My family came over for lunch yesterday to see my new place and to make sure I hadn't already starved to death since I'm currently living on my leftover federal student loan money (which is depleting at an alarming rate).
I was unable to work on any blog material because I spent the entire morning doing some last minute cleaning, and the caramelized butternut squash I had been optimistically baking in the oven decided to make my life harder by adhering to the pan. I managed to finish (and fix) everything in time, however, and I enthusiastically welcomed in my family, consisting of my father, mother, and sister.
We talked over lunch about my apartment complex, my new hobbies, and my job search. I then began discussing my blog and how it will eventually help me reach literary success. I recently unveiled its existence on my Facebook profile, and I'm hoping the people who read it will enjoy its contents and refer it to their friends, thus increasing my exposure and garnering a widespread audience. <---
(Conspicuous subliminal messaging)
My mother had somewhat of a different perspective.
Mom: Are you making any money off this blog thing?
Me: Well...not yet, but hopefully soon...
Mom: How often do you work on it?
Me: Um...I'd say about seven hours a day ever since I started it last week...
Mom: So you're putting all your effort into some online diary instead of your job search?
Me: I'd rather it not be called a
diary...
Mom: You need to find a job so you can get your own health insurance.
Me: Er...
Mom: You do realize you're still going to get kicked off our insurance when you turn 23, right?
Me: Yeah...about that...
The new health care law extending individuals' coverage under their parents' health insurance until 26 years old currently applies only to civilian health plans, not plans under the Department of Defense...so it doesn't apply to military dependents under Tricare (i.e.
me).
A letter from DoD had apparently arrived at my parents' house, basically containing my pink slip stating that I would be fired from my father's insurance plan once I turn 23 years old this August. My mother kindly informed me of this event.
My parents then took the opportunity to
demand suggest that I come back home. Unlike the case with most families in America, it is common practice in my parents' homeland (the Philippines) for children to live with their parents well into their adulthood, until they marry and move out to live with their spouse. Or they can just never leave. There have been instances when spouses moved into the family home, numbering the household occupancy at an impressive
8-10+ members.
Not quite grasping that I have a very large personal bubble and don't share those same ideals since I grew up in the American culture, my parents have been relentless in their attempts to convince me to come back and live with them. Forever.
That could be why I decided when starting this blog that I would depict myself as a bird. It is an allusion to my leaving the nest (or my struggles to launch myself from the nest when both the recession and my parents are opposed to the prospect).
I lived in the dorms during my first two years of college, and then in apartments with friends, so according to my parents, that should suffice as my vacation from the familial nest and it is now time to return. While I am still adamant about trying to be an adult and make something of myself, it's true that I'm going to need to find some sort of health insurance once my deadline hits in three months.
I have hypothyroidism, a thyroid disease in which the thyroid gland does not produce enough thyroid hormone. It isn't life threatening if monitored and controlled with medication, but I'm going to need health insurance to continue my regular check ups and prescription meds.
If left untreated, hypothyroidism can cause and/or contribute to a number of complications, including heart disease, the development of a goiter, declining mental health (how ironic, for someone who wants to become a practitioner in the mental health field), and possibly myxedema (resulting in coma).
So basically, I will end up like this:
But really...no pressure!
-J. S. Blancarte
