July 30, 2009

  • Xanga Teen Writing Contest: Ice_Droplets

     This story is perhaps my favorite, even though it didn't win, because it focused on the area of sibling relationships and how complex they can be. Ice_Droplets only wrote this one entry, but it's enough to show her talent. Leave comments at her site. This is the last entry before I present the Top 3 winners.

    My Best Friend for Life

    Siblings- most of us have them.  Some of us wish to have one, while some of us feel as though they have too many and would be the first to volunteer to give them away.  Whatever the case may be, siblings share a bond for a lifetime, an everlasting connection. 

    My case is no different.  I have an older brother.  I'm the only one who can call him my brother, and he's the only one who can call me his sister.  The two of us are stuck together for life, whether we like it or not.

    Growing up, my brother and I had a pretty normal childhood.  He's two years older than me, and we were inseparable.  We were the typical siblings living the American dream.  The two of us and our parents lived in a two story house.  My dad worked as an electrical engineer, and my mom was a stay at home mom.  My brother and I did what most kids did; we went to Disneyland, we rode our bikes to the park, and we sang in the church choir.  We fought over toys, got punished together, and constantly argued. 

    But behind closed doors was a hell one can't even begin to imagine.  I lost count of how many times my parents fought, how many times everyone cried, how many times I shuddered and hid away at the sound of a door slam.  I wondered if all parents fought this often, I wondered if it was my fault, but most often, I wondered if my parents still loved each other.  My brother and I saw and heard everything that occurred in that house.  Some things just stay with you forever. 

    When I was about five years old, I ran downstairs to the living room.  My parents were arguing upstairs and I didn't want to hear it anymore, so I hid in the corner, closed my eyes, and covered my ears.  As usual, my brother was there with me.  We often stuck together when my parents were having one of their episodes. 

    My brother did something that moment that I'll never forget.  With tears in his eyes, he motioned me over and said, his voice trembling, "Let's pray". 

    It haunts me to this day when I think about it, how a boy at seven felt so helpless that the only way he knew to cope with the situation and comfort his sister was to pray to God.  We both went on our knees as the doors continued to slam, as the yelling continued, and my brother asked God for our parents to stop fighting so that we could all be together and love each other again.

    God only answered half of our prayers.

    After sixteen years of marriage, my parents divorced when I was twelve.  It was decided that I would be legally placed under the care of my mom, and my brother would legally be under the care of my dad.  My mom and I moved into a two room apartment.  My brother stayed at the house with my dad.  Our family was divided in half.  The sheltered life I had taken for granted was gone.

    At the time, I accepted that my parents would no longer be together, but I didn't know that it would change my relationship with my brother forever.  I never thought my brother and I would grow distant, which is why it didn't bother me that we were no longer going to live together.  The apartment was less than a mile away from the old house, so I didn't think it would be difficult to see him.  After all, my brother and I were inseparable.  We had already endured so much together, which is why the thought of us drifting apart never even crossed my mind. 

    However, as the years went by, the two of us grew apart.  Days would go by without talking to him or seeing him.  Days turned into weeks, which soon turned into months.  During the two years we went to high school together, the only time I saw my brother was briefly during the seven minute passing periods.  Whenever teachers asked me how he was doing, I would quickly tell them he was doing fine, when I really had no idea how he was.  I didn't want to explain our living situation to other people, because that would only invite further questions.  More and more, the brother who had protected me from bullies growing up, the one who held my hand as we walked down the church aisle, the one who played with me, was becoming a distant memory.

    After the divorce, my mom found a job as a social worker and she was no longer able to take me home from school.  I needed a ride home, and even though my brother had a driver's license, he didn't take me home.    I remember walking home in a storm once during my freshmen year in high school.  I called my brother, but he never answered his phone.  I had no choice but to walk.  I ended up getting a high fever that lasted for four days.  I remember how I cried late at night, because I felt as though my brother didn't care about me, and I resented him for it.  I hated how my parents' divorce had changed us, and I wanted things back to the way they were.  I wondered what God's purpose was, and why things had ended up the way they did.  I wondered what I did to deserve losing my best friend.

    I stopped asking my brother for rides home after that incident.  I stopped calling him.  I didn't want to be a burden to him any longer, as strange as that sounds.  Siblings are supposed to depend on each other and help each other out, but we were no longer the typical siblings.

    I remember one occasion when my brother agreed to take me home from a friend's house after my mom asked him to.  We were sitting in the car together, and the radio was off.  It was silent.  Without even realizing it, I started blabbing about the weather, going on and on, and I couldn’t shut up.  My brother gave me short responses to my random questions, sometimes not saying anything.  Soon we reached the apartment, and I said my goodbyes and headed to the door.  As I was walking, I asked myself why I kept talking.  Why I felt as though I needed to say something to break the silence.  But I already knew the answer.  I felt awkward.  Awkwardness with my own brother?  How was that even possible? 

    When my junior year in high school began, many of my friends were sad because their older siblings had left for college.  I didn't feel this sadness, because I had grown accustomed to it.  You could say I got a couple years head start.  My brother was still living at home, commuting to college. 

    My brother began instant messaging me on AIM more often after he started college.  At first, I found this interesting since he never really voluntarily talked to me.  Then, it dawned on me that he might be lonely in college.  Whatever the reason was, I was just happy that we were talking, even if it was through a computer.  Slowly, but gradually, I let go of my resentment and bitterness towards him.

    I haven't seen my brother since last October.  It's been half a year already.  It's taken me years, but I'm finally at peace with our relationship.  Our childhood relationship is something long gone, and things will never be the same again, but I cherish what we have right now.

    Of course, there are obvious changes to our relationship.  I watch what I say around him because I'm afraid that if we fight, we'll never talk to each other again.  It's ironic, since I used to pick fights with him all the time when we were growing up and we used to bicker daily.  I used to know what he was thinking just by looking at him.  That's no longer the case.  I hardly ever know what's on his mind. 

    Despite how much we've drifted apart, he's the only person who will ever understand what I went through and how I felt in that house, because he was the only person there with me.  We share a bond that I won't ever have with anyone else.  I'm content knowing that I'm still a part of his life, no matter how small, and for me, that's enough.

    There are times when he still hurts me.  Recently he said he couldn't give me a ride home from volunteering because he'd be out playing with his dogs.  I wondered if that implied that playtime with his dogs were more important than me.  Instead of crying, I laugh at what he says now.  I no longer take it to heart, but I'd be lying if there wasn't a part of me that's still saddened over the way things turned out.  But, what can I do?  I can only handle these changes the best I can.  I don't want to force my brother to do things that he doesn't want to.

    I do little things for my brother to show him that I care about him.  I buy him his favorite Danish sugar cookies, I listen to his problems when he wants to talk about them, and I look around for clothes he might like when I noticed the holes in his old shirts.

    I wondered why this happened to me, but now I know the answer.  God wanted to teach me how to truly love someone, and thanks to Him, I've learned what unconditional love really is.

    I'll be turning eighteen in a few months, and my brother will be turning twenty.  I'm currently in my last year of high school and I'll be graduating this June.  I can't remember the last time I told my brother how much I love him, how I miss how close we used to be, and how sad it is that I can't tell him in person, which is why I'm writing about it on Xanga. 

    The life lesson I wish to share is to cherish the ones around you, don't try to change them, and accept them for who they are, even if you don't quite understand them.  Only when you are able to accept someone completely, will you be able to truly love them with all your heart.

    To my best friend for life: If you do somehow read this, know that I will always love you.