When I went to my cousin’s house last Sunday, I was surprised to be greeted with the familiarity reserved to those who belong by complete strangers. Inebriated with excitement, people whom I had not met before, or perhaps could simply not remember, welcomed me as a close friend.

Some of my relatives, on the other hand, initially kept me at a measured distance. One I could perceive but would be lost on the observer. I felt their reproach for my previous absences in the rushed greetings, the awkward silences or the barely disguised impatience. I had failed to play the part my position demanded. But I could not blame them for their coolness. I have increasingly excluded them from my story, choosing to live a life in which they have become little more than shadows.
What should I do, how could I make myself useful, I internally debated as my eyes darted to the clock and I mentally calculated how long I should stay for my eventual departure to not be judged as premature. I planned the time when I would be home, making a list of my duties in the part of my life that did not include them. I shuffled around unsure about how to get involved, wishing to have a task that might will the time away without compromising a swift exit. I moved awkwardly around, unable (and perhaps unwilling) to partake in any significant conversation.
When I eventually said goodbye, the remark, ‘thank you for finding time for us in your busy schedule’, dressed in what I interpreted to be barely disguised condescension, left me ill at ease. I walked home angered that I should be incriminated for leaving after having spent two to three hours at my relative’s house. Did they truly expect that I put my life on hold, ignore deadlines and chores for an entire week, I asked. I considered what I believed to be their expectations to be unreasonable. I refused to be subjected to it, seeing it akin to forsaking my free agency.
Later, as I reflected on the situation, I realised how self-involved I have become. Me, me and always me. Did I truly expect everyone to be on my schedule? Was I not willing to mould my life to include the people who have looked after me during my childhood? Was I going to focus on our differences or our similarities? How could I be so jaded to not see how stressed they were in that moment? Their daughter, and sister, was getting married. They wanted the best for her, to ensure that everything went well. What was I doing to help? Nothing.
Instead, my preoccupations focused on leaving, pretending, going through the motions… I had failed to reassure them. Their reaction would have been mine had our roles been reversed, for it was evident that I had chosen to do nothing to contribute to their success. What was being counted was not how much time I had to give, but how much I cared. That was the basis on which I was being judged. And whilst I might have professed to care, my approach revealed the reality of my feelings. I cloaked my shortcomings with self-deception. Rather than celebrating it for the joyous occasion it is, I acted as if the wedding were an inconvenience.  
So I told myself, ‘this is an opportunity to be together, to have fun and contribute to something good. Make the most of it, She!’. I recalled my Taiaji’s words, ‘do not wait to do a good thing’. In the days following that Sunday, as I have allowed myself to smile freely, to be with others simply, to help out with pleasure as well as duty, things have changed greatly. I am invested in my relatives' success and am glad to see them happy. I will admit that when particularly tired after a long day at uni and work, I have sometimes wished I could stay at home. But those feelings are temporary; they evaporate as soon as I arrive at my cousin’s. Seeing her and everyone else is great. The memories we are building together these days are ones I am certain to value in the future. I have even come to wish for the wedding to last longer.