I’m sure plenty of people must know how I feel, since I can’t be the only person ever adopted, but when Jane Eyre stumbles upon her own kin–people of her own blood–she becomes impossibly happy. This is what I would do if I met someone of my own blood, though hopefully they wouldn’t turn out to be hardened criminals or slave shop owners or something. I found the sensation odd when I was reading the passage because at that moment, I felt so alienated from the world that I wanted to toss myself into a cold, freezing swimming pool. I realized with quickening certainty that I had never, ever, once in my entire life, spoken with, touched, hugged, drank beer with, lived, laughed, loved, any of these things with someone of my own blood. The feeling is as though a spaceship flew in from outer space and dropped me off on the planet, then flew away. Jane Eyre sets up a home immediately for her to live with her new found, genuine family, and this I what I would do: I would endeavor to be close to them so we could sit on the couch whenever we wanted and just talk. If I never experience this, I’ve got one other shot at being with blood kin, and that’s to have children; then I would be able love & hug & call’em all mine. Of course, that’s a process I wouldn’t be able to do alone; though I think maybe adopting children with someone I love could possibly work, because me and my adopted kids would feel a strange connection. I think this is where my train of thought gets a little screwy: how can I possibly know what the future will bring?
I don’t really know why I have the emotional wish to want to feel these things, what sets me apart from others who simply deal with it. If I could come to terms, and be like H.P. Lovecraft, I would have matters much easier. Is there a reason for feeling the need for family? Is there some innate desire within the human being to long for blood ties? Are there ways in which I could shut down these needs for the purpose of emotional stability, maybe snip a gene or something? Maybe I could wear dark sunglasses and a cape for the rest of my life, and seek an ongoing prescription for Xanax to help me stay uncompromisingly emotionless, where my vapid existence would inspire the most dreadful horror stories ever written.
In any case, I wouldn’t want anyone to be able to imagine what this feeling of not knowing blood kin is like, and to be honest, I have a few, great friends that fill that void with exceptional integrity that I am forever grateful to have. I just found the Eyre passage a little striking when stumbled upon, and it’s just kind of a weird feeling is all. When viewed from a scientific perspective, we are all made from stardust and evolved from the same origin, so in this sense: we’re all family by some long and distant connection.