’s funny realising the fact that albeit I’ve been telling everyone so many things about myself (if not too many of them), I still got plenty left untold.
*this post was written because I got this auto-ethnography assignment which made me write about the experience