"I'm blacklisted aren't I"

I hate picking up the phone; I really do.
So, today when I picked it up, I was forced to listen to my uncle, telling me in a solemn, brooding voice, that he was blacklisted from our family; that he was not going to come see us anymore.
I kept quiet, telling him my mom was asleep and she couldn't talk to him, and just uh huhing and okaying to his rants and complains.
I remember...just years ago when he used to be one of my favorite uncles.
Hardworking, dedicated, educated, charismatic, funny, helpful, gracious.
He would buy me whatever I asked for.
He was the light of a party and a symbol of happiness.

But struggling with so many adversaries, my uncle came to a point where he would say stuff to my mom that hurt her badly.
She forgave him...I think.

And now, it's come to a point where he doesn't even consider me part of his family.
And it hurts.

I wish I could tell him that I wanted him to come see us...I wish I could ask him if he even remembered what I looked like.
But I didn't.

I just let him thinking that my mom (his once beloved younger sister, his best friend) and I (his niece) had shunned him from our family.

Letter #1

Thank you.
Thank you for the amazing mom and dad I have been given. Even when I'm down, they always make me feel better, and they always keep this array of hope and trust and belief. They are the ones who teach me the things I could never imagine.
Thank you for my friends, whom did not necessarily notice my bad mood, but made me feel better: taking, saving me a seat, laughing.
Thank you for the library for I've found this amazing book - "Making It Into A Top College" - which will hopefully, guide me correctly.
Thank you for my cute outfits, a roof above my head, a bed to sleep in. Thank you for blessing me with two hands and two feet.
Thank you for poetry especially EE Cumming's "anyone lived in a pretty how town".

Distance

Today was what seemed like a perfect day. There was no school for the second day in a row...it will be the third day tomorrow (oh, I love the snow), and I finished one of what I think is my favorite books in the world: "Lock and Key" by Sarah Dessen. I got a cute haircut, got my eyebrows waxed, and felt pretty. I got to see my mom laugh in what seemed like forever.
But that changed. I learned secrets about my family I'd never knew were viable. They were enigmas - a lost love, an abusive relationship - that would never even cross my mind. I cried as I thought about what distance had done to me, to all of us. How, because I was 2000 miles and an ocean away from the ones I loved, I had lost all touch. And with that, I had lost trust and a sense of conformity. As I ran on the treadmill, the only thoughts I could think were of loneliness. What happens now that I haven't seen them in 4 years? Do we just forget and move on? Do we pretend like nothing's wrong? I have come to realize that there are people I know absolutely nothing about; I have seen (well, actually heard, but forced to believe) that my role model - a woman that epitomized strength - is now almost gone: her memory quickly fading, her mind acting slow, her back scarred by the whippings of a gruesome hand. Where was I when she needed me the most? I was stuck here. Away.
And I just so want to help. But that's near impossible. I don't know what to do and it's just killing me.

Miss. America...

I was reading the article on the "Youngest Miss. America" ever. I'm reading, and I guess I'm just soaking the information in. Hm. She's 17. That's almost an adult. That's pretty old.

Ten hours later, I realize crap, I'm 17 as well. Hm. Miss. America ain't so old anymore. 

The point, lies in the fact, that I'm growing up, but I'm refusing to...and it's pretty scary. I cannot believe that soon I'll be off the college; I'll be married; I'll be working. The future is such an enigma - and a scary one - that all I really want to do is curl in a ball and time travel back - back a couple years to when life wasn't marked by the words you said or the grades you got; it was viewed by the highest jumps on the bed or the loudest scream. I want to go back to those days.

People are doing so much with their lives...while here I am, living like hey, I have a bajillion more years left. I've never been the one to slack off, but when it comes to age...I guess I have. I want to live in the past; even the present is formidable.

So...what to do? 

I don't know. 

And the fact that I don't know is just another sign that Mom, Dad, I am not ready to grow up.