to visit or not to visit?

I really find myself weird and sometimes, I think it’s good to ask why I am like this.

My mother has been texting me this morning while she is still in the hospital which is a clear manifestation of her being bum. She’s also been joking a lot, which makes me think maybe she will be crazy after all.

However, her boredom usually also signals her longing for a visitor. Since my dad has been at the church all morning, she has no one with her except the television.

One of the girls’ grandmother and my sister is at the hospital at the very moment. My brother wants to visit her sometime as well, although I doubt if he would be able to since he has long days at school. My youngest brother misses his mommy and whines that he visit her as well but since he has exams this week, I don’t think we can afford to make him get out of the house.

And I? The best word to describe it is “kebs”. Don’t get me wrong now. It’s not that I don’t care. It’s just that it’s isn’t so necessary. It’s not like my mother is dying already. I guess I’m pretty satisfied to know she’s in a normal condition and do the things I have to do here at home.

Yes, I know. I can be so detached. I may be like my dad who worries but I’d rather worry alone and isolated. It’s weird and sometimes I hate myself for being such.

Luke 10: 38 – 41 describe a family in Bethany when Jesus came to visit them. While Mary listened to the words of the Lord, her sister, Martha, opted to do the household chores and eventually ended up complaining because of all her worries about unimportant yet rational details.

This passage always reminds me of who I am. Even if Martha was the bad one when the story is told to grade school kids, my mother had still taken my name from this passage. What we all find quite amazing is that I am very much like this Biblical character.

Maybe this sort of detachment isn’t anything to do with how my parents raised me. Maybe it’s more of my concern for other details while my mother is away. Maybe I can still be describe as the bad one in the family but it doesn’t mean I don’t really care; a sort of irony probably. At some point, it disturbs me but what can I do? This is how I am, although at times I try harder. Or best yet, maybe we should kill the Martha to whom my mother got my name. Haha. Parents, be careful of what you name your children. :D