they say you can’t choose family
This blog is basically just about people I used to be friends with now
When I first came to England, people were very insistent in telling me how great my English was. “Your English is better than mine!” (Ha ha) What neither of us realised is that it was usually the truth. The level of literacy in this country is below that of a fresh off the boat 15 year old speaking her third language. It’s not even close. Though, to be fair, I did land in Essex. The bar was low.
Julz and I had the following conversation yesterday:
Me: “She’s my… second cousin, I think. Her granddad was my granddad’s brother, my great uncle.”
J: “I think that makes her second cousin once removed, no?”
Me: “No, that’s when you are different generations so her mom would be my second cousin once removed I think.”
Thankfully, google helped us resolve this, and I was right. What the hell did people do before google, agree to disagree? Imagine the chaos.
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The rain here is almost horizontal.
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The person we were talking about was someone who’s baby showed up on my instagram. I said, this is my second cousin’s baby. (I’m not even going to attempt to try figure out what that makes him to me.)
Then I went into a very long explanation, how once when I was 12 or so, my granddad took me on a trip to Krasnodar to meet his brother. Krasnodar is a city in the South of Russia but I remember it as being in actual heaven. We ate fruit straight from the tree (learnt nothing), went fishing, and read books. In my memory, grandpa Stas was sharp, funny, and very kind, although it’s possible I’m projecting my granddad’s character onto him.
I think now, what a gift that was, to have had a chance to meet him. He died a long time ago, a couple of years after that trip. My mum said: “This is a very hard time for your granddad, we have to make sure to be thoughtful.” And I remember my dumbass thinking: “But we didn’t even know him that well?” What I think now is, how absolutely awful, my granddad lost his brother. I wish I could go and give him a hug about this, but the moment’s kind of gone now, isn’t it?
Grandpa Stas had children, whom I have zero memory of, and a granddaughter, Marta. She was about my age, and we spent that holiday hanging out a lot. I’m pretty sure we got on really well. I can’t really remember what she looked like and haven’t seen any photos from that holiday in a long time.
Then I told Julz, from her instagram it looks like she’s really cool and also had a baby a few months ago. I also said, I don’t think she’s aware of me following her and honestly I don’t even know if she’d remember me, this was all a very long time ago.
So Julz asked, why don’t I reach out to her.
And I said, that would be weird. What if she doesn’t remember me? And I don’t even remember how I got her instagram, if I’m honest, so how would I explain following her? Wait, how *did* I get her instagram?
Come to think about it, why did I think this was the right person? Hold on. I’m really not sure this is the right person. I’ve been following this girl for about a YEAR. Every time a photo of hers popped up I thought “oh, there’s my second cousin, living her life, very nice.” When in reality, it could just be a random woman from Russia.
I have to reach out to her now, don’t I? I’d just be so disappointed to find out it’s not her. Although the story itself isn’t worthless, I would really miss having a second cousin.
“I’d say you’re an idiot but that would make me a second idiot once removed”
“Are you fucking serious?! IT’S JUST SECOND IDIOT, REMOVED IS FOR GENERATIONS! We have literally just been through this.” Which is kind of gross since that would mean we’re related. But it’s Julzes stupid joke, I’m just protecting the integrity of the language where you call people second cousin once removed instead of second aunt or something, yeah, I’m definitely the idiot.