A social animal

I am mostly content with the fact that I don't have any sibilings, but I think my being an only child worked as a handicap when it comes to my ability to socialize. I'm not apt in playing social games as it is, but I was way, way worse before. I worried my parents that I would always be a loner or go onto be a sociopath. I don't blame them, really. I would be concerned to if my hypothetical child cried all day at the kindergarten and calmed down only when she was alone. All through kindergarten and even early elementary school years I was too dependent on my mom. I felt vulnerable when she wasn't with me and I remember everything that reminded remotely of her --eating, singing, painting, among other things-- made me want to cry. It's about twenty years go but I can still remember how miserable I felt back then.

My parents still continue to be astounded by how much I've changed. Not just in contrast to my baby-/childhood, but in contrast to the turbulent time otherwise known as adolescence. I'm still essentially me; I just realized I'm not who I think I am.

Being an only child led me to believe that being the center of attention was normal. But my being that center doesn't just come from the fact that I'm an only child.

My mom is the eldest in her family: the oldest of five sisters. She was a typical eldest daughter, overachiever and whatnot. During the eighties when South Korea had the gall to say things like women belonged in the kitchen, my mom obtained a doctoral degree in psychology in one of the top universities in the country. You can imagine how proud my grandparents were. On a sidenote, My grandpa belongs to the so-called "elite" class; he graduated from Seoul National University (#1 in Korea, purportedly) and still practices dentistry and retains his fiery (but kind) temper as well as a quirky sense of humour. I'm so grateful that he didn't force his daughters to conform to what the Korean society believed as the "proper women's role" and let my mom pursue her dream. My mom wishes that she studied medicine, however, to continue her father's legacy... "Well you're a doctor too, ain't ya?" I responded. Just not the one that can remove wisdom teeth.

ANYWAYS. My grandma loved me to death when I was born because I was born to her eldest daughter, the one that always helped her parents and was (at that time) studying to be a professor. I can't list everything that my grandparents have done for me in this blog even though there's no limit to how much I write. My mom couldn't spend a lot of time with me when she was preparing her dissertation and whenever she needed a babysitter, I was at my grandparents'. Which was fine by me, because I had four aunts who, likewise, loved me to death. As a kid I was very close to my second and youngest aunts, and I still am. They are like sisters to me and I used to say that I would never see them again if they got married. (But when the youngest aunt was still single in her late thirties and me in junior high, I used to make fun of her for being single. Oh, the irony.) Even after my first aunt got married and gave birth to a daughter, my cousin, I was given overwhelming precedence over her. I was the more talkative, sociable, amiable (hard to believe, isn't it?) of the two. I still told my grandparents and aunts that they shouldn't judge my cousin so harshly in comparsion to me because I was very close to her. I'm just glad my cousin didn't harbour any resentment in regards to this and we are still quite close.

I realize this is getting too long, so I'll post my ultimate conclusion here: I was raised in a family that loved me so dearly. I am sure all the fortunate kids born to wholesome families can say the same. I think it's only natural that, before I went to join a non-family environment, I thought everybody loved me. That was the response I was used to. The only one I received from others. Being an only child excerbated my delusion. I had no siblings, so I didn't have to fight to earn my family's attention. In regards to cousins I always had the upper hand.

Even now my mom sarcastically tells me that my arrogance is at its pinnacle when I go to my grandparents'. I think that's somewhat true. But I'd like to argue that it's not my arrogance, but rather my self-esteem. Where else can I expect unconditional replenishment of hope and strength? Society measures me by my grades, test scores, and body. I may be a failure to some because I didn't get into law school on my first attempt, but I can always count on my grandparents and aunts to think that I'm the greatest.

So yes. I confess that I'm spoiled.