I remember when I was younger, I was a pretty selfish person. I still am but I don't think I can forgive myself for this. At the time, I was just letting life pass by slowly, bored of it all. This is still the case but I've learned to cope with it now.

My grandmother (whom we call Mama) was living with us during the summer and an acquaintance of the family asked her to babysit my cousins. The ones from my fathers side, who apparently had a black and Asian baby. She got around $150 or $200 per week, and I'm sure you can tell where this is going. Of course, I stole $20 from her purse. I can't remember what I did with it. Probably candy, to be honest, or maybe some game card. After a few days, my mom counted the money and she noticed the $20 missing. She called my cousins and asked about it. Everybody got into a big argument and my mother was the kind of person to take my word for it since I was able to look them in the eye with a straight face and say "No, I didn't take anything". I could feel Mama looking at me from across the room, though. Mama was slowly losing her ability to think consciously and needed others to help her to live, as a lot of old people do. Although, she as no fool and I could tell she knew that I stole from her.

This was when I was around 9-10 years old. Throughout the years after she moved back to Jamaica to live with the rest of the family, I remember that sometimes I avoided going to my mother when she bought one of those "Boss Revolution" phone cards so she's have a few moments to catch up with her. Of course, we spoke but it wasn't for long. I was too busy doing something else. It was always the same. I still felt guilty about that $20.

"Make sure you're studying! Do well in school!"

"Make sure you grow up to be someone we can be proud of."

"Everyone in Jamaica miss you."

Of course, as Jamaicans we have accents but this is basically what she said if it were normal English.

During middle school when we spoke from time to time I was always playing games (console/Pc/handle held, etc), or sleeping. So eventually, my mother just stopped calling me to talk to her.

Then one day, I'm playing this game called "Rumble Fighter." I was on my bed playing until my dad came into the room and told me, "Dada, we just found out some news. Looks like Mama died," and I couldn't feel anything. I couldn't relate. After a few seconds of silence, he left the room and I turned back to the game.

After around 20-30 minutes I stopped playing, and stared at the ceiling. I couldn't feel the sadness that I was suppose to feel. I cried while staring at the ceiling but I couldn't understand the complexity of the situation. I cried, although the fact still stays that I didn't know why. I knew I was suppose to feel sad, but the emotions didn't register. Just the tears. As if there was something blocking me from feeling the true sadness of the moment. At the time, I was 16. This was also the year that I had to repeat a grade. I had gone through some depression, losing a lot of friends who are now in college, etc. I had failed in the things she always wanted me to succeed in.

Mama had been having strokes and experiencing illness throughout that year. This was close to the end of the school year, so we had to have the funeral in the summer, and because it was so sudden my mother didn't have a renewed passport to travel back and forth to Jamaica, and the rest of the family didn't have the money to buy a ticket for everyone. I don't know how my other grandmother, Grandma Rose, did it, but she got me a ticket to fly down and my father had bought his own. Miss Rose really wasn't involved in this, but she got me a ticket to attend the funeral, and I'm forever grateful for that.

Arriving in Jamaica, I had met up with my cousin. He and his mom were the ones who found the body. Simply mentioning her was enough to make him cry, but my tears were finished, and dried up. Fast forward to the day of the funeral, my cousin and I walked into the church. Mama was an avid Christian, so it was only right. As we walked in, my cousin couldn't even look at the body. I could. I felt a heavy spot in my chest, but once again, I couldn't feel what I was suppose to. I was still feeling guilty over that $20 I stole years ago.

During the funeral, I just sat on the top right corner with my head down. Eventually I dozed off, because everyone who spoke said the same thing. How they loved her and had such great experiences with her. I was jealous, and I didn't want to hear about their happy moments when mine were limited. Even if they limited by my own actions, I still didn't want to hear it. So I woke up a few moments before the funeral ended and was just sitting there. My mother had wrote a piece that my aunt was reading at that very moment. It was a nice piece, but I couldn't relate.

I'm constantly trying to enjoy myself and connect to others because I find it hard to feel empathy, at times. I'm so into myself that I don't know how to consider other people's feelings, and because of that I missed out on so much in my life. I didn't have a proper relationship with Mama, and I regret that. So now, all I can do is move on, cherish Grandma Rose and the friendships I make throughout my life.