Earlier today I overheard a conversation among my mother, my oldest uncle and their aunt. And after almost 30 years later, I found out that my youngest uncle isn’t actually my uncle, biologically speaking, I mean. Apparently my grandmother adopted him when he was a baby. Well, it wasn’t a shock. Actually, it does make a lot of sense! It’s amazing how little I know about my family’s past (and I mean both sides of my family). Everything seems so obscure. The feeling I have now is that there are many more things hidden somewhere. What I don’t know is if I really want to know everything. This task will require lots of stress, which I’m not sure it’s worthy. In fact, I’m pretty sure it isn’t worthy. In the end nothing will change, so why bother?