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I think that what happens when you get past a certain age (say early 20's), you realise that maybe your parents aren't "perfect". They're just people. And then you start to think, would I be friends with them, and of course, do I actually like them? I think I can say, most of my family, I love. As in family love. But I don't like all of my family. Some of them I just get on with because they are family. Others I think are nice people and I like. And others are my friends. It's no big deal, you don't have to like them just because they're family. Generally I think I've been fortunate with mine. On the other hand I have 2 half-brothers (from my dad) who I hate, but they are not what I consider family AT ALL. As I usually, say, they are their mothers' sons. (In portuguese, the funny thing is, this translates as filho-da-mãe, which is actually almost like calling them SOB's lol).
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Whether we write or speak or do but look
We are ever unapparent. What we are
Cannot be transfused into word or book.
Our soul from us is infinitely far.
However much we give our thoughts the will
To be our soul and gesture it abroad,
Our hearts are incommunicable still.
In what we show ourselves we are ignored.
The abyss from soul to soul cannot be bridged
By any skill of thought or trick of seeming.
Unto our very selves we are abridged
When we would utter to our thought our being.
We are our dreams of ourselves, souls by gleams,
And each to each other dreams of others' dreams.
Fernando Pessoa, 1918
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